If there is anything in the world that I hate, it's cleaning. I mop
and mop and mop. It's disgusting how much mopping occurs in this household!
If daddy only knew that his little 'Magenter' was being forced to mop and
mop and mop, ugh! No, he'd just talk about our duty to the Old fucking
Queen. Am I the only one here who thinks it's wrong to make someone of my
stature clean like this? Even Riff knows his duty to the queen; he knows
his duty to the long line of generals before him. I think he secretly
resents this whole business. I remember when we were children, when the
other boys at the academy would play soldiers, silent Riff would be in the
basement with his chemicals. He's a science boy and always will be. It was
so sad when daddy died, and Riff shaved the top of his head in perfect-
ugh! Will you look at my hands? They're calloused and gross! My nails have
all broken. What happened to the soft perfect hands of Transsexual? Gone.
Gone, gone, gone! Everything's gone! This stupid Earth. I still can't
adjust to that idiotic sun! I have grown brown with this sun. Brown! Uglier
than the dress of a servant girl! I still paint myself white, I may be a
maid but I still have my fucking pride! Riff tells me to stop pouting,
"We'll be home soon Magenter," he tells me, with a voice so much like my
father's I want to scream.
Earth's taking its toll on him too. Don't think I don't see the circles around his eyes. I notice the paranoia, the shakiness. Sure it's nice when he's got the junk; I mean the sex has never been better, but he uses it all too quickly. It's awful to watch my Riff Raff shaking and screaming and shivering, always in the lab with the prince. What do they do in there anyways? "You wouldn't understand darling," he says. Sure I would understand! I'm not a weirdo genius like Riff, but I'm no fucking idiot. The prince, I hate the prince! It was bad enough to do this stupid undercover crap, but even worse what he makes us do. It was fun at first, the 'fetish parties', the orgies, it was all good fun. Daddy would never let me partake in any at home, uptight bastard. All that changed, his fascination shifted from sex to sex with Columbia.
It's hard for me to talk about Columbia, she brought about the change, the shift in Frank's fascination. And yet, she's Columbia, my lover, my sister, I might even say my friend. Who else is better to take your anger out on? If I did those things to anyone else, they would storm out of my room. Not Columbia, no, she squeals with pleasure at every strike, scratch, bite and kick. How can I call her my lover though, if I don't love her? As a matter of fact, I hate her! And yet I'm so fond of her. She's the perfect partner, but she brought with her all of the change that I don't like.
Explaining what happened to Frank is impossible for anyone, but I still waste my time trying to. I think it was the movies. Columbia and her weird groupie friends absolutely worshiped American 1950's horror movies. Frank soon was obsessed as well. He changed everyone's appearance to match those silly movies. That was when Riff started wearing the hump and the tuxedo. I was forced out of my comfy, familiar corset and garters into an uncomfortable maid's dress! But the worst was the hair. I can still remember the touch of Frank's perfect, silky, black hair that wooshed around him with every movement. I remember my hair, a jungle of smooth black curls. Riff wouldn't let her touch his, I think she's scared of him anyways. The memory of seeing Frank still haunts me. He emerged from his bedroom and I nearly gasped with horror. She had chopped off most of his hair, and the remainder was curled into cheap ugly horrors all around his head. I was next. She turned it red and frizzed it out even more. I was horrified, but what was I to do? Revolt because of my hair? I mean, I'm shallow, but I'm not that shallow.
Sometimes I dream about a 50's horror movie starring us. Some cheesy couple getting a flat tire and coming up to our castle for help. Lightning storms and vampires and the ultimate: the prince creating a man! It's such an insane dream. Riff and I storm in dressed up in stupid gold uniforms, my hair sticking up like the bride of Frankenstein, mocking Frank's obsession. Riff holds a phoney laser beam and.That's where I wake up; I wake up with the urge to kill, the urge to kill and go the hell home. But also the urge to take Columbia with me. It's a silly dream I know, but dreams can be insightful.
Earth's taking its toll on him too. Don't think I don't see the circles around his eyes. I notice the paranoia, the shakiness. Sure it's nice when he's got the junk; I mean the sex has never been better, but he uses it all too quickly. It's awful to watch my Riff Raff shaking and screaming and shivering, always in the lab with the prince. What do they do in there anyways? "You wouldn't understand darling," he says. Sure I would understand! I'm not a weirdo genius like Riff, but I'm no fucking idiot. The prince, I hate the prince! It was bad enough to do this stupid undercover crap, but even worse what he makes us do. It was fun at first, the 'fetish parties', the orgies, it was all good fun. Daddy would never let me partake in any at home, uptight bastard. All that changed, his fascination shifted from sex to sex with Columbia.
It's hard for me to talk about Columbia, she brought about the change, the shift in Frank's fascination. And yet, she's Columbia, my lover, my sister, I might even say my friend. Who else is better to take your anger out on? If I did those things to anyone else, they would storm out of my room. Not Columbia, no, she squeals with pleasure at every strike, scratch, bite and kick. How can I call her my lover though, if I don't love her? As a matter of fact, I hate her! And yet I'm so fond of her. She's the perfect partner, but she brought with her all of the change that I don't like.
Explaining what happened to Frank is impossible for anyone, but I still waste my time trying to. I think it was the movies. Columbia and her weird groupie friends absolutely worshiped American 1950's horror movies. Frank soon was obsessed as well. He changed everyone's appearance to match those silly movies. That was when Riff started wearing the hump and the tuxedo. I was forced out of my comfy, familiar corset and garters into an uncomfortable maid's dress! But the worst was the hair. I can still remember the touch of Frank's perfect, silky, black hair that wooshed around him with every movement. I remember my hair, a jungle of smooth black curls. Riff wouldn't let her touch his, I think she's scared of him anyways. The memory of seeing Frank still haunts me. He emerged from his bedroom and I nearly gasped with horror. She had chopped off most of his hair, and the remainder was curled into cheap ugly horrors all around his head. I was next. She turned it red and frizzed it out even more. I was horrified, but what was I to do? Revolt because of my hair? I mean, I'm shallow, but I'm not that shallow.
Sometimes I dream about a 50's horror movie starring us. Some cheesy couple getting a flat tire and coming up to our castle for help. Lightning storms and vampires and the ultimate: the prince creating a man! It's such an insane dream. Riff and I storm in dressed up in stupid gold uniforms, my hair sticking up like the bride of Frankenstein, mocking Frank's obsession. Riff holds a phoney laser beam and.That's where I wake up; I wake up with the urge to kill, the urge to kill and go the hell home. But also the urge to take Columbia with me. It's a silly dream I know, but dreams can be insightful.