Opera Muffa, or Ride My Valkyrie

Gay men think they know about opera. Tee hee. They don’t know about lesbian opera, which has long been, like lesbians themselves, invisible. I just happen to have a scenario for a lesbian grand opera here. Although it was written by and for lesbians, you can tell it is Art because it simply reeks of timelessness. Also, it is chock full of tragic splendor. Regardez:


Naughty and feckless Chlamydia, a baby dyke just out of reform school, arrives at the lesbian town of Uterville on the very day the locals are holding their joyous Festival of the Workshops! Lesbian peasants and nobles alike, in brightly colored overalls and drawstring pants, sing and dance to their simple “womyn’s” songs, while the naughty Chlamydia goes around sprinkling itching powder on everyone’s dental dams.

ENTER: Fallopina, Queen of the Lesbian Activists, and Keynote Speaker. Momentarily paralyzed by Fallopina’s beauty, Chlamydia sings the ever-popular “La Donna Immobile.” At last, Chlamydia gains an audience with the Queen by pretending that an evil Christian therapist has turned her into a heterosexual, and that only a Lesbian Pure in Politics can break the spell. Fallopina, who can never resist a Cause, kisses the naughty and feckless Chlamydia, and—voila!—the two fall in love. Suddenly, the lights dim and all the oxygen is sucked out of the theater.


Scene: U-Haul Rental Company, and holy site of the happy duo’s Commitment Ceremony. Stately commitment music fills the hall as a retinue of swans smoking cigars escorts Chlamydia, in nymph costume, to the altar. There Fallopina stands, dressed as Leon Trotsky. The lovers plight their troth, singing the majestic and politically aware “Coupletalist Duet.”

“I was once a working class Capitalist,” trills Chlamydia.

“I was once an upper class Communist,” replies Fallopina.

“But now,” both sing, “We are as One—the People’s Republic of Us!”

And they exchange clit rings.

Comic relief is provided by a chorus of Celibates, who link arms to perform the piquant “Dance of the Test Tube Babies.” There is much rejoicing when one of them tears a ligament. The villagers next offer the couple an homage of toasters and microwaves, as Chlamydia asks the musical question, “Is That All We Got?” A golden U-Haul arrives to take the Newly Committed pair somewhere else. More rejoicing.


A year later. Dreary, rent-stabilized cottage, deep in the forest. The naughty and now sex-starved Chlamydia awaits the arrival of her Activist Queen. In a last-ditch attempt to salvage their relationship, Chlamydia has donned a Bo Peep costume, and sings “Muttons and Bows,” a wistful ditty describing how wonderful it will be when her beloved returns home to act out the part of the sheep.

ENTER, finally: Fallopina, exhausted from a hard day on the picket line.

“What’s for dinner,” she cries.

“How about some nice, hot sex, honey?” teases the naughty Chlamydia, as she shakes her be-ribboned booty fecklessly in the face of her paramour.

“What?” gasps Fallopina. “Sleep with you while radioactive ground water is seeping into urban reservoirs and the United States remains a bastion of global imperialism? NEVER!” And she sings the magnificent aria, “Ne Me Touche Pas, I Am Fighting the State!”

To drown her out, Chlamydia plays love songs real loud on the radio.

That night in her dreams, Chlamydia is visited by the Twelve Steps, each more hideous than the last. She wakes up and gets a cat.


Repeat ACT III, but with more cats.


The United States renounces nuclear power and apologizes to the world for centuries of slavery and colonization. Chlamydia and Fallopina continue to have no sex. The Lesbian Festival refuses to admit swans. A fight breaks out in the audience.


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