The Real Mrs. Plop

Tangle is young and full of life. So what if he has a Harold & Maude fantasy going.
Mrs. Plop,
you are obviously a special person who has REALLY lived. I think you have alot to add to these boards and alot to teach young boys like Tangle and Mr. Joe.
I say... RULE ON MRS. PLOP!
Let your Salt & Pepper Spring / Autumn Mrs. Robinson Freak Flag Fly!
Pay no attention to Sweetie (who between you and me doesn't believe you exist)
Tangle your message was so beautiful. I am still tingling from your Tangle prose. I am afraid I can never live up to curiosity thats seems to surround me. I am an ordinary woman living quietly in the outer stratosphere of New York City. And dear Daddy, Sweetie is a pussycat. I have read her many posts, and her shield is her sassy remarks, but I believe there is a big heart under all that bluster. I will give Sweetie a big hug when I come to see him/her perform at Caberet Magique next week. I will hug all of you who have taken time to correspond so politely over the last few weeks. My life has a new vitality as I click on to this little room, when I must escape the boredom of my day to day existence. I have Tinkerbell on my lap, and I have shown her pictures of her new friends. I love the topic of baby pictures, perhaps I will insert a snap of Tinky for you all to eat your hearts out. By the way, is there a proper dance floor at this Caberet Magique? I would love to bring my fans and show you how I used to cause a stir with my passionate antics. And once again, how does one dress for this affair? I am counting the days my newfound cybies. Oh and Mr. Tangle expect an email from me. If anyone would like to correspond privately, my email address is DancingPaganLady@aol.com . I go mad for penpals. Please do not abuse this invitation. I reach out to you in friendship.
May I refer you all to a past posting of the Cheeze Queen Herself:

quote:
I am sooo thankful everytime I look out into that audience and know I have played a part in bringing you out for the night. New York has a thousand choices at ANY given moment, and for so many of you to frequent my parties sooooo loyally makes me feel like the luckiest old whore stil knocking around this ghost town. And to THANK me on top of it is a mind blower!!!!! THANK YOU, THANK YOU for employing me, for valuing me, for trusting my taste of whats good, and for filling my room with beauty. I mean it. THANK YOU!!



Anyway... can't a boy be in love in this town without everyone getting vicious?
My apologies for being absent from this room for the last few days. This weather has very bad effects on a faded dancers bones. I am looking very foward to attending this coming Wednesday night,that is if my hips, ankles, and shoulders allow me to move freely. Otherwise I will need to spearhead a field trip to my home, and we can enjoy a lovely day in my garden. If the Goddess is willing, all of my beautiful greenery will be preening for all of you to admire. My mood has been less than cheery, so I have purposely not botherd my new cybie friends with my aches and pains. I wanted to give a hello however, before heading off to my video store for tonites entertainment. Tangle, Joe, Daddy, and the others of you who have sent email, I so appreciate the correspondence. As I have said, I am mad for a pen pal. I would love to see what all of you look like when the stage lights have been dimmed and only sunshine is on your beautiful faces. I end this post with a smile.
I've been trying to write anything: a poem, a letter about my lost love, but haven't been able to see the page through all my tears. I couldn't even show up last Wednesday, I was too nervous that something like this would happen, and now it has.

WHERE HAS SHE GONE!!??
An envelope has just slipped under my door with my name on it. Inside is a letter written in an awful brown nail polish with white flakes dried into it. It reads:

"Ef you want yer feckin' Mrss. PLOP back bring me 10 (crossed out) 20 (crossed out) a hole lot of bags of 'T...' under the Brooklen Bridge. Ef i dont git it by mornin thet stupit pooch gits thrown in first. Then that next mornin, PLOP goes plop!"

---that dumb cunt signed her own ransom note.

MESSY!!!!!!!!!
Shame on all of you with your judgements and jeers. As for you Tangle. How dare you make a joke of my feelings for you. Kidnapping is no laughing matter. People disappear every day. Never, ever to be heard from again. Does the name Jimmy Hoffa mean anything to you? E.A.P might still be here today if it wasn't for nay-sayers like the bunch of you. Mr. Joe, I revealed very private feelings to you along with an apology for missing your big fancy, nose in the air birthday party, and you couldn't take a measly minute to answer could you? I have waited two weeks for a reply. You are a little brat. Too busy running around Central Park with your fancy parties and jet set vacations. All of you, the whole lot, can go suck an egg. I'm very angry, and thats how I feel. I'm glad I didn't go to the Caberet Magique that night. And I bet thats a false picture of YOU Daddy. If you are the father of all of these cry babies, well then go suck an egg too.
This is all getting to parallel universe to me... Mrs Plop has pooped I think.... perhaps we can do a special Magique event where Plop ...poops out and reveals herself.... Messy and Daddy cut it out! Or start hittin the Lithium ... think it will sort BOTH of you out (ahem). I am lost by all of this ... or in the words of my toddler when asked how he felt this morning " Mommie I am NOTHING" i see my tyke is an existentialist at 2 and half.... HE is PROBABLY the real Mrs Prop
And there IS a Johnny Gato, and there IS a Miss Understood, and there IS a Shema Nails, and there IS a glamnerd, etc. We are all quite virtually real, and quite virtually alive.

So, my dear, please check your e-mail dated Friday the 13th, which is the date I responded, and told you about my lovely trip across the country (which might explain why it took me so long to respond). If you read it thoroughly, you'll also find an invitation to a certain opening night. I'll supply the egg. Big Grin
From everything we've HEARD, Mr. Joe's parties aren't usually described as "fancy"

Mrs. Plop, even if you're not, we're sorry you missed Cabaret Magique that night, as we won't get another opportunity to meet you for a while...

You'll have to understand that we've had several very intriguing people become very involved penpals, only to disappear without so much as a "boo!"

So, some people around here have developed a deep seated fear of abandonment, and you being a very matronly personality, have touched a nerve with some of them.

Give 'em a good spanking, It's what they want.

XXXOOO
Satori
You were also conveniently in your native land while we were in town, and since we don't REALLY know who you are, and have never seen a picture...

How do we know you're not the Tooth Fairy.

Or The Birthday Witch.

)This weird red-neck family in our town was the only family that The Birthday Witch visited... What's up with that?)

XXXOOO
Satori
Zazoo and Satori--
Whether she's real or not, Anna Nicole has a RACK that you wouldn't believe! Last night at Magique, her killer cleavage was in attack mode, exploding out of her blouse like so many B-52 bombers. Just sign me,
president, Big Boob Brigade.
Now, back to waiting for Plop to drop...
What is going on!! (see the topic is started in Another NY - Straight, gay or Bi)... are all you 'gay' men being OUTed at closet Hetro's.... hey hey hey.. (shit eating grin) .....

WHERE IS PLOP.... reveal yourself!! I have this dream like the SPARTICUS movie...when someone stands up at Magique and says "I'm Plop" then someone else "I'm Plop" ..... believe me .. it will happen just hope i am sober (or not under Michael Madison) to see it.
...since I've logged on. And, now that I have, I've got some recapping to do.

How dare YOU Mrs. Plop, toy with MY emotions. You lead us all on with your eloquent writings, your detailed, possibly fabricated past and you employed near professional flirtations to wrap me in your mystery. You promise an appearance, and then FLAKE. Yes, Plop; I said flake. It's what happens when tired, old swingers can't keep using the old polyamourous excuse to hide your fears of committment. It's what happens to worn skin when you don't take Daddy's stay-young-forever beauty advise. It's what happens to genital areas when you touch Messy Bonnie in the wrong places.

So, now I see. The flakes left a trail to the answer. This is all a Plop plot. You and Messy are in on this together. Kidnapping, randsome, all to fund your disgusting love affair and your pricy addictions.

And me... Plop??? The sacrifice? The hopless romantic to be used as bait, then done away with like last night's used condoms. I see. Well, this romantic has had enough.

The Plop is pooping; the poop is droping. The Plop has dropped.

Anna, when they all stand up, "I am Plop"-ing I'll be there with you and your tectronic torpedo tits, and we'll blow the fuckers away.

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