"Whenever I go into a restaurant, I order both a chicken and an egg to see which comes first"

Wednesday, June 28, 2023

Blaze O'Glory - A New White House Diversity Queen Struts The National Runway

President Biden was under pressure for not doing enough to show the flag – to demonstrate before the American public his commitment to LGBTQ+ rights.  Although he had hired an openly gay Press Secretary, and recruited a transgender woman as one of his key advisors, progressives on the Hill and in the Executive Office Building insisted on more.  

No one could tell that the Press Secretary was gay until she was encouraged to express her pride publicly.  The public health physician on the other hand, needed no introduction or public display.  Despite the earrings, tailored Chanel suit, and page boy, she was as male-looking as a Redskins linebacker. 

The Press Secretary, many gender advocates thought, was too cute and girly girl to be the poster child for the lesbian community.  Yes, her prettiness did counter the tough girl image of Bernal Heights that the Administration sought to avoid.  The White House had demurred when it came to jackboots, flannel shirts, and butch haircuts – but the Press Secretary was not sending the message that these advocates felt was needed in their program to recalibrate the nation’s sexuality.  Not exactly festoons, banners, and flags but something more, well, bold.

Let's End Flannel as a Lesbian Signifier Once and for All

Although the President’s wife counselled him against what she called ‘in your face’ candidates for the position of National Gender Diversity Advisor, he was tempted by his advisors to go rogue.  The media had been all over Drag Queen Storytime much to the delight of the President’s detractors, and it was no time for the President to give in to such retrograde notions.  Proudly putting a real woman – i.e. a sequined, bejeweled, tarted up, super drag queen – front and center as the image and voice of the Administration would finally make the long overdue statement of gender commitment

Of course such a proposition was at first dismissed by the White House.  As much as the President saw gender fluidity as a national priority and appreciated the appeal of the catwalk and spotlighted runways of Vegas and the Castro, he demurred.  The American people were still in denial of their destiny, prisoners of old, outdated, primitive views of sexuality.  There were enough sharp criticisms of the more genial faces of diversity within his Administration to risk the surefire cannonades of the Right if he recruited someone from the sexual avant-garde.

He was surprised, then, when Blaze O’Glory, hottest ticket in South Beach, icon of the glitzy edge of transgenderism, femme fatale, and sublime actress came into the Oval Office.   Here was a gorgeous, full-bodied, even luscious example of Delaware womanhood standing before him in full but tasteful feminine regalia.

He was smitten, blindsided by Blaze’s beauty and allure.  While she was no demure cashmere-sweater-and-string-of-cultured pearls matron from the Main Line, she was no floozy.  Nothing of the seducing hooker about her.  And there before him on the Lincoln desk was her vetted security bio.  Blaze, formerly Jack Bolton, had been a fire fighter in Staten Island Fire Station No. 4, a unit known for its conspicuous bravery and aggressive response to danger.  Bolton had received the highest citation of honor from the Mayor of New York, and went on to be the face of his campaign to revitalize the city. 


As a briefing paper included in Bolton’s dossier suggested, such transformations from macho man to femme was not only not unheard of but common.  There was something about bursting at the seams – the longer a desire for an alternate sexuality was repressed, the more exaggerated its final expression.  Pretty gay boys who went the final yard were too routine to mention, but the radical outing of the likes of Bolton were items of professional interest.

The President couldn’t believe his eyes.  ‘This is a man?’ he said to himself as Bolton extended her hand, lightly scented and perfumed, for a kiss.  Now this, was what he had been looking for since taking office.  All this tamped down, reserved, high-toned sexual duality was missing the point.  If the country was to turn gay, it had to begin now. She was stunning and sexually appealing in the old way – a slight sashay of the hips, a come-hither pout, jangling but tasteful bangles – and the President knew in an instant that she was for him.  Nothing personal of course, faithful to Jill as he was in heart and soul, but in other weather, on golden sand beside turquoise waters, he just might succumb to her charms.

Andreja Pejic And The Rise Of Transgender Models

“Hired”, the President said, initialed the document in front of him, handed it to his Chief of Staff and said, “Get cracking”.

Now, the former Jack Bolton knew nothing about policy, the ins and outs of political diversity, the catfights and internecine squabbles of East and West Wing, and the perennial squabbles on Capitol Hill.  He had been scooped up, recruited, and briefed by one of the President’s closest advisors who had been a frequent patron of Blaze’s club, friend and confidant of its star, and promoter par excellence of this certain to be a hit on Pennsylvania Avenue. So, Blaze, aka Jack, would need considerable briefing and in-service training which, thanks to the President’s imprimatur, he would assume.

Bolton, who never attended college, but who was gifted with a natural intelligence and an uncanny ability to read the room, was a quick study.  He charmed the Cabinet and Presidential aides and advisors no matter where they sat on the gender spectrum.  He was friend to all, easily seductive, persuasive, and genial with all.  At his public introduction to the press corps, he was a stunning success.

Dressed to the nines, not everyone’s cup of tea in his revealing shift and Lady Gaga lipstick, but still within the bounds of propriety and respectable if not good taste.  The applause was loud and heartfelt.  Even the correspondents from the conservative press were charmed, dropped their guard, and the next day wrote glowingly about him/her.

Of course there were the right wing naysayers who shouted ‘tricked out, tarted up fake’, ‘our children’s worst nightmare’, ‘cock and bull story in Dior’ and much more inflammatory, condescending, and hateful invective; but all in all her accession to national office went far more smoothly than anyone had ever thought.  

In fact, she became to President’s go-to advisor on issues totally unrelated to gender.  He wanted her take on Kim Jong Il, for example and carbon admissions.  She was savvy and kind enough to refer the question to her more competent colleagues, and so gained the reputation of being one of the most honest, trustworthy, and loyal members of the Administration.  No knife in the back from her.

As she gained the confidence of all around her, she felt sure enough to edge out of the rather confining persona with which she had gained admission to the Oval Office; and slowly began to revert to her runway self.  The whole White House, Capitol Hill, K Street thing had always been the biggest ticket in vaudeville, especially during the Donald Trump years, so why not test its plasticity – how far could she stretch the truth without censure.  How far could she fool these fools?

And just as Donald Trump had never really wanted the Presidency and turned the whole Washington establishment into the greatest burlesque show on earth, so could she, perhaps without the impact of the former President, but enough to roil the waters, stir up the swamp, and swim in the waters of the Potomac.

It was The Emperor’s New Clothes all over again.  Biden and his advisors saw the new, sparkled, sequined hussy emerging before their eyes but chose not to see it.  She was and would always be the image of White House diversity and commitment to LGBTQ+ causes.  

It was only when the one of the straightest of the straight, a lower echelon aide in a basement office of the Executive Office Building cried foul, did anyone at 1700 take notice; and when they did and saw the pimped, trampy, outrageous figure sashaying up to the Rose Garden podium, they scrambled for cover. Back to demurely cloaked, mildly forthright diversity.  Her firing only accelerated Blaze O’Glory’s South Beach career and before long she was performing in Vegas and LA, a star. 

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