Mekka Lekka Hi Mekka Hiney Holy Fudge Yes

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I think writing up my reaction to The Pee-Wee Herman Show on Broadway - which in case you didn't know and thought yesterday's PW-a-thon was some sort of fit I was having, I saw last evening - is next to impossible. I geek out over a lot of things on this here blog, but this was about as close to a religious experience as this here atheist ever expects to have. I was sitting in the front row, y'all. The front row. I could've leaned forward and touched the hem of Pee-Wee's gray suit and forever healed all of my ailments. A single bead of sweat could've fallen from between Miss Yvonne's breasts and given me the gift of eternal life. Cowboy Curtis could've bent me over Chairry and ridden me like his favorite rodeo bitch. That's how close I was. It was delirium. As soon as Pee-Wee hit the stage I lost all sense. Ninety minutes later I blinked and they'd all evaporated like a fine mist of David Beckham's toilet water (if you've seen the show that makes sense) before my eyes, and the only way I knew what I'd experienced was real was that my face hurt from the smiling. It was Nirvana with a boner. It will always be one of the greatest experiences of my life, and that's some blind hyperbole I'll stand behind. It was if the past 20 years of my life just up and disappeared and I'd stepped through my TV set like Pee-Wee steps into Magic Screen. I don't know that it'd mean as much to someone that didn't spend the formative years of their childhood chanting the words "I know you are but what am I?" with the fervor of a brainwashed zealot, but that's what I am and I'm just ecstatic that I got my moment in the true Heaven, where angels have pterodactyl wings and a choir of hunky stereotypes mill about, singing hallelujah and same difference, amen.
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