Steve MUST go. He’s a no-good, two-timing, double-crossing miscreant. I knew it the day I met him. I saw right through him and his “dumb” act. He may have everyone else snowed – especially Carol – but I KNOW. I’m onto him. And his stealing MY commercial right out from under me is the last straw.
Ever since the letter from Eli Lilly came wanting to use him [and NOT me!] in their advertisements, he’s been strutting around the house making everyone poke his abs to see how hard they are. Flaunting his treachery without even a hint of shame. How dare he!
No one here appreciates my God-given talent. Fifteen years of blessing this household with my angelic singing voice and what do I have to show for it? A fancy water bowl? No, my moms took that away.
A nice, comfy bed fit for a queen? No, Violet gets that because she’s old and sick. Well, what am I? Is 15 not old? And do I not suffer?
I’m going to find a new home where I am valued, where my talent can be nurtured, where I will have the opportunity to grow as an artist. A home where Steve doesn’t live. They can keep him here to corrupt this household with his thug values and ridiculous rock hard abs.
Where will I go, you ask? To California to live with my mentor and idol, Barbra Streisand. Yes, I know she prefers furry beasts. But she hasn’t met me.
Once she hears my voice, I am certain I will win her over. My only concern is that I’ve heard rumors that Streisand is known to become testy with singers that are better than her, so I’ll have to hold back a little. But why should I hold back? I’ve held back for 15 years. No, living with Streisand won’t work.
That’s okay, I’ll go to Chicago and live with Oprah. I almost was a guest on her show. She’s the most famous human in the world, so she won’t feel threatened by my talent.
I do have one reservation, however: Baby Girl. That oddball friend of Carol’s worships Oprah. I wasted days that I could have been rehearsing reading that ridiculous book, The Secret. Where did Baby Girl learn about The Secret? Oprah.
And then there was that horrifying rebirthing exercise where Baby Girl wrapped me up like a burrito and told me to channel my “inner kitten.” I told Baby Girl where she could shove her “inner kitten,” which only upset Carol. I’m pretty sure Baby Girl got the rebirthing idea from Dr. Phil. And who else listens to Dr. Phil? Oprah.
No, Oprah’s out. I do love RuPaul and her costumes, but Steve says that he and RuPaul have a lot in common, so I’m not taking my chances there. Anyone that might have something in common with Steve is out. Besides, humans call RuPaul a Queen and I don’t want that kind of competition.
Looks like I’m stranded in this godforsaken place with that hoodlum Steve. Unless you have room for me? I don’t eat a lot [I’m watching my figure] and will provide you with hours of musical entertainment.