Miss Coco Peru? Well, hell's bells, she's hardly given us a chance to. It seems like mere months ago that she visited Seattle, because it literally was. Which is delightful! Don't misunderstand. More Coco is always better Coco (ask anyone), and just how often do we little country mice get treated to a visit by big New York City drag legends anyhow? Right. All the time. We're swimming in top-drawer drag—up to our false eyelashes in it. (Ain't life grand?) But as you know, Coco is always something a little extra special, and her visits are a singular delight.

Unless, of course, you don't know, in which case, FIE ON THEE! Allow me to paint a portrait in words: Imagine a rather bitchy Erma Bombeck, all chock-full of drag-motherly wisdom, wry (read: deeply sarcastic) observations, and homespun yarns, who physically and spiritually resembles what might happen if you took Samantha AND Endora and crammed them into a cynical little boy from the Bronx who is destined to grow into a famous drag queen who blames her penchant for spinning yarns and snarky cultural critique on growing up around "a lot of funny people and alcoholics," and—voilà!—Coco Peru.

Now, if you were laboring under the ridiculous assumption that Coco's last show, There Comes a Time, was something of her swan song, then you were laboring under a ridiculous assumption, is what. As much as she complains about her feet hurting all the time (It's kind of her shtick these days—acting like she's some sort of decaying daguerreotype, although her skin is like a baby's alabaster ass crack and she's slimmer than a stripper's dancing pole. WITCH!), 20 years of energetic dragging appear not to have slowed her down one whit. Her new offering, She's Got Balls, explores her early childhood dreams (which are, of course, filthy and wrong), nude beaches, Spanish husbands, and other beloved trash. Re-bar, 8 pm, $20 adv/$25 DOS, 21+.