John Hill writes:
Though my cliched obsession with Bai Ling began and ended when all the other semi-ironic, demi-funny gay guys’ did (when she made train-wreck history on But Can They Sing?), I had a recent run-in with Ms Ling that resuscitated my fascination. I went to the launch party for Seen On, a new show on TVGuide that each week zzzzzzz. Anyway, I walked straight onto the dance floor to drink my sorrows away and saw Bai Ling, dancing front and center. I pooped my pants.
I’m not under the delusion that a Bai Ling sighting is novel or even impressive, but for me it was revelatory. Plus, I was really hungry for dim sum. Instead of shaking hands when she’s introduced to someone of “TV executive” status (I should say “people with ties on” because I doubt any TV execs were at that party), Bai Ling does something different. And special. When you introduce yourself to Bai Ling, she freaks the fuck out and dances all up on your jock like she’s a backup dancer for Sisqo.
I liked watching the faces of old white men in suits turn to horror when Bai Ling started to hump their legs. She also has a big-ass butch lesbo bodyguard ninja who was really good at holding Bai Ling’s “purse.” The purse is another story altogether. I stood there next to Bai Ling, watching her bump and grind her genitals on strangers, and wondering, What the hell is in that purse? If my instincts are correct, and they usually aren’t, in Bai Ling’s purse lies the secret to the universe. Right next to the DRUGS.
– John Hill