A Hoax, Folks?
My feelings about JT LeRoy now feel so vindicated. We own two of Mr. LeRoy's books. I enjoyed reading them--whoever it was that penned them--but they didn't rock my world. Plus, the West Virginina references didn't ring true to me. I enjoy a good mess like this one, which creates a silly hubub to distracts us so well from more urgent international matters.
My lawyer has composed the following statement in the wake of the breaking JT LeRoy scandal:
Let me assure you, dear readers, that the woman who appears in public claiming to be Sara Bir is indeed Sara Bir, the little-known writer whose harrowing background includes a difficult childhood in the semi-rural wilds of the Mid-Ohio Valley. All prior claims that Ms. Bir was a shocking sixteen years old when she experiences her first kiss, and that she once was so bored that she and her friends dyed her hair black with a Clairol product purchased at Kroger's, and that she was neither popular nor unpopular--these, kind readers, are all verifiable true events.
Ms. Bir's physical manifestation is not that of a biological male identifying as female, nor is it that of a biological female identifying as male. Ms. Bir is a woman, though she does indeed have small breasts and, at times, hairy legs.
Additionally, Ms. Bir's 2001 semi-fictional account of working at a public library populated with homeless vets was indeed based on a real-life experience. All of Ms. Bir's written allusions to drug use can be traced back to actual ingestion of drugs and alcohol--including the time she smoked a joint in the darkroom at her cooking school and then proceeded to drive her 1992 Geo Prizm across the campus to deliver the school newspaper.
Ms. Bir's occasionally mind-boggling past is 100% real. It happened. Ms. Bir is a real person, and her realness can be vouched for by countless celebrity supporters and trendkeepers--including members of several indie rock bands whose recordings have been issued on actual microscopic record labels, not self-released CDs like what go-nowhere bands have to do if they want to impress members of the opposite sex by saying "Hey, my band has a CD out." Let me reiterate: Sara Bir knows actual, certified cool people. The fact that she once sold Juliette Binoche a pint of superpremium strawberry ice cream at the gift shop of a chocolate factory is not a fabrication.
No one else but Sara Bir publishes articles and stories and blog entries under the name of Sara Bir. Sara Bir is, according to the birth certificate ensconsed in the important files in her own office, 29 years old, just as she has stated multiple times.
Sara Bir lives. She breathes. The lungs furnishing fresh oxygen to Ms. Bir's body are the lungs of Sara Bir, not the lungs of a 41-year-old male video game tester who lives with his parents on Long Island. The human being pressing the keys to make these words appear on the screen of her laptop is Sara Bir, who is not one in the same as a failed creative writer who supposedly manages the complicated personal life of and then privately assumes the persona of Sara Bir. Sara Bir is self-contained.
Thank you.
My lawyer has composed the following statement in the wake of the breaking JT LeRoy scandal:
Let me assure you, dear readers, that the woman who appears in public claiming to be Sara Bir is indeed Sara Bir, the little-known writer whose harrowing background includes a difficult childhood in the semi-rural wilds of the Mid-Ohio Valley. All prior claims that Ms. Bir was a shocking sixteen years old when she experiences her first kiss, and that she once was so bored that she and her friends dyed her hair black with a Clairol product purchased at Kroger's, and that she was neither popular nor unpopular--these, kind readers, are all verifiable true events.
Ms. Bir's physical manifestation is not that of a biological male identifying as female, nor is it that of a biological female identifying as male. Ms. Bir is a woman, though she does indeed have small breasts and, at times, hairy legs.
Additionally, Ms. Bir's 2001 semi-fictional account of working at a public library populated with homeless vets was indeed based on a real-life experience. All of Ms. Bir's written allusions to drug use can be traced back to actual ingestion of drugs and alcohol--including the time she smoked a joint in the darkroom at her cooking school and then proceeded to drive her 1992 Geo Prizm across the campus to deliver the school newspaper.
Ms. Bir's occasionally mind-boggling past is 100% real. It happened. Ms. Bir is a real person, and her realness can be vouched for by countless celebrity supporters and trendkeepers--including members of several indie rock bands whose recordings have been issued on actual microscopic record labels, not self-released CDs like what go-nowhere bands have to do if they want to impress members of the opposite sex by saying "Hey, my band has a CD out." Let me reiterate: Sara Bir knows actual, certified cool people. The fact that she once sold Juliette Binoche a pint of superpremium strawberry ice cream at the gift shop of a chocolate factory is not a fabrication.
No one else but Sara Bir publishes articles and stories and blog entries under the name of Sara Bir. Sara Bir is, according to the birth certificate ensconsed in the important files in her own office, 29 years old, just as she has stated multiple times.
Sara Bir lives. She breathes. The lungs furnishing fresh oxygen to Ms. Bir's body are the lungs of Sara Bir, not the lungs of a 41-year-old male video game tester who lives with his parents on Long Island. The human being pressing the keys to make these words appear on the screen of her laptop is Sara Bir, who is not one in the same as a failed creative writer who supposedly manages the complicated personal life of and then privately assumes the persona of Sara Bir. Sara Bir is self-contained.
Thank you.
posted by Lefty at 9:46 AM
2 Comments:
I love my real Sara Bir. I do not love fake, lame-ass, posers with pseudonyms like JT Leroy who have published novels that aren't even that good, but still somehow manage to capture the attention of similarly-minded, fake, lame-ass celebrities pretending to be worth a rat's ass.
eh!
good timing on this. seems another fake has just been unmasked by The Smoking Gun. some doofus wrote a couple of books about himself being a crack addict and small time hood that now look to be largely false.
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