By Steve Weinstein
By Devon Maloney
By Tessa Stuart
By Alison Flowers
By Albert Samaha
By Jesse Jarnow
By Eric Tsetsi
By Raillan Brooks
All woman, Joan Rivers was an acidic riot at Fez last week, trashing the late Bob Hope ("At least now his wife knows where he is"), savaging Katharine Hepburn ("a mean dyke"), and expressing astonishment that her daughter Melissaturned down Playboy. ("I told her, 'Ask for another $100,000 and show pussy!' I'm still paying off her wedding, and they've been divorced for a year and a half!") Joan seemed a little more sympathetic to the newly separated Liza Minnelli and David Gest. "I hope she has eggs left," she said, meaning David.
All kinds of oddballs mate in the cliché-subverting puppet musical Avenue Q, which is an utter delighta Sesame Streetspoof with heart and dirty words, true love and Republican bashing. The theater-queen puppet is a definite standout, but let's not forget the masturbating Web surfer or the slutty singer from the Girls Gone Wild series. It's all so cleverly done it leaves you beaming, if a little more conscious about what you stick yourhand up at night.
Speaking of which, Scottone of the supposedly more wholesome finalists on that Cupid TV showturned up the other day on a local cable dating program, saying he has a stash of sex toys and his ideal first date ends in a hand job. That sounds wholesome enough to me. God bless his penis.
And now, I'm off to finally finish up my Easter candy. Those are my Peeps!