Amuse-Biatch Shudders to Remember the Most Earth-Shattering Moment in the History of This Blog

Possums, for the past few months, we have been hiding a dark secret, a secret so traumatic that it very nearly drove us from blogging forever!!!

“Could you be more dramatic?” said Miss Xaxa.

Picture it. On account of our work—yes, possums, lilies of the field though we are, even we must toil and spin to earn our daily pain Poilâne—we were near the Los Angeles location of Tom Colicchio’s restaurant, Craft. We were in the lobby, on the cell phone, in the midst of a v. v. important call, but staring off into the distance, when all at once we saw a cloud, a host of—

Well, not daffodils. Of Top Chef, rather, for it was none other than Padma. Fucking. Lakshmi. Making straight for us.

Our mind raced and reeled. We felt like Ebiatchnezer Screwge. Was this the Ghost of Bitchmas Past or merely an undigested bit of potato?

But no, ‘twas She, clad all in black, and moving smoothly toward us like an avenging angel, a great Hindu goddess of destruction. And in that moment, the warp and woof of World Wide Web was rent and ripped, and a small frisson of the apocalypse overcame us.

“Oh, lighten up,” said Miss XaXa. “She was probably just coming back from lunch with Tom Colicchio at Craft, on her way to see a lawyer or an agent.”

But really, possums. We wondered if our rather broad brow would suddenly act like the news crawl at the bottom of the screen on CNN, broadcasting our thoughts. Did she know? Could she know? Would she know she was in the presence of half an Amuse-Biatch?

Our eyes locked but for an instant. As a creature of flesh and blood, she was more beautiful than as a pattern of pixels on a screen. Would the eyes betray us, tell her all, confess our biatchy, blogging sins? Was that the slightly resinous scent of guilt trapped in our nostrils?

“Jesus Christ!” said Miss XaXa, “Catholic much?”

But, fortunately, the only look we detected on her face was that of someone who has been recognized. Such is the price of fame. She walked past us and toward the elevator, and we were once again safe—safe to biatch, safe to blog, safe to be.

And so, possums, hey, hey, the Biatch is back.

Amuse-Biatch Emerges from Gayhab to Make Amends, Inaugurates Week of "Sweetness and Light"

As you know, possums, we have been spending some time of late at the Rainbow Springs Gayhab, and it was with some excitement that we looked at our correspondence over the weekend, eager to have news and support from the outside world.

Instead, we found this letter from a longtime fan, who writes to us periodically:

Just wondering if anyone told you today that you have no talent. If not, let me be the first.

Come on losers...how about some personal information? Maybe something like who you write for. Oh, that's right. You can't get a paying gig. That's ok. Just keep trashing people in anonymity and continue to live in obscurity. I think that's best for everyone concerned.

Have a spiteful day!

In addition to this fine and cheering note written from banjovial888@yahoo.com, our ironically anonymous fan also left this comment:

The "authors" of this site are perfect representations of the little kids who got picked on who grow up with chips on their shoulders, lashing out at anyone more skilled, successful or recognizable than they are.

My assumption is that after being rejected by legitimate media sources, they instead chose the anonymity of a blog to spit their venom. And such arrogance!

At least we can rest easier knowing their audience is so small to render their diatribes harmless. Except of course to those they are harming with their words. No matter how thick a person's skin is, no one likes to feel hated. Although something tells me these insignificant "writers" would rather by hated than ignored.

Well no more hate for me...it's time to ignore. Maybe they'll go away and leave the writing to real professionals.

Now, possums, our old, unenlightened selves would have focussed on the grammatical and typographical errors, and speculated about the identity of this anonymous fan who puts so much stock in "real professionals" writing and who once signed herself, "Mom."

But not our new selves. No, sirree. Frightened by the possibility that anonymous fans such as this one might indeed ignore us, we looked deep within our hearts and realized this fan might just have a point. Accordingly, we have resolved to have a whole week of what, if memory serves, Audrey Hepburn referred to as "sweetness and light" in Roman Holiday. All week long, we will say only nice, positive, completely heterosexual things. From now on, we are all kittens and goodness. Cross our newly lightened hearts.