Wednesday, April 13, 2016

Cilla recalls "Best Pest" David Gest

Wedding photographer Cilla Blackledge often took photos of David Gest. She put together a loving tribute to the man she refers to as her "Best Pest."

"I'm not being rude," she says. "Everybody knew David was a pest. But he was the best pest. He made being an ugly pushy faggot into entertainment. People were amused by him. I sure was. I remember one of my first photo shoots with him. He wanted a portfolio of semi-nude pictures for a bra ad."

"David was convinced he could become the first male model for brassieres. He told me, "It will be eye catching! A lot of fat men have breasts. This would tap into a whole new market. I just need to show the bra company my very real breasts and how they need a bra!"

The bra company said, "We can't use you, you're not famous." Which was nicer than, "You're an obnoxious fat faggot and we wish you'd die."

According to Cilla, "David believed what they said. He was convinced he had to become famous. But he had neither looks nor talent. Although he was a flaming faggot, he convinced Liza Minnelli that they should marry. This is when I took that historic wedding photo of the four freakiest people coming together in one place at one time."

"David was looking especially waxy," Cilla says, "so I had to put some of my make-up on him. Frankly, he looked so hideous that Liza's eyes began to slide off the sides of her head. Michael Jackson wore a lovely dress, and Liz Taylor was so motherly, she even changed his diaper.

"I got them together, said, 'Say Cheese,' and they didn't respond. I said, 'Say Smegma,' and that brought out the smiles and coy little pouts. David said, 'I'm a trailblazer, a gay man marrying a woman.' And Michael Jackson put in a call to Lisa Marie Presley."

After the wedding David Gest consummated the marriage to Liza in the only way he knew how. He fucked her in the ass. Here is Cilla's picture the following morning.

The couple separated after less than a year or two, though the divorce dragged on for five years, which was as long as David Gest could keep screeching, "I'm Liza Minnelli's husband, let me into the party!"

Liza simply told the judge she couldn't remain in a wheelchair all her life just because her husband can only do buggery.

At this point, David decided to be more like Michael Jackson and undergo pioneering plastic surgery...to look uglier. As David saw it, "Michael was famous when he was Negro, but the photographers ran after him after he changed into an albino scarecrow with a nose that kept falling off. I knew that if I looked like a lumpy Lucifer, some kind of uniquely disgusting monster, photographers would instantly recognize me an I'd always get into the London Daily Mail."

Cilla took the before and awful pictures.

David devised that "macho" dyed-black beard, which was actually rat hair glued on. Now very much "out" and campy, and encouraged to be outrageous, David flirted with men all the time. He wanted to latch onto a famous one that he could marry. He needed a new Liza, but in an age where Elton could marry, and Jim Nabors, and others, he knew that if he could land a famous gay man, his own fame would be assured. Elton turned him down. Bruce Jenner said, "I'd cut off my dick first." David began to date Jimmy Savile. In a very indiscreet moment, he asked Cilla to take this picture of them together, with Jimmy Savile in full drag.

"I could've made at least 10 schillings selling that one to the Grimsby Tell-a-Laugh, but they insisted Jimmy Savile was a wonderful star, and might play Grimsby sometime, so they didn't want to run something controversial. I said, "You imbeciles don't know a scoop from a twat." They told me I was being rude and wouldn't let me comment any further.

For reasons unfathomable, America's pushy, witless fame-fag (think Frankie Howerd with Stephen Hawking writing the jokes for him) became a "reality" star in England. He simply wouldn't stop. He kept getting more shows. When ITV declared they'd made a mistake and let him out of his contract, he somehow got even more work. He also became more obnoxious. "Best Pest" indeed: David turned up with dyed red hair and arm-in-arm with a drag queen. Actually, it was arm-in-asshole, as the couple were fisting each other.

"Oh, that was a difficult photo," Cilla recalls. "I couldn't show the rude parts, and I also kept slipping on the shit that was all over the floor. It was mixed with a Vaseline lubricant. I had to be very careful. I mean, if I walked around smelling of shit, I might be mistaken as a photographer for the London Daily Mail. The interesting thing for me was why David dyed his hair. He told me he was a cunt on his period."

David Gest began hiring blacks, down on their luck, to slave in his "soul revue" tours. He'd get up on stage looking like a Madame Tussaud animatron, tell some stale jokes, primp and mince around, and introduce hapless 60's and 70's soul singers. Campy fags seemed to love Freda Payne and her forlorn "Band of Gold." They'd squeal, "You go, girl!" David would keep most of the money, of course. He would take pictures of himself with black women and snicker racist remarks afterward.

Cilla notes, "I asked David if he could help me identify the women in the photos I'd taken. He said, 'Oh, they all look alike to me.' He seemed to prefer the ones that looked like black men in drag...older men, like David. By that time he was always wearing that cross around his neck. I think he was inspired by so many people glancing at him and muttering, 'Jesus Christ.'"

Actually the phrase most closely associated with David Gest was, "I wish he was dead."

This phrase reached new popularity when David joined the pointless D-list idiots on a "Big Brother" reality show. David signed up because he thought that he might be a "Big Brother" to some little boy. He nearly stormed out but he discovered some of the celebrities were also queer. He began to prance with them, hug them, and make himself thoroughly disgusting. "Not thoroughly disgusting," Cilla says. "He never made people vomit. They just got queasy when he was around. I had to be very fast to get pictures when David was pursuing his men. He was almost a blur, trying to get his tongue in a mouth, his finger up an asshole, and his dick out of his knickers."

"That was the last photo I took of David being a gruesome nuisance," says Cilla. "He had some kind of hissy fit the next day. There was something wrong with his blood pressure after he took a few too many of those erection pills. His face went into duckmouth mode, his penis got as reddish-brown as a Tesco date-expired savaloy, and his black wig flew off like a drone. He was in hospital for three weeks."

Cleverly deciding to mount a "David Gest is NOT DEAD" tour, he vowed to do a live show in Grimsby. He visited there, did an interview with the Grimsby Tell-a-Laugh, and instantly became deathly ill. He told a reporter, "I want to die in York. Anywhere but here." With frantic determination, he took a bus to a train then a train to a bus, and another bus to somebody with a bicycle, and then to another bus. Which he missed. Starved overnight, and now delerious, he was found in the morning, and taken by train to a bus to a train to The Four Seasons hotel, where a bellboy thoughtfully wanked into a tablespoon and offered David a few sips of protein. Alas, the wax on David's lips had hardened and he expired. A full autopsy will be done, and if they chose to sell tickets to it, it would be a huge success.

"David was a showman, you can't deny it," says Cilla. "He died. He fulfilled that old show biz axiom: give the public what they want."

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