Eastside Sisters Show with Banana Delvey and Miss October

Shhhhhh don't tell Miss October that I'm taking over the pod for an episode! tee hee! <3

We are predrinking and getting ready for a my little pony party! Get drunk with us and talk some shit!

We are going on the road and we are taking you with us! This is a little pod we recorded while driving to a gig in the middle of nowhere. Enjoyyyy!

Ommmmmgggg did you all have a fun holiday break? Aparently we had way too much fun because this episode has been sitting on my harddrive for MONTHS and it's full of funny interviews! Enjoy!!!

The battle is heating up with queens week! These queens did not come to play, they came to slay!

It's drag fight club time! We are covering all the action LIVE from the Waldorf for the next 10 weeks! The theme for the first week was KINGS ONLY and these kings came to FIGHT!

This city is sooooo full of LOVE and SUPPORT! 💗 IT’S TOO MUCH 🥹💗 Our little hearts can barely handle it 😭💞 Everyone just gets it!! We are SOBBING in the best way 🏳️‍🌈💖✨

The support here is LOUD, it’s REAL, it’s FAMILY 💒🍒 We’re floating in a sea of glitter and acceptance and we never wanna come down 😭🫧💘

💓 You're loved here, and we hope this episode wraps you up like the campiest, softest, gayest blanket ever 🌈🩷🦋

💌🦄🌷✨🫶👑🍭💐💄🎀

In a city where everyone wore sequins on Tuesdays just because, two unlikely best friends reigned supreme: Banana Delvey, a fabulously delusional socialite who insisted she was a "banana heiress" despite no one being sure if bananas had royalty, and Miss October, a vintage pin-up calendar model turned neighborhood fashion icon, who still insisted on posing like she was being photographed… constantly.

They did everything together—afternoon croquet in heels, matching bedazzled scooters, even synchronized entrances at brunch. But one thing was missing in their otherwise perfectly color-coordinated lives: children.

So they adopted.

Banana Delvey adopted Grumplin, a child who spoke exclusively in grumbles and eye-rolls, wore all-black turtlenecks, and had the resting face of a 40-year-old DMV clerk. When Banana asked, “Do you want a unicorn-themed room or a giraffe-themed room?” Grumplin just replied, “I’d like to live in the void.”

Miss October, meanwhile, adopted Surprisa, a child who was always—always—surprised. Wide-eyed, mouth agape, permanently gasping like she'd just seen a goose do a cartwheel. You could hand her toast and she’d scream, “TOAST?? FOR ME??” Every morning.

Despite their differences, the kids became instant best friends. Mostly because Grumplin found Surprisa’s reactions exhausting, and Surprisa thought Grumplin was the funniest human alive.

Their dynamic was… electric.

Grumplin: “Ugh. It's raining again.”

Surprisa: “IT’S RAIN?? FROM THE SKY?? WHAT IS THIS SORCERY?!”

Banana and Miss October were delighted. They started matching family outfits—Banana and Grumplin in banana-yellow gothwear, Miss October and Surprisa in polka-dots and perma-jazz hands.

But one day, disaster struck.

The local daycare, "Snuggle Bunker", announced it was closing due to “too much glitter in the HVAC.” The kids were devastated. Grumplin sighed aggressively. Surprisa fainted into a dramatic couch she kept on hand for such occasions.

But Banana Delvey and Miss October had a plan.

They threw the most outrageous, bedazzled, child-chaos-friendly fundraiser the city had ever seen: a glamorous lemonade ball. There were banana-themed cocktails (for adults), an interpretive dance titled “October Leaves in the Wind of Emotion”, and a silent auction where Grumplin donated “a single sigh of contempt” in a jar. It raised $1,200.

Surprisa ran the mic, announcing everything with amazed awe: “A GIFT BASKET?! WITH… SOAP?!”

It worked. They saved Snuggle Bunker.

That night, as they all lay in a massive cuddle pile of tulle and glitter confetti, Grumplin muttered, “I guess today wasn’t… the worst.”

Surprisa squealed, “YOU SMILED!! GRUMPLIN SMILED!!!” and fainted again.

Banana sipped her champagne juice box. “Honestly, I was born to parent. It’s all about vibes.”

Miss October struck a pose mid-snore.

And somewhere in the universe, the Banana Kingdom probably approved.

Once upon a time, in the town of Toodleburg, where everything was dusty and brown and everyone wore shoes two sizes too big, there lived two twin girls named Banana and October.

They were perfect.
They were shiny.
And unfortunately, they were sick.

One morning, Banana woke up, brushed her teeth, and somehow invented a whole new kind of beauty.
October tied her shoes and caused three men to faint and one elderly woman to write a poem.

It was not normal. It was the Slay Disease.

Doctors were baffled.
Priests were confused.
The mayor tried to quarantine them but accidentally complimented their cheekbones and asked for an autograph.

No matter what Banana and October did, it was a serve.

Banana sneezed once at the farmer's market, and the entire cabbage section caught on fire out of pure drama.
October tripped on the sidewalk, and it looked so good that Vogue magazine declared it the new way to walk.

It got worse.

The disease was contagious.
Soon Mrs. Crumble, the baker, started serving cupcakes while tossing her hair in slow motion.
The mailman delivered letters with a mysterious, tortured elegance.
Even the town cows began walking with a certain runway swagger.

Toodleburg sparkled.

Sequins exploded out of potholes.
Streetlamps shined like disco balls.
Even the rats wore little velvet jackets.

The whole town was united, slaying so hard that small nearby villages filed noise complaints out of jealousy.

But then, tragedy struck.

Out in the ocean, a great white shark named Clive spotted the sparkle from three hundred miles away.
He squinted, flipped on his sunglasses, and thought, "Lunch."

Clive swam up the river, burst into Toodleburg, and, because everyone was too busy posing dramatically to run, ate the entire town in one massive, glittery gulp.

Clive was now the most glamorous shark in the sea.
Banana and October were never seen again, except for the occasional glint of a rhinestone in the foam of the waves.

Banana Delvey had one goal: regain her status as the toast of the social elite after that unfortunate incident with the underwater opera house and the flamingo fiasco. So when she received a glittery invitation in the mail that said "PROM: A Night to Remember," she mistook it for a charity gala and RSVP’d with 14 exclamation marks and a scented sticker of her own face.

Clad in a bedazzled yellow ballgown made entirely of banana peels (ethically sourced), Banana sashayed into what she thought was a fundraiser. In reality, it was a college prom—and due to a paperwork mix-up and Banana’s overwhelming charisma, she was immediately registered as a “foreign exchange student from Fashionovia.”

No one questioned it.

Banana took the prom by storm. She taught the students how to sabre a bottle of sparkling apple juice with a rhinestone hairpin. She replaced the DJ’s playlist with "Banana's Essential Tracks, Volume 17." She even delivered a 45-minute motivational speech about how to “lie your way into luxury.”

At 9:57 PM, the votes were tallied. To everyone’s shock (except Banana’s), she was crowned Prom Queen.

As she took the mic, tiara askew, she winked and declared, “I dedicate this crown to truth, youth, and mildly criminal reinvention!”

Moments later, Miss October burst through the gym doors, clutching a stack of subpoenas and a suspiciously fluffy llama named Gerald. She shouted, “Banana! This is NOT the Met Gala! Also, you owe me seventeen smoothies and a tiara!”

Banana blew her a kiss and slid out the back door on a cafeteria tray like a golden comet of chaos.

The tiara was later revealed to be made of hot glue and cafeteria sporks. Banana wore it to brunch the next morning anyway.