The Gay Agenda.

In my earlier post “GORE!”, we left off after going through a birthday party full of dismembered bodies and bloodthirsty psychopaths.

Dickman and Throbbin are an appropriately fabulous gay couple who came out (pun intended) to be part of the birthday festivities.  Yellow Rose wanted to go dancing at one of the many nameless, faceless, interchangeable nightclubs that the Las Vegas Strip has to offer.  The clubs are all the same to me because as I reminded them that gangsters don’t dance, we boogie.

Yellow Rose not so kindly reminded me that I wasn’t a gangster, nor do I boogie.

I wasn’t to keen on it, but for the sake of being the (self-appointed) life of the party I acquiesced.  I agreed to go clubbing with them.  That’s when I was made aware of what I deemed The Gay Agenda.

The gay agenda that Dickman and Throbbin had in mind wasn’t something as lofty as a political or social advancement plan.  It was far more insidious!  They were campaigning for a slight change in the programming, they wanted to go to a Gay Club instead.  I told them that there were almost no reasons for me to go to a regular club, and fewer still to want to go to a gay club.  They countered with “There will be plenty of girls there!”  I countered with “Girls who are there specifically because they aren’t interested in men! That’s like…like… I don’t even have an analogy because that’s the analogy I’d use to describe something as futile as this!”

Yellow Rose told me that since I don’t dance I could chill out in the VIP cabana their friends had waiting for us, where I could drink all the diet coke I wanted, with extra lime no less.   I caved in and reluctantly agreed, since they said everything would be on their tab anyway.

Fast forward, an hour later after my best attempt at trying to find another alternative we were pulling up to what seemed like a Hollywood premiere.  The club had palm trees with lights, velvet ropes, even a hostess behind a podium.  I didn’t know if she was there to make sure you were cool enough or gay enough to enter. I hoped this club wasn’t something I’d need proof of eligibility for.  Fortunately, she was just there to keep a head count so the club didn’t get too crowded, because I would have failed both the other tests.

The first thing I saw walking in was a big gay penis made of ice, with guys filling shot glasses from the tip.

Ice Cock

Don’t pretend like you didn’t want to see it.

One of the bartenders asked if I wanted a shot.  Apparently, it was the release party for a new liquor.  I politely informed him that I don’t drink alcohol, and if I ever decided to start I wouldn’t be drinking from the tip of a giant ice cock.  OK, in a rare example of my having good judgment I kept that last part to myself.  I’d be more of a jerk than I actually am (it’s possible!) if I went into a gay club and got upset or uptight because they were being gay.

I have a bladder the size of a thimble, so as soon as we got inside I headed straight for the bathroom. I steeled myself for whatever horrors I may witness in the men’s room at a gay club. I was prepared to squeeze my bladder like bagpipes under a Scotsman’s arm to get out as fast as possible!

What I saw wasn’t anything I was prepared for.

That club had a bathroom cleaner than most restaurants I eat in, don’t judge me.  It had a spotless floor, clean mirrors, and they even had an attendant that supplied you with a fresh towel, breath mints, and cologne, for a small tip of course.  I didn’t avail myself of his services just because I am tight-fisted with cash, but also because I had no intention on getting any more attention than I already had. So, there was no need gettin’ all prettied up as one of my friends always says.

As I walked out I was ready to break the bar with how much diet coke with lime I could consume so I walked up to Yellow Rose and the rest of her “rainbow coalition”. I yelled, “Point me to the cabana!”.  Another reason I don’t like clubs in general, besides the fact that I don’t drink or smoke is because the music makes it impossible to talk to each other.  You either have to yell a lot louder than normal or risk not being heard at all.

After I repeated myself to Yellow Rose she looked at me and flashed a toothy grin.  I immediately became suspicious.  “Our friends aren’t here yet, we don’t have a cabana, but they will be here soon, I promise!”  They did show up, just as I was leaving.

I call that a classic bait and switch.  It wasn’t the first time Yellow Rose pulled one on me.

Not that I’m bitter…

Ok, yes, I am bitter.  I’ll have my revenge.

I found a wall to hold up with my shoulder and got an invitation to sit down at another cabana with some guys I didn’t know.  I immediately thought back to every piece of advice I have ever given a woman about behaviors and expectations.  Men never rarely give up anything free, it’s knowing the difference between price and cost.  I smiled and declined.  I’m cheap, but smart enough to know when to buy my own drinks.

I waded through the sea of dancers to get to the bar.  The bartender looked less than thrilled when I didn’t order one of his expensive new drinks and opted for a diet coke with lime.  I handed him a five-dollar bill, he took it and smiled.

Then I smiled back, patiently.

Then he frowned as he realized I wanted change.

Again, I smiled back patiently. He handed it to the manager at the cash register who I distinctly saw take out two dollars and carelessly toss them into the tip jar.

The bartender smiled at me.

I frowned.

I would have made a big deal out of it but there were two things stopping me.  One, it was only two dollars. Two, that guy was built like a brick house!  I have years of martial arts training behind me but that guy was in excellent condition! We are about the same height and weight, however to use a simple comparison, if I am built like a tank, this guy is built like the Death Star from Star Wars! It’d be a real fight.

So, I let it go.

Besides, one other noticeable difference in this club was that there wasn’t an underlying current of aggression that men, myself included, exude in other clubs.  Everyone was pretty gay, in the happy sense of the word.

Right then, I decided that they weren’t going to get another shekel out of me.  I didn’t care if I had to nurse my drink so slow I was going to have to take it molecule by molecule.  I was not handing over any more money and hoping I got change.

I finished my drink on the way back to the wall that needed me to hold it up.  I decided to do some people watching, one of my favorite activities.

There were a huge assortment of costumes on tap that complimented the usual club-attired partygoers.  My favorite had to be the two girls (?) I nicknamed The Duct Tape Twins.  They were both totally nude except for the zebra striped duct tape they covered/decorated themselves with.  What caught me off guard wasn’t the duct tape across the nipples, it was the landing strip that went from the lower back, through the crack, and winding up just under the navel.  They were a sight to behold!

All said and done it was a fun night and I was glad to be there for the birthday celebration.  I’m already looking forward to the Yellow Rose 2014 birthday bash next year!

This article is part of two Categories.  To see more on Gay, click here.  To see more on Nightlife, click here.

One comment

  1. Pingback: Race Riots: What Some Black-Americans Can Learn From All Racist Police & Racist Organizations! | Yusef Wateef, Adventurer!

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