You're Not One of Those Billy Elliot Ballet Fags...

...but you find yourself doing some serious Grand Jetés through the parking lot of the Kravis Center in West Palm Beach because you're late to see one of your Campy friends from L.A. strut his stuff with Lou Diamond Phillips in Camelot. Unfortunately this particular Musicdull happens to be one of your least favorite shows (and honey, that's one damn long list of dreck) and you actually find yourself wishing that Camp Beverly Pills had prescribed you House Seats to some sleep-inducing ballet instead. But one of the side-effects of an evening spent with Camp Beverly Pills is that you always have a fantastically crazy night full of hazy memories and horrific hangovers. So the good news is, even if the show is horrendous, you won't even remember!

When you arrive to the empty lobby and the Door Nazi informs you that you are (surprise, surprise) late and that the opening number has started and you will have to wait twelve minutes before he can show you to your Nap (oops, you meant to write Seat). So, of course, you immediately head to the bar and guzzle down a few light beers (you learned long ago never to order an over-priced Straight Cocktail, especially from a female bartender). Anyway. Eventually the Door Nazi shows you where you'll be taking your two hour and forty minute snooze, and, luckily for you, the Overly Tanned Corpse next to you seems to snore you awake just before all of Camp Beverly Pills' scenes. It's as if he's some (barely) living Snooze Alarm. Meanwhile, your friend is wonderful! He has some ridiculously funny role where he gets to be Sir Lance-a-hunk's one eyed bitch and every time he comes out on stage you burst into inappropriate laughter. It's okay since the only people you really annoy are the actors because everybody else surrounding you is way too hard of hearing to be disturbed. In fact, the audience dialog is hands down more entertaining than anything Alan Jay Lerner wrote in the original book to Camelong, and is definitely the most enjoyable part of seeing the show. It's absolutely amazing at how LOUD these Deaf Seniors will speak to one another during the performace, "WHAT DID RITCHIE VALENS JUST SAY?" And then the slightly less audibly impaired spouse will literally repeat, VERY LOUDLY, word-for-word what Lou Diamond Phillips just said. The entire repetitive experience reminds you of one of those bad cell phone connections where you can actually hear your own voice echo everything that you just said.

Half the audience either leaves or possibly actually dies of old age during the intermission. However, after a bathroom break followed by a chaser of two more light beers you are ready to suffer through till the bitter end. And it is sooooooo worth it, because Camp Beverly Pills is actually cast in dual roles where he has one absolutely wonderful, scene-stealing final moment with Lou Diamond Phillips. Your friend informs King Arthur about something which is probably very touching but you are much too busy beaming with pride to listen to any of the inane dialogue. Not to mention the fact that you are counting down the moments till you can order a proper Gay Cocktail from an inproper Gay Bartender.

You wait at the Stagedoor for Camp Beverly Pills to come out and greet his adoring fans, but they're all 101 and old enough to remember the original La Bamba Boy when he was a big star back during The Great Depression. Unfortunately, you are also old enough to remember the not-so-recent moive. But only on VHS, not Beta. So you shake LDP's hand and give him some blah-blah-blah about how great his Slow was (oops, you meant to write Show. Really.) And then you head over to the Holiday Inn and drop off your overnight bags (don't judge, you had to bring several wardrobe changes just in case). Then the two of you quickly head down to the tragic Hotel Bar where the Cast & Crew is already busy liquoring it up. After a few Stoli O & Soda's you find yourself yapping about being dumped by Blonde Beard and, probably because he's a good friend and knows you need to be taken out for a night of debauchery, or possibly because he's sick of hearing you whine, Camp Beverly Pills quickly gathers an impromptu group of Camelot Fags to take you out for some Gay Cocktails in Floriduh.

Your first Gay stop is, get this, in a strip mall. But the boy following the GPS Voice Prompts assures you that there will be plenty of stripping. You roll your eyes as you are practically dragged into stupid Cupid's. Only when you arrive the doorman informs you that there is, get this, a $20 cover charge. You instantly push past him to peek inside and inform everybody that it is midnight on a Friday night (oops, make that Saturday) and there is nobody in the club. You tell Camp Beverly Pills that there ain't no way that you're paying $20 to go into an empty bar just to talk to The Camelot Fags because you can do that for free at the hotel bar. They, of course, agree, and then you all head over to a little bar called Roosters which instantly conjures up a disturbing image of The Cock filled with older, more Sun Damaged boys. Only when you get there, it's much, much worse. It's kind of tragic in that way where you instantly thank the Gay Gods that you are fortunate enough to live in the Gay Mecca of NYC where the Crystal Queens have the good sense to buy dental implants after their Meth Mouths set in. But, after throwing a few Gay Cocktails down your (fully toothed) neck, none of this matters much. Because, after all, you are out with Camp Beverly Pills and there is fun to be forgotten!

The next morning you remember nothing after you obviously pushed the GoGo Boy off the stage, but the photos are undeniable and have you absolutely convinced that you definitely had a Gay Old Time. Although you weren't doing any actual ballet, the photographic proof of your dancing is definitely about as gay as it gets. That, coupled with the circumstantial evidence of seven mysteriously crumpled dollar bills that you find shoved down your underwear during your morning pee. But you digress. When you emerge from your shower you find Camp Beverly Pills giggling in front of his computer and you are completely horrified when he says, "This is my favorite video from last night..." Ugh. Apparently you are True(ly) more of a Spandau Ballet Fag than a Billy Elliot Ballet Fag. Anyway...