Condi’s Big Movement Thrills, Chills Spectators | Who invited HIM?

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Condi’s Big Movement Thrills, Chills Spectators

condirace.jpgCondi called me just moments before she was to go on stage. “I don’t think I can do this,” she said, her breaths short and fast. “Condi, take a couple deep gulps of air, pretend you’re in Dubya’s arms on that sunny beach you both like so much.” I heard a long exhale, then a little giggle. “Dubya, stop that! Pickles might catch us!” Oy.

Kuala Lumpur welcomed Condi with open arms, and in return, she made them cry, she made them hear, she made them feel. A lot of people have not-very-nice things to say about Condi, and they’re all true – the donkey show in Tijuana, the coke races in Colombia, the all-night slogging fest with the Minutemen (“Now I know why they’re called MINUTEMEN“, she quipped. “They only last a minute!” I was tempted to remind her of the old ‘if you have to explain it, it’s not funny’ adage, but I let it slide, cuz you don’t want to get on her bad side, and believe me, Buster, both of her sides are BAD!) – but I have to say, after the weekend getaway we shared on a little tourist-free compound near Shanghai (she can drive a rickshaw like nobody’s beeswax!), I had a new-found respect for her that I just can’t shake. I’m sorry, I tried, but I can’t. I just can’t. She’s my homegirl.

Her performance at the Asian security talks just has to go better than Colin Powell‘s Village People lampoon last year. YMCA? No thank you, I bathe alone, especially around men named “colon.” But, she was still nervous, I could feel it. “Fluffy Cotton Condi,” I said, calling her by my pet name for her, “What exactly are you worried about? Remember Colin last year?” She giggled again. “Yeah, what a fag-” she misspoke, quickly correcting herself, “-gettable purfowmance,” faking a heavy and poorly orchestrated East Coast accent.

Knock ‘em dead, Condles. Go out with a bang!

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