Signing of the Breast

I was invited to a private party at the Rex Cinema and Bar on Friday night with some friends - the evening was supposed to include a private screening of 'Paris is Burning', which is one of my all time favourite documentaries... however, it unfortunately never happened ....

Apparently, there was another private screening taking part earlier in the evening, for Gene Simmons' Rock School.

Now, this screening was supposed to be finished by about 9.30pm, so that we could get in to the cinema afterwards and watch our film about drag queen 'balls' in New York City, which went on to inspire Madonna's Vogue.

At around 10.45pm (when we were fairly sure we weren't going to see the film), a gaggle of busty women emerged from the cinema, flanking a bloated, coiffured man - Mr Simmons himself.

Now, don't get me wrong - I was a *huge* KISS fan when I was younger. In fact, such a dedicated fan was I that my mother queued for 16 hours to secure myself and my mate tickets to their live rock concert at the Perth Entertainment Centre. And then humiliated me by making me wear cotton wool in my ears during the concert (I mean, as if it wasn't shameful enough having to go to the concert with my mother?! I was only 7 years old, but still!!)

So I was somewhat excited about seeing Gene in the flesh (and what a lot of flesh there was...). The climactic point of the event, however, was when a random woman from within the bar area walked straight up to Gene Simmons and got out her left boob (nipple and all) for him to autograph. What?!! I mean, the man must be in his fifties; is fat and bloated from years of excess, and has a hairstyle that puts Oprah Winfrey to shame!

I have to say though, there was a fleeting moment when I thought I could have asked him so sign my left buttock....