You know, Leslie, those legs of yours during the 90s were absolutely the object of my envy. Time after time you'd catch me off guard. I'd think you were some finer-than-a-frog's-hair chick and was sure my husband was lusting after you...only to get closer and see that you had an abundance of leg hair poking out from the torn fishnets, a scraggly beard, and of course, you were packing some equipment up front...only it wasn't filling your bikini top. I never knew if you were going to talk to me as I stood near you waiting to cross the street, yell something at me, scream something into general space, or utterly and completely ignore everyone else's presence. It was always weird, guaranteed. I loved that you were part of the scenery and I always felt lucky to have a Leslie sighting or encounter.
My little guy put it best:
"He wore thongs."
"He wore tutus."
"Sometimes he walked around."
"He was one of the strangest cross dressers out there."
..."He was weird."
Fo sho...RIP, Leslie. And, thanks.