Thursday

Terror on the highway


I have mentioned my upcoming visit to my Doctor, and I know you've been worried sick about it.  Thanks for asking. I was listening to The Marshall Tucker Band and cleaning my toenails with a Bowie knife when I awoke with a shudder!  How did I know The Marshall Tucker Band?  Why would I touch (or for that matter - recognize) a Bowie knife?  Why would my toenails have anything but lavender talcum powder and cashmere fluff on them?  What a hideous way to start the day.  I glanced at the clock 7:58 am. Am I still in the nightmare?  I set the alarm for 10:30, and I never wake-up early.  This day has horror written on it already.  After the three S's (shit shower shave) I dress in loose fitting clothes and set out.  One needs loose clothing because the nurses are always pulling sleeves up and down, pants legs the same.  I always offer to completely undress at the weigh-in scale (we all know they want it) but they pretend to have no interest.  Back to my tale of woe.  I get in the car and head out.  It is a sunny day, but strangely cold.  There is a wicked wind blowing towards me, as if to say 'no kabuki - danger danger - go back home'.  kabuki does not scare easily, so I pay no heed.  I turn on the radio "Hi it's the Electric Cafe.  Who am I speaking to?" Obviously a talkative DJ.  "Hey, its Sonny, I'm working outside in Ashburn, could ya play 'Simple Man' by Lynyrd Skynyrd for me and the guys?" a country boy inquired. "Sure. I'd love to, what are you and the guys doing today?" the nosy lady DJ had to ask.  "Well, we're workin outside and I'm all covered in mud.  It ain't pretty" Sonny answered.  Dear readers, the power window had almost completely closed on my neck before my fingers found Duran Duran playing on another staion.  I was barely 10 minutes outside of my little gated-community and there had already been an attempt on my life!  It was by me - but little details are best ignored in times of crisis - as they will just slow you down.  Now with heightened senses and alert to all possible threats, I made it safely to the Doctors' office.  Relieved to be safely at my destination I headed for the door.  The Doctors' office was packed, like Lady Gaga was giving away jewelery or something.  People everywhere, standing room only.  Was I getting an award?  Did they need me to speak?  I hadn't prepared anything but was ready for a 'these are the times that try mans' soul' impromptu speech.  Probably about 20 minutes.  (Any longer and their little eyes glaze over.)  I was touched by the teary red-eyes and sniffling.  These people were overcome with joy, and I had yet to utter a word.  Someone sneezed and my reality shattered.  These were sick people!  Dozens of them!  In my Doctors' office!  Aren't there laws?  Don't they have any common sense?  Stay home and let the normal people conduct their medical business in safety and private.  As it should be.  I approached the receptionist, I noticed she had masks.  "May I have a mask?" I asked sweetly.  "Are you coughing and sneezing?" She asked back . "Not yet" I answered.  "No" was her icy reply.  "I'll be back as soon as I start coughing" I stated, turned and went to sit down.  I menatally pictured her with phlegm in her hair.  Some contagious invalid offered me their seat and I took it gladly.  Don't want to wear myself out standing and end up like these poor souls.  I looked at the woman next to me.  She had no eyebrows, surely a horrible condition ails her.  I clenched my sphincter and tried to breath little, clean air breaths.  Her cell-phone rang.  sort of.  Her ring-tone was crickets and frogs.  I knew it was a signal to the others.  I tensed, ready to strike first - the receptionist called me up to her counter of germs, and ushered me inside the sterile sanctity of the examination room.  When I finally departed (my doctor takes forever), the waiting room was empty.  Even the receptionist was gone, her desk-of-disease deserted.  Their plot had failed, again, due in no small part to my cunning mind and lightning fast reflexes.  There is a lesson here people, I'm just not sure what it is.  I am pretty sure it has something to door with hygene, or maybe frogs - possibly even eyebrows.  What did the doctor say?  Oh who cares, is that why you came here today?  Really?  Really?

Monday

Conspiracies and Rumors 2010 edition


There is no truth to the rumor that Felix is actually an 87 year-old norwegian woman named Svenetta.  She does not have a pet cod named 'pluto', and is not allergic to lemon curd. She once worked as a barker for a traveling circus.  She can channel the ghost of Jacque Costeau - and does so at parties. 
MJ does not work for the Mounties.  She does have the Dudley Doo-right outfit - but she only wears it when she goes to sea.  She is an avid sailor and pilots a 37-foot schooner named Bite It.   Her pet beaver consistently wins 'best in show' in the annual Canadian Beaver Club trials.  Her beaver is named Jasper Winston Thurgood IV.  She is one of the Canandian Olympics Judges. Curling 
OZ's avatar is a fake.  He is a dead ringer for Channing Tatum.  His husband is a world-class grand prix driver and they travel they world on a private jet.  He has a black belt in dragon-fist kung fu and can kill you with an altoids tin.  He hates green olives and is immune to scorpion stings.
IVD actually lives in a brownstone in New York city.  He is into stock portfolios and victorian chandeliers.  He once had a hamster named mimi, but a dog ate her.  He now hates all dogs. He has a tattoo of the Mona Lisa on his right buttock, and was once a secret agent, on a part-time basis.  He has been to France 17 times.
NormaDesmond was once a professional bodybuilder.  He owns a string of gyms in the mid-west.  Always steriod-free, he is also a complete vegetarian.  He eats nothing but organic  vegetables - and siamese kittens (szchehuan style).  He has a purple heart from the war but doesn't talk about it.  He is slightly radioactive - but he is not affected by it.  The radiactivity actually helped clear up a unsightly rash.
My name is mob is several people, as stated.  The entire 7th grade english class in a small township in south africa. All children of priviledge- they had their first teacher fed to hippos.  They all have blond hair and blue eyes.  They are very creepy children.
BEAST is a small-set jewish man who lives in upstate New Jersey.  If Mia Farrow and Woody Allen had a child, and did not feed it much - well there you are.  Quiet and withdrawn, he is 132nd in line for the crown in Monaco.  He drives an all-black corvette with 600hp.  Some say he  is a sexual god.  He has 3 nipples.
Donn is canandian, but holds dual citizenship with Italy.  He has fathered 12 children with 9 different women  in Italy.  The children look exactly like him, even the girls.  He is rumored to have perfect genitalia.  It is by posing nude at sculpture classes that he meets most of his ladies.  Paris Hilton has his image painted on the ceiling of her bedroom.  He is being stalked by Random Chick, but is unaware of this.  He once ate 12 hamburgers at a cookout.  He can tell dirty jokes in 7 languages.
RandomChick has been in more asylums than thorazine.  She once thought she was Napoleon Bonaparte.  She is distantly related to him. She worked as an alligator-wrestler at a florida theme-park.  She has been a victoria's secret model.  She loves orange sherbet and has a warm place in her heart for frogs.  She is rumored to have an extensive weapons collection. If you are stranded  on a desert island - you better hope she is with you.  Her survival skills are legendary.
CyperPete is a 47 year old man from Liverpool.  He is the inventor of Snackwells devils food cookies.  Now a multi-millionaire he spends his time golfing, which he hates.  But he is really good at it.  He is considering starting a chain of chicken vindaloo restaurants in Iceland.  He has posed for playgirl.  He has his helicpoter pilots license, and is a raging homosexual.  Some say he has had sex with as many as 5 people.  Total - not at one time.  The man's got his dignity.  They say he is the bastard child of Dame Edna Everage and Tony Blair.  He dyes his hair.
Kabuki is a 53 year old man in virginia.  His grandmother mades bombs for the war.  He father was shot in the Korean war and became a crazed alcoholic.  His mother never said 'i love you'.  He was a gymnast, and still is an excellant dancer.  He has owned 30+ cars.  His favorite was the porsche, but the jag was sweet.  He loves to overdress for any occasion.  He has drank Chateau Lafite Rothschild out of the bottle while driving home from dinner.  He can turn invisible, and his favorite thing is to make people spit a drink out their nose.  It is advisable to abstain while in his presence.  He has called the white house to complain about the government.  He reminded them that he has written software for the president's office - and does not want to be taken lightly.  He recently wore white tights on his head and pretended he was a bunny rabbit - to amuse a white bunny rabbit.  It was only partly successful.
Many people were left out of this first edition of rumor-mongering, and we have yet to touch on any number of conspiracies.  more to follow.

Saturday

Don't believe it here!


I would like to thank the Doctor who said "this is gonna make you gain just a little weight".  I see her next week.  I plan to hold her down an administer a full body fudge massage.  I know it can be absorbed thru the skin.  I look like the bad guy in a Disney film.  The man who kicks puppies - or something just as evil.  I am actually a sweetheart.  Just ask around.  Now, on to people who bug me. 1. John Walsh  2. Pat Robertson  3.  Jon & Kate 4. Jay Leno 5. Glen Beck   6.  Mel Gibson  7 Octo-mom Unfortunately my list goes on and on.  Can we all say "Crazy white crackers who deserve media blackouts".  There, I feel better. 
Going over decorating plans in my head  for my new apartment.  The large great room will serve both as living and dining areas - as in the more popular homes of the tasteful & stylish.  I thought Retro southwestern for the living room (no pastels) with a japanese black-laquer and silk dining space to spin the visitor right 'round.  Master bedroom will feature early 60's blond wood (tv back chairs, 3-corner table etc)  with fabrics in blues, violets and gold.  Guest room is uncertain, but since I'm using what I have - red oak headboard & nitestand with similar red wood desk and a southwestern loveseat to tie back into the great room.  Kitchen will start with chrome and tempered glass - but I am sure that will not last.  Country french?  maybe.  The bath is fresh with white subway tiles and white marble floor, the existing white fixtures shall serve me fine.  Leaning towards stained glass hung in front of bath window, privacy and jeweltones to spare.  I shall bid farewell to many pieces I have been holding on to, but I don't plan to go larger than 2 bedrooms at any time in the near future.  If more than one person stays over - well someone will get to wake up with the birds.  At sunrise.  When Max starts talking smack.  He is my african grey, and he came crazy so do not blame me.  The stay with relatives this winter has not helped his vocabulary at all (or mine).  He now burbs.coughs, sneezes, farts, meows, barks, tells the other animals to shut-up, and babbles on and on.  If only he had picked up my flair for brevity. Alas.  If anyone wants to contribute to my face-liposuction fund please send precious gems.  They cash out easily, and can be secreted away with costume jewelery.  I am sure Felix will lend me some of his costume jewels, he can't possibly wear them all and still ambulate.  Until anon - you are in my heart, don't try and get in my pants

Friday

grace - the quality or state of being considerate or thoughtful




kabuki laments the lack of grace in today's world.  Is it possible that grace exists but it not newsworthy?  Kabuki hopes so. In today's instant information society grace just doesn't tittillate.  Are we really interested in what Britney bought at the store today?  When I say 'we' I mean you, because I wouldn't give two figs to spend the day with her.  How many twits make a twat?  One.  Today's famous have handlers, publicists, assistants, dressers, agents, entourages etc.  If they flash snatch at the camera I find it difficult to believe it was not a planned event.  ICK.  Sextapes - how carefully would you look after one if it was your poorly lit genitalia?  kabuki would bury his under the house.  Yet one pops up every couple of months.  Technologically illiterate?  Half right.  Jealous - damn skippy.  I will take 24 hour scrutiny if it comes with a $4 million house.  Try me.  I find it troubling that a rehab clinic is considered a right of passage.  Like jail time for disadvantaged inner-city youths.  This scares me.  What message does an eight-year old child receive if Hannah Montana acts like a tramp?  If you want me to spend $100 bucks on athletic shoes your sexual dalliances will not influence my purchase in a positive manner.  Because unto whom much is given, much is required. God Karma Juju or just because - try to add a little grace back into your day.  kabuki thanks you

Saturday

A brush with disaster



Prior to my untimely retirement I walked the halls of government with the mighty, and the mighty confused.  true story. I was walking back from a Congressional Hearing with a Presidential Appointee at my side.  "What is my password?" he asked. "I have no idea" I replied.  "It's tennis" he offered up.  "I do not need to know that" I told the attractive, well dressed nincompoop.  "Yes you do.  I keep forgetting it.  Now if I can't remember I will call you" he stated smugly.  "Do you play tennis?" I queried.  "No, my wife does" he replied.  And that was that.  I hand him one of my special business cards, with my cell and home number.  Was I a high-priced, highly trained senior computer specialist or a personal rolodex.  Yes.

true story.  I was in another government agency.  It shall go unnamed, but I once walked to the New Executive Office Building to deliver documents for the office of the president.  In the hot humid disgusting dirty dc summer air.  In a nice suit.  And expensive shoes.  Because the boss actually begged me.  "Please - it has to go now, and I cannot get a courier with clearance anywhere" he whined.  It was a good thing I adored him, because I spent the rest of the day looking like I got dressed and then took my shower. Back to my story. After 911 new security measures were put in place in all government buildings.  Everyone was on edge.  An anthrax letter might have been in our mailroom and it might have been cleaned up and hushed up.  Possibly.  Maybe.  I'm just sayin.    There definitely was a suspiscious package found out near the parking garage entrance.  A package about the size of a foot locker.  The security guards brought it into the lobby to investigate it further, and then called the bomb squad.  And we let these people guard the doors.  It was during this time I was in my office working when I noticed my thumb nail was discolored.  A ugly purple spot near my cuticle.  It didn't wash off.  My boss said "let the on-staff nurse take a look".  She did and announced I needed to go to the hospital NOW, because she did not know WHAT it was.  I said "I'll just give the family doctor a buzz", explained to the doctor's office my predicament, and got an appointment asap.  I don't scare easily and I tend not to worry out of hand.  However as an attractive, well-heeled homosexual I am allowed small fits of panic (or frenzy).  I arrived at my doctor's office and was rushed right in.  She looked at my thumb.  She looked at my thumb with her magnifying wand of medicine.  She called to the nurse "Bring me several alcohol swabs."  She opened a swab, swabbed my thumbnail and the purple blemish was gone.  "You had magic marker on your thumb" she said with a straight face.  "OH MY GOD  it is not my fault - the government nurse made me come."  I pleaded my case, but the look on my doctors face said it all. I, kabuki zero - was a ninny.

Monday

A Day in the Life




I thought one might gain a little insight - or at least a little entertainment by spending a day with the illustrious kabuki zero.  The k in kabuki is lower-case because I am so modest.  Anywho, yesterday I arose at the crack of noon, gassed up the metallic purple station wagon (stop it), and headed up.  I say up because I was raised in the city, and east-west-south references are for losers.  If I need to head west I can only safely accomplish this at sundown.  Now you know a weakness.  Don't try and use it for leverage, it will buy you only sorrow.  I inadvertantly put the blank sdhc chip into the smart-phone - so now I have to listen to the radio.  Nothing adds to poorly-produced music like bad radio reception.  Ninety minutes later I have arrived at my destination.  My sisters' house. (My house sits behind my sisters' house, on her land). My humble home had been shuttered for the winter because of a plumbing malfunction.   I re-located to the house where my brother dwells.  For a winter visit.  Because they have water.  (I know)  I rarely drink it myself, unless it has been decontaminated by boiling, then further sanitized by adding a tea bag. 
  It was the week of Christmas when my sister announced that my house would be demolished in the spring. (Those bastards!)  Why?  Irrelevant.  Her land.  Happy Jesus' birthday to me.  How do you put a bow on that?  When I inquired about the empty two-bedroom apartment that sits atop same sisters' house I was told it was not available.  Plumbing issues.  (Do you see how a common thread runs through kabuki's rantings?  This is a sign of literary self-awarness.  Rare in one so young)  I returned home a beaten kabuki.  (but not for long.)
  I make weekly visits to my home to pick up my mail and make sure badgers have not moved in.  Because they will, and then your toiletries are ruined.  Do you want to apply Molton Brown's Ultralight Bai Ji Hydrator only to find a badger hair in it?  Another days grooming ruined, that is what that is.  And you don't get that time back.  At then end.  Of your life.  Even if you remember.  But you won't.  Another memory too painful to recall.  The human mind is resilient.
  On my next weekly visit I cornered my sister.  Many animals will attack when cornered, but kabuki can quickly dispense most of them.  "Why don't I fix the plumbing, and then pay you money instead of a storage facility?"  I offered.  "That way we help each other" I sweetly added.  "Better to keep it in the family" I closed the deal.  AND SCORE!  With a small caveat.  I am to perform one hour of cleaning downstairs - where my sister, her husband, the daughter and a half-dozen irish setters reside.  It is not all sunshine and rainbows for princess kabuki.  I am but a humble handmaiden to the cosmos.
  I returned to my brothers dwelling victorious.  I have gained a larger residence with more attractive vistas.  So life continues for kabuki.  A simple example of Magnetohydrodynamics.  Because I am just a simple man with simple needs.  So I shall simply see you anon.  kabuki zero

Saturday

Another side of Kabuki



Many people only know the successful and glamorous Kabuki.  I am a multi-faceted being, not unlike the diamonds I adore.  You see I have a kind heart.  Much like St. Francis of Assisi I love my animal friends.  Some I wear, some I eat, and some I keep caged up.  If that is not love - what is?
 Let's discuss.  My oldest and dearest animal is my aged (14+) half-blind chihuahua.  Elmo is his name.  If I nailed a mink coat to the ceiling Elmo would find a way to sleep on it.  Because that is what he does.  He sleeps on luxurious things.  In the warmer months he likes to sit outside on cushioned patio furniture. Next is Kiwi - a Green Quaker parrot with one eye and a bad mood.  If you  hand her an almond she will eat it.  If you hand her anything else she will hold it in her beak long enough to establish eye contact, and then she will drop it on the floor.  She occasionally will fly about the house .  She looks a bit like a green-feathered blimp, and moves as fast.  You can actually pick her out of the air.  She plays peek-a-boo.  In a voice straight from the pits of hell you will hear "peek-a-boo".  You will never play peek-a-boo again.  Who knew Satans' minions had control of that game.  Or had assumed bird-form. Now we come to Max.  Max is a rescued bird, as is kiwi.  Max is a 13 year old African Grey parrot.  He will out live me, and I think that is only fair.  Because then he will know how just how good he had it.  Max will talk incessantly - as long as you are in another room.  Just often enough to scare the dickens out of me, he will say something when you are near.  I was letting Elmo drain the ole lizard at 2am.  I was standing at the door when behind me - in my voice - I hear"what are you doing?"  I said "I am letting Elmo out".  "I know" Max says.  Ok now it is time to get a priest in here.  Yet another demon-bird.  When he is bored he says "Can I get some water?".  If you actually refresh the water bowl, when you are walking away you will often hear "What's in this water?".  He will call the dog, tell the other bird to hush, he recently said to me "It's all about me".  I simply cannot understand their behaviour.  What entitled princess is sneaking into my home when I am away.  And teaching the animals to behave like spoiled children.  This borders on harrassment.  I am once again reminded of why children are not permitted in kabuki's home.  Because I simply don't have enough cages for them.  And if you tie them up -  ick - that's like getting all pedo and stuff.  You simply cannot free-range children in the home.  They will get fingerprints on everything.  I remember back to a kindler, gentler time.  I was driving my aunt and her two children somewhere in my cherry 66 mustang.  Red with black interior and a sassy 289 V8.  Suzy said to little Tommy "Don't pick your nose and wipe it on the seat".  I locked up all 4 brakes and skidded to a stop.  One simple look at little Tommy was all it took.  And that's what I gave him.  Because my aunt was a car nut as well.

Wednesday

Kabuki has an appointment tomorrow morning with yet another member of the medical profession.  The medical community is fascinated with many parts of Kabuki's body - both inside and out.  You think they would go out and cure some disgusting disease.  Or perhaps treat some sick people.  Not a chance.  Instead I have to wake up at a time of the day that is usually reserved for bakers and fish mongers.  "your appoint is at 8am, please be here a half-hour early" Nurse Susan instructed me.  I'm not even sure that's her real name.  If I have to be there at 7:30 for an 8:00 appointment - that really means I have a 7:30 appointment.  The Doctor is not going to see me at 8am - no matter what time I get there.  He is probably still getting dressed at 8am.  Hasn't even had his coffee.  I am already starting to dislike him.  In the countryside it is much easier to mess with them.  "Is that your red porsche carrera in the parking lot?" I asked my dentist.  "Yes, how did you - why?"  "I parked right next to it.  It's pretty.  Is this gonna hurt?"  Best dental visit I've had in years.  In small towns just pick the nicest car in the lot.  You can't swing a dead cat in Washington without hitting $60,000 worth of something, but in Winchester you might see 3 mercedes in a day.  All day.  It's like they were giving out Buicks. Beige Buicks.  Makes me a little queasy to think about it.  Anyway I have some sort of Diabetes Eye Exam scheduled.  My Doctor feels I am pre-diabetic.  I am also pre-pregnant, but I'm not going to the OB/GYN, am I?  I google the eye exam for diabetics, not much info to be had.  So I am going to assume that they give you a bunch of candy, then they look at your eyeballs.  I hope it is a lovely Godiva assortment.  I am not eating Andes mints at that hour.  They're like like chocolate chapsticks.  How revolting.  Anyway, I have two questions regarding tomorrow: 
1.   Should I have waffles for breakfast?
2.  Should I take off my pants, even if he doesn't ask?  I think we all know he will want to ask, but he may be shy.  I hope I figure it out before bedtime. 


Hope to see you soon - Kabuki

Monday

just a few new ideas from team kabuki

i would like to equip my new car with onBoard RockStar. When you pushed the little button on the visor Ozzie Osbourne would come on and say "I don't even know where I fucking am."

embracing a new zen-style of learning, kabuki will now be referred to as the non-sensei.

while tossing out the old kitchen sponge it occurred to me that i was expunging the ex sponge. i fell to the floor with literary hilarity.

i have changed imaginary boyfriends. i am now secretly imagining hot monkey-love with mark valley. when i have time. i know he cares.

what if the voices in your head mumbled? instead of 'soon we will kill them all' you heard 'scary susan at the mall'? who wants to be crazy and confused? not me.

if you were king and gay, you could be the king and the queen. think of the savings in jewelry alone. how you priced crowns lately? me neither, but i bet somebody has.

i am kabukizero - and you are not

Saturday

Say Something Nice



As we bid a fond farewell to 2009, let us not forget how we got here.  Although many of my very many fans are sure I sprang from  perfect loins appropriately schooled and dressed - it simply is not true.  It was a long and winding road.  Cursed with perfect hair, flawless skin, uncanny wit and so much more - it was difficult to survive the jealous stares from my enemies and friends alike.  Is it my fault that I was the best dancer EVER?  Why am I scorned for my extraordinary singing voice?  I still feel the hot tears of shame coursing down my face. 
 true story - I recall one of the last times I was in my favourite bar (Lost & Found) having a smart cocktail, minding my own business.  A voice came from behind me, like an ill wind.  "you've been flipping that hair back out of your eyes since 1976.  I can't believe you haven't snapped your skinny neck!" I did not care to respond and my associate, who shall remain nameless (FLAME) was too busy shooting kahlua and cream out of his nose to rush to my aid.  I simply pictured the hate-mongerer with dysentery.  I did a lot of 'picturing' back then.  Truth be told - I still do.  It's my guilty pleasure. 
 true story - Same bar, different day.  I was chatting up one of our many visitors, mainly because the locals avoided me like royalty -  (swine).  My lighter didn't function so I picked up a lighter off the bar, assuming it belonged to the visitor.  NOPE.  Some low-life turned it all the way up and set it down on the bar.  Next to me.  I set my bangs ablaze.  Beating out the flames with my free hand I continued on as if this were an everyday occurrence.  "Bet I'm the first guy to set himself on fire for you" I quipped.  Score Kabuki - 1 Evil - 0.  
  My point in revealing these painful memories is not to humble myself.  No, quite the opposite.  Because you see I remained as fabulous as ever, even when tainted with the stench of unpleasantness.  Unpleasantness that could easily have befallen the common man.  Like yourself.  Can't you imagine?  Don't make me start 'picturing'.  Have I gone too far?  Told too much?  No, you can stand the pain.  After my latest operation (government plot) my surgeon was trying to get me out of the bed in the recovery room.  I think they rent them from the mafia by the hour.  Not sure. I'm just sayin.  Anyway he said to me, TO ME (this is where it gets good) "Don't fear the pain".  Fortunately the nurse cranked up my morphine drip before I got my hands completely around his little medical throat.  He knew, or should has known, that I have been in pain every day since 1999.  Not always all day.  But every day.  And yes, sometimes all day.  Somewhere on my body something always hurts. Pain hurts, it burns, it stabs, it aches, it spasms, it cuts.  Sometimes it snatches your breath away.  Othertimes you scream.  When its not bad - you forget how bad bad is. Thankfully.  And I don't fear it.  I despise it with a fury that would make the sun pale,  but I don't fear it, and it taught me that.  Don't fear.  Thirty years ago I would have taken my life because of it.  Today it could very well be your life.  If you get out of line.  So stop reading silly blogs and go get me some chocolate,  any get yourself some as well.  I remain beautifully Kabuki Zero.