O Autumn, thou gilded harbinger of beautiful decay; when the leaves descend in fiery-hued splendor and the veil between worlds grows perilously thin. As the days shorten and the air becomes crisp, come join us as the incomparable Michelle Collins sits down with Trixie for a harvest of theatrical misfortunes, ill-fated television appearances, and the haunting specter of excessively applied black eyeshadow. Beneath Fall's melancholy firmament, our heroines recount the wretched plight of Victorian orphans, the indignities of oversized footwear, and the astonishing revelation that a certain pink-clad enchantress has traversed thirty-seven autumns without once tasting the succulent flesh of a fresh mango. And so, as summer’s dying embers surrender to the gathering gloom, we raise a glass to friendship and the merciless passage of time, for all earthly splendors must wither and perish; save a regrettably snug Fashion Nova blouse, whose suffocating embrace shall endure unto eternity.
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