Welcome to The Cabal

From the Comments section of New York Magazine,

August 22, 2010.
Because of course those who spoke up have to be
marginalized as "that crazy cabal
of rabid Johnny Weir fans" since it couldn't
possibly be that people raised legitimate objections
or that NYMag was actually, you know,
wrong about some stuff.
My friend and fellow fan Gail Turley
has covered this thoughtfully and insightfully
on her blog, thus freeing me to respond
with exceptional silliness.

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We interrupt our recent impassioned tilting at windmills and launching of the Ulysses of all letters to the editor to bring you this never-before-revealed, behind-the-scenes look at that dark, mystical, and nebulous network--shrouded in secrecy and spoken of only when reporters get called out for doing stupid shit--known as: The Cabal.

In accordance with pre-Druid custom, The Cabal meets only every third blue moon. Or when we feel like hanging out on Twitter and creating new hashtags #WTFNYMag #tinyunderwearFTW #YoureACar #dontmakemeget mygluegun #sodoesthatmakeJohnnyTheCabalGuy? Here then, in an edited portion of the latest gathering, The Cabal's secret rituals and ancient oaths are revealed for the first time.

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[cue Gregorian chant]

[whispered] Welcome to ... The Cabal.

[The Cabal's Mysterious Central Vortex, known only as The Scribe, has appeared out of nowhere like a mad-sparkly ninja]

We're so glad you've come to join us.

[furtive glances all around]

Did you bring your copy of NYMag? You've torn the pictures out? Preserved the quotes? Excellent. You're just in time. After the initiation--or, in The Cabal's terms, The Insinuation, because of course everything is just implied and hinted at and coated with innuendo--we'll be worshiping the photos while we throw the text onto the bonfire and perform the Dance of the Never-Ending BlueFly Contest.

[chanting continues softly]

Here. Put this on. It is the Tatty Terry Robe of Transcendental Glory. Be sure to tighten it with the attached Pink Chiffon Belt against which your stomach must strain. No, the glue gun goes in the right-hand pocket. Don't forget to put The Rollers in Your Hair.

And now The Eyelashes. Yes, they are the outrageously ridiculous ones The Blessed Mother once wore that make it very hard to keep the red out. Indeed, the very same that Exalted Maestro of Makeup Joey Camasta would never apply to our Ultimate Grand Supreme Master of Onesies and Wearer of Swarovski, Our Most Eminent Keeper of the Triple Axel, Chancellor of Chanel, and Grand Standard-Bearer of the Flip-Off.

[chanting stops]

[hushed tones]

Yes. Him.

[chanting resumes]

Affix the Conversational "Ask-Me-About-My-Cabal!" button to your left lapel. It must be worn at all times to identify you as one of the Fiercely Protective (read: dismissed as completely batshit crazy and therefore arrogantly ignored but hoo boy that might be a mistake. Repeat after me: Condemnant Quod Non Intellegunt--They Condem That Which They Do Not Understand).

Hark! I hear the battle cry of Grindr, The Behemoth!

[chanting ceases]

It is time.

All hail The Cabal! All blessings upon this Grand Encampment of The Cabal's Most Worshipful Watchers of the Weir!

Tonight we have one who wishes to be accepted as An Initiate and who comes bearing the required gifts: A tiny pair of Louboutins, and a tiny Birkin.

[The Cabal murmurs its approval: "OMG that is SO cute! LOVE the color! And those heels! He would totally wear those for another Cass Bird shoot! Quick, somebody twitpic this!"]

And now, O Initiate: You may approach The Altar of Beanie Babies and Porcelain Figurines to offer your gifts to the Lady Gaga and take the Blood Oath.

Use this skate blade to (pretend to) slice your palm (because yuck! We don't really want blood everywhere. It's so hard to clean up. Even with the Wet-Jet Swiffer of Death).

[The Initiate pantomimes cutting. The Wonderful Wizard of Wipes remains at the ready should something unfortunate occur that involves mess.]

And now, the oath:

Do you swear by all that is Glittery and Radiant and Outspoken and Not Bound By Rigid Gender Norms to always speak the truth, to not succumb to peer pressure, to deal with all things fashionably, to refuse to use boxes or labels of any kind, to remember that it's not the falling down but the getting up that matters, and to always live faithfully to your soul? If so, say, "Sparkle! We've got to sparkle!"

[Initiate responds]

Now The Initiate must repeat our Latin vows (which might Seem Random sort of like This kind Of capitaliZation, But if you ReaD tHem All toGether in a sIng-soNgy Gregorian Chant sort oF wAy they fOrm a moSt Poetic Creed):

[The Scribe intones, and The Initate repeats]

Cygnus Inter Anates

[He Is a] Swan Among Ducks

Omnis Qvi Corvscat Est Or

All That Glitters Is Gold

Nvnqvam Vestimvs

We Never Clothe

Ego Te Provoco

I Provoke You

Esto Quod Es

Be What You Are

Ex Malo Bonum

[Create] Good Out of Evil

Fac Fortia Et Patere

Do Brave Deeds and Endure

Flectere Si Nequeo Superos, Achaeronta Movebo

If I Cannot Move Heaven, I Will Raise Hell

And finally:

Fiat Panis!

Let There Be Bread!

[The Most High Baker of Both Bread and Cupcakes for the Pain brings forth the Loaf of Bread into Which "LV" Has Been Stamped on Every Slice. All share the bread]

[The Scribe continues]

And now, O Initiate, you shall receive the Mark of the Diva ...

[The Scribe stamps The Initiate's hand with the double-C Chanel logo]

... And The Big, Fat, Politically Incorrect Crystal-Coated Fox-Fur Russian Hat (Also Available in Faux for Conscientious Objectors).

[The Hat is placed on The Initiate's head while The Initiate admires it with pursed lips in the surrounding Phalanx of Mirrors]

And now, Grindr, The Behemoth, Most Puissant Sovereign Grand Commander of the Army of Weir, do you accept This Initiate as an Illustrious Intern of the Fashion Brigade?

[Grindr speaks]

Guuuuurrrrrlllll!

[The Scribe turns to another of The Cabal]

O Most Fearsomely Well-Spoken JohnnysMonster, Keeper of Hashtags and Dweller Next to But Not Really In the Gutter: Bring forth The Crockpot!

[The Initiate receives a miniature Crockpot to be worn on the Pink Chiffon Belt]

Welcome! You are now one of us! Join in our refrain:

[All chant]

Think You Spicy But From Fat It Down!

[The ceremony concludes as everyone tosses back a Bellini and shouts "Cocaine!" randomly for three hours straight while dancing around the bonfire to "Poker Face" and "Bad Romance."]

(A "cabal"? Really? That just totally made me lol. #LolAndCabalRhymeFTW.)

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Twitter voting roundup!

Vote here for Johnny to win "Follow Me."

Current rank: #1

16 voting days remaining.

Vote here for Johnny to win "Sexiest Twitter"!

Current rank: #3

10 voting days remaining.

Vote here for Johnny to win "Mr. Twitter"!

Current rank: #3

but we're closing in on Michael Jackson... (?)
6 voting days remaining.

Vote here for Johnny to win "Best of Twitter"!

Current rank: #4

(Wow! He surpassed President Obama!)
6 voting days remaining.

Vote here for Vanya and BonBon

to win "Best Pets" (awwwww....).

Current rank: #8

6 voting days remaining.

Vote here for Gail Turley's blog
"WheresMyKoppy" to win "Best Blog"
Current rank: #7
23 voting days remaining.

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Hey! Johnny will be choosing the winner
of a virtual styling session with him
and a $500 shopping spree

from BlueFly.com ... um ... any minute now ... !

Stay tuned! More info here!

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Special thanks to all the #Twingles who attended the
recent meeting of The Cabal on Twitter
and provided endless inspiration.
Very special thanks to Debora Walsh, Ninja Girl,
and my own NicoFierce for your exceptional brilliance
in the face of really stupid stuff.

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Coming soon: More in the series
of translated interviews from the Mook Book
courtesy of the fabulous Akiko Nakata!

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copyright 2010 / Binky and the Misfit Mimes / Lynn V. Ingogly / all rights reserved