NY Mirror

Meanwhile, Matt Drudge clearly believes in just shooting the messenger. After I wrote that a new book outs him, the gonzo journalist dropped my column as a direct link from his Web site—but he left the author of the book up as a link! Days later, he finally dumped her too—and now we've both been punished by the guy who'll seemingly throw any story against the wall to see if it'll stick.

Another lovable kook, Bijou Phillips, once told me I should try relaxing on TV, which is like Drew Barrymore instructing you to be monogamous. But I adore the woman, who doesn't bother to censor her feelings, especially if they'll make hot copy. At her Centro-Fly party, Bijou was surprisingly calm and even told me her favorite shot in her Playboy spread is the one where her business is all covered up. But as I left, she started vehemently grabbing for a plate of hors d'oeuvres being carried a whole level below. That's my Bijou!

Finally, I grabbed for some drag brilliance at Bar d'O's fifth-anniversary bash, a mini-Wigstock held at the cozy Village bistro that's the home of raunchy wit and fake tits. "They can't kill us," Holly Woodlawn told me, referring to her Trash revival, as the show— Nothing Like a Dame 2000, but without labia—started and proved her point. In this magical drag act, Sade Pendavis sang sublimely, Flotilla DeBarge ripped into the blues while sitting on audience crotches, Sherry Vine turned Natalie Imbruglia's big song into a lament about finding corn in your poo, Lady Bunny similarly retooled pop hits into riotously filthy anthems ("Plowing me roughly with his dong"), and MC Raven-O commented, "Is Madonna here? She said after that movie, she was gonna do coat check." Naturally, Madonna never made it—she was home taking care of our baby.



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