Support Your Local Psychic

• 

Oh no! Fashion designer Bob Mackie is dead. Who is going to make my gown for the Oscars this year?

            I’ll never find another designer as good as Bob. His sense of style helped turn Cher and Diana Ross and many others into divas.

            I always wanted to be a diva. But I didn’t have the chromosome for it. When I was in middle school, Bob made me an outfit that looked like a shower curtain. In high school he made me an outfit that looked like a psylocibin mushroom because I looked like a druggie.

            Later on, I told Bob I wanted an outfit like the one Cher wore for the “If I Could Turn Back Time” music video. That was the one Cher shot on the aircraft carrier.

            It left little to the imagination. There were a whole bunch of sailors with their tongues on the flight deck for that one. I wanted that outfit. But Bob shut me down.

• 

“You don’t have the torso for it, Mr. Al. Plus your belly button is way too hairy. Cher has a long, perfect torso. I’ll make it up to you down the road.”

            “But when Bob? When?”

            True to his word. Bob eventually made good on his promise. Years later when Bob came out with his own line of luggage on the QVC Shopping Network, he used me as a basis for part of his design.

            “Mr. Al, your love handles are perfect for my suitcases.”

            “Thanks Bob. What’s in it for me?”

            “Nothing Al. I told you I would keep you in mind.”

            Bob did get me backstage at the Academy Awards though. There I was with Barbara Streisand, Tina Turner, Bette Midler and Ann-Margret. I always dreamed of Ann-Margret violating me. I’m still dreaming.

• 

Before he died, Bob’s last words to me were these.

            “Mr. Al you are no slave to fashion. I get you into the Academy Awards and you come dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. What is wrong with you?”

            “I know Bob. I’m a walking dress code violation.”

            I’ve been thinking a lot about Bob since he died. I also believe in supporting your local psychic. I really do. Her name is Kamara.

            I had Kamara conduct a séance for me in the parking lot of the Valley Auto Mall. It’s the perfect spot for Kamara and her crystal ball. She held the séance in the back of a 1967 Volkswagen bus that was made out of fiberglass and marijuana.

            Bob got kind of pissed at me for it.

            “Damn Mr. Al, I thought I’d finally get to sleep in up here. And now you got Kamara waking me up.”

• 

“Sorry Bob. Hey Bob, remember when you came up with the designer sketch for Marilyn Monroe’s gown? The one she wore when she sang “Happy Birthday Mr. President” to JFK at Madison Square Garden. It was for some gargantuan Democratic fundraiser.”

            “Of course I remember, you idiot. The whole world remembers. Marilyn’s breathy, sultry delivery went down in the history books.”

            “You ain’t kidding. It was enough to make any horny man, who was at least part pig vote Democrat back then. Even Richard "Tricky Dick" Nixon.”

            “Bob, where did you come up with the idea of that form-fitting, flesh-colored gown? It created the illusion Marilyn was in her birthday suit.”

            “I may be gay Mr. Al, but I have a deep appreciation for the female form.”

• 

“You know Bob, we had a really had a tough time squeezing Marilyn into that gown. It was so tight we had to use KY Jelly to slide it on her.”

            “Is that so Al? I think you’re full of shit.”

            “You’re the one who’s full of shit Bob. You know how they say they used 2,500 rhinestones on Marilyn’s gown? Well, that’s a lie!”

            “How do you know it’s a lie?”

            “Because I was the fool you made superglue the rhinestones on the gown while Marilyn was backstage with JFK. And I only counted 2,398 rhinestones. And JFK nearly took my eye out with a hard-on you bastard.”

            “Can I go back to being dead Mr. Al?”

            “You don’t get to go back to being dead. You already are dead Bob.”

            “Please go away Al.”

• 

“I will, if you do one last thing for me.”

            “You promise, you’ll go way?”

            “Promise Bob.”

            “Okay then. What is it?”

            “Can you put in a good word for me with the man upstairs?”

            “Do I have to?”

            “Yeah, if you don’t want me and Kamara bothering you in the spirit world.”

            “You got it. And stay away from the flesh-tone gowns porky. You’re no Kylie Jenner. They make you look fat.”

            “I could punch you in the nose Bob.”

            “No, you won’t. Not if you want to make it up here pal.”

            “Wait a second. Who’s talking? You don’t sound like Bob? Are you crashing my séance? Who the eff are you?”

            “If I were you, I’d quit while you’re ahead Mr. Al. I’m Bob’s boss. I’m not so sure you’re going to make it up here to the top floor.”