In the sleepy little ‘burb of Wilmington, North Carolina … lemme tell you … the freaks come out at night.  Especially on All Hallows Eve.  Typically, I am unfazed by any sort of costume, wig or garish face paint.  I am even less impressed by drag queens – who usually are wearing all three of those items. 

But if you’re from Podunk Center, Kansas … running into an actual “chick with a dick” at a Carolina bar can be somewhat intimidating.  Especially on Halloween.   When I went out a week ago – I thought it would be fun to see the sights in Downtown Wilmington.  It’s a college town, so kids were dressed to impress.  And by impress, I mean half-dressed.  All the guys were boxers or Chippendales.  All the girls appeared to be slutty French maids.  Had I known those particular costumes were all the rage, I probably would have dressed up as a slutty French boxer.

A couple of friends joined my buddy Gene and me for a night out on the town.  And, unfortunately, none of us were dressed up.  But we were determined to make the most of the evening at hand.  That is … until we ran in to Tara.  

Tara was the hostess with the mostest at a bar that had a line out the door.  I naturally assumed this was the place to be … uh, unless you were from rural Kansas.  Tara was pleasant, jovial and stuffed in to an outfit about four sizes too small.  Maybe it was for effect … or maybe there was a sale at Corsets ‘R’ Us. 

Tara sized all four of us up and down and then unleashed all holy hell on my friend’s friends.  How Gene and I came out unscathed, I’ll never know.  (Well, actually I do know.  Gene looks ferocious.  And I pretended to be deaf.  Works every time.) 

Even worse, Tara was holding a microphone and broadcasting her shtick to the masses.  Now, if I had a nickel for every time I’d seen a drag queen deep throat a microphone, I’d be a rich man.  But when she did it in front of Gene’s friends, they were appalled.  

And then Tara went in for the kill. 

She started groping both of them relentlessly.  It was painful to watch.  It must be a right of passage or something.  If you’ve never been manhandled (and I use that term loosely) by a zaftig drag queen, you haven’t lived.  These two looked like they were about to die of embarrassment, however.

The night never really recovered after that.  Gene and I proceeded to play pool while Gene’s newlywed friends sat shell-shocked on a couch most of the evening.  I can’t wait to see if they comment on this blog.  Chances are, they probably won’t for fear Tara will find out where they live.