Mad Props

So my new Motorola Razr phone arrived promptly and with a smile by my friendly neighborhood FedEx delivery man yesterday (I just plugged your company, now gimmie yo' money FedEx). Can I just say how excited I am? This might sound completely redneck of me, but I believe it to be the most wondrous and amazing piece of technology that I or this world has ever seen apart from the Bedazzler and the Hoveround (grannies in unison yell across the Grand Canyon...."Hoveround...Hoveround...Hoveround"). So I decided to go online and read what the rest of the world was saying about the Razr. Surely the whole technology industry is abuzz about this great new invention? To my chagrin, I found that there were a lot of people talking smack about my fabulous, pint-sized, defenseless little phone. That's when I realized that the only people who write bad reviews on the internet are anal retentive assholes (TripAdvisor reviewers: you know who you are). So I say to hell with them. While it is true that the Razr can't compete with the Blackberry's and Palm Pilot's of the world, I find that for a simple soul such as myself, it is just the thing. So like a desperate gal-pal trying to clear the name of a slutty friend, I'm here to set the record straight. The Razr is awesome! However, I was disappointed upon the realization that they call it the Razr because of its slim physique, not because you can shave your legs, armpits and the occasional bikini line with it. In that case, I'll just use my Venus for personal hygiene and leave the calls, texts, drunken dials, and cracking open of my housekeeper's skull to my Razr. I might talk on it even when no one is on the other line. I'll go out in public and scream important sounding things into the mouthpiece like "Sell all of the shares, pronto!!" and "Whatever you do Doctor Harper, you must save the hand!!! Those hands are worth millions. For the love of God please save the haaaaand!!!!!" I might even get portable earphones and a mouthpiece so that I can join the rest of the world in looking like a total Schizophrenic freak who talks and laughs to myself. Yes, I've only had it for a day, but my Razr is my new favorite prop. Not only does it make me look cool, but it will undoubtedly make me the most popular girl in Mrs. Dellberger's third grade class (eat your heart out Suzy Williams). In all seriousness, what is it about a prop that empowers us and allows us to take on a new persona? A cool phone, a cowboy hat, fake lashes, a cigar, a wig, funky sunglasses. The addition of just one of these elements not only changes us, but also changes the way others perceive us. I think that's why there is this obsession with Halloween and any other occasion where you get to dress in costume. You get to become someone else. You step outside of your boundaries and do things differently. And the funny thing is, it doesn't even take a head-to-toe costume. One simple prop, and all of a sudden, you're workin' a whole new attitude.

I have a friend. I know it's hard to believe, but I do. This friend of mine, I'll call her Lady Chablis. Though she is from Savannah, she is not an African-American drag queen, but she is, however, a lady, and a lady who may or may not drink Chablis at that, so the title works, got it? A few months back Lady Chablis revealed her magical new prop during a night out on the town in Charleston (I repeat, I am talking about a girl, not a drag queen. Keep your mind out of the gutter). Her prop of choice was a kickass red fedora. Now Lady Chablis (LC) could easily be considered the whitest of all white girls. But once she placed the red fedora (with a complimentary sexy outfit of course) atop that bright blonde head of hers, she transformed into a full-fledged divalicious femme fatale that could easily rival any nubian princess or trust fund baby we might see out that night. As she entered the club, we were but minions trailing in her golden-laden footsteps. Once she took her rightful position in a center banquette, we gathered around her. It was as if the entire place was possessed, including us. The patrons were drunk and bedeviled, not by the drinks in their hands, but by the sultry vibes that were radiating off the mysterious lady in the red hat. Suddenly, a bumpin' song came on that suited LC's liking and she retreated to the dance floor. The entire place got "crunk", the ladiez wuz givin' shout-outs on her killa' hat, tha fellaz wuz buyin' shots tryin' they best to get a bump n' grind on with Mrs. Chablis. The deejay even flagged down one of the minions to find out who "ya shorty in the red hat" was. Everyone was mesmerized. For a moment I thought I heard Madonna's "Who's That Girl" playing faintly in the background. As for the rest of us, there was no hope. We were but common folk. Mere pheasants of style and class all put to shame by LC and her infamous red fedora. And so that is how it went. But the night lives on. Forever encased in the tombs of infamy and all because of that fabulous chapeau rouge. The last I heard that fedora was seen somewhere up in Chicago.

Unfortunately, not everyone knows how to use their props properly. On the exact same night, just as the red fedora witnessed its heyday, another prop was going terribly wrong. Enter, Goggle Boy. You guessed it, an otherwise cute boy decided it would be a good idea to show up at a bar wearing goggles. At first we thought it was an ode to the Olympic skiing events going on at the time, but to our horror, we realized the unthinkable. You got it! Dude just wanted to wear his goggles and by God if he didn't wear them the entire evening! Why? I don't know. Did he truly love his goggles that much? Or was he just channeling the omnipresent spirit of Greg Louganis that lives inside all of us? We'll never know. I do recall a story about trying to take the attention away from himself so that his "not-so-fortunate" buddy (a total hottie who needed no help) could score some chicks. Did it work? Not really. Unless you consider six girls laughing at you and screaming "Goggle Boy" not getting attention. However, it was negative attention and we did give his friend a lap dance, so fundamentally, his plan worked. Still, for future reference to all you potential propsters, stay away from the goggles! Stick to unique yet fabulous props.

Speaking of fabulous, it just so happens that I will be attending a bachelorette party this weekend. I know I am rambling on and on, but since I am going to a bachelorette party, I feel it is my prop-triotic duty to salute one of our finest. A prop that deserves some major respect. No I'm not talking about Old Glory or the Crucifix. I'm talking about the prop of all props: the condom encrusted bachelorette wedding veil. The bachelorette veil is one of the most highly regarded multi-tasking props known to man, erhh, woman. It scores free drinks and shots for the bride-to-be and her friends. It snags attention and kisses from cute and not-so-cute boys. It pays the cover charges at most bars except for the ones where total jack-f*cks work the door. It also allows you to act like a crazy untouchable whore yet it gives you the essence of having a virginal mysticism about you. It is for these reasons that it has always been and shall remain the ultimate prop. Now don't be upset if you don't have a special occasion to rock your prop. The beauty of props is that they are best suited for life's unexpected occasions. So be a rebel. Wear that pink boa to your grandma's funeral. Put on your chaps for church next Sunday. Take that pimp cane and your best gangsta limp when you go to get that wart lanced off. But most importantly, remember these words: Life is but a stage full of props. Use them to your advantage.

Oh yeah, did I mention that Blackberry's are sluts?

So you're ready to "get your prop on" are you? Well here are a few props that you may or may not want to try out. That just depends on how you feel about wrapping a dead skunk around your neck. (Make sure to click on the pink links for details)

- A fake cubic zirconia engagement ring with "Always & Forever, Tookie" inscribed on it.

- Drug store sunglasses you bought from a drunk hooker for $2.00.

- A happy meal box as your purse. Attempt to use McFries as currency.

- The Bedazzler.

- A can of air freshener that you strategically spray at your ass every so often.

- A test tube full of your own urine (or someone else's) in case anyone needs "samples."

- A Spongebob Squarepants temporary tattoo.

- A cross-your-heart bra worn outside of your shirt. Every time you tell someone anything, you have to end the story with "Cross my heart!"

- A Monopoly "Get out of jail free" card along with the "top hat" gamepiece (Extra points if you actually wear the top hat).

- Your best Paula Abdul impersonation - "Ahh do-do ya love me, do-do ya love me? Now tell me baby......."

- A copy of the book "Women Without Sex: The truth about female impotence and other sexual problems."

- Fossilized turtle poop.

- An outfit from the new Janet Reno Collection at Kohl's.

- Fake man-hands (to be worn with J. Reno outfit).

- Zahara Jolie-Pitt a.k.a. Arm Candy.

- A sexually confused dog named Baxter that wears a Kate Spade rain slicker.

- A posse of angry gay male dancers.

- A Skip-Bo card set.

- Socks stuffed in your bra (can be substituted with big fake plastic boobies given to you by a Liza Minelli lookalike).

- A bow and arrow with a matching Robin Hood cap.

- An eighties boombox you carry on your shoulder that plays Eddie Murphy's "Party All The Time" on repeat.

- Jazz hands.

- Turd on a string to keep the spirits away (Did you hear that Greg Louganis?)

- A vial of Billy Bob Thornton's blood and an antique chest of drawers to scare him off.

- A Fe-mullet (to be worn with the following).

- A WWF Championship belt from 1986 and a shirt that says, "Hulk Hogan is my bitch."

- Chuck Norris.

- A dollop of Daisy.

- Old Powerball tickets and unanswered prayers.

- A Janet Jackson Rhythm Nation Tour concert tee.

- 2 pricks of spider legs, the eyeballs of a troll, a pint of vampire's blood, a dash of witch's dandruff, a hand full of moth's wings and a lock of a virgin's hair.

- Girl Scout patches. Proudly tell your mom and dad, "I've gotten one for every guy I nailed!"

- Lance Snack Crackers. Preferably Van-O-Lunch or Cheese on Wheat.

- A carton of American Spirit Cigarettes, dirty fingernails, a five o'clock shadow, and a headache the size of Texas.

- A raging herd of My Little Ponies and a rope to "lasso em' in."

- A portable karaoke machine with a fat woman on the mike singing "Total Eclipse of the Heart."

- An empty bottle of liquor in one hand, your car keys in the other.

- A full bottle of liquor in one hand, 35 pain killers in the other.

- A tisket, A tasket, a green and yellow basket.

- Louis Vuitton. No not the handbag, I'm talking about ole' Louie Vuitton that lives two houses down.

- A killer pas de bourre- one step, two, and turn - patada, patada- shimmy and turn and pas de bourre.

And when you're done pas de bourre'ing, you can put to good use the plethora of other props out there in the universe. So tell me about some funny props you've used lately, or in other words, (ghetto voice) Gimmie some props bitches.