Please help....

...us find our baby, Jesse.

A lot has been going on: Ian's health, his apparent self-revelation that he was about to be sainted AND turned into a plant, the endless--absolutely endless--court intrigue, machinations from the sinister Castle Bedelia, cast parties by Mark, great uneasiness about Jeremy's impending departure, poisoned pastries received by courier, cow bodies foiling Knotty's yard sale, run-ins with aliens trying to determine how I walk in embroided, heeled slippers, Babs' PHD on bathroom manners called to question by decent people, Pimpernel's dilemma about whether to carry US dollars or wedges of cheese for barter in Zurich. I could go on and on.

But, two nights ago I recieved a cryptic message from Baby Jesse: "I am going to a GHO". I dropped my glass of absinthe! He was going to a Gay House Party AND bringing vokda to a group of (obviously) homosexual men whom he had met on--of all things--the internet. What happened to the Good Old Days, when a meeting was arranged ahead of time by elders who knew, and counted on, the social benefits thereof? "No, no, no", my head exclaimed, "Not our baby".

It's not that we didn't wish him fun. God knows, on every visit here we tried, and tried, and tried to hook him up with a MAN who would "treat him right". All was for naught; Jesse always laughed every advance and every arrange pounding off and maintained a gracious distance. Now, alas, he has not be heard of since going to the GHO. I have a tattered teddy bear of his that I would like to show on TV and ask his abductors to look at: "This was the only bear that Jesse loved; please return him to us; do what you will with him, but let him go." I'm going to dress like the senator in Silence of The Lambs.