Posts tagged ‘strippers’
Every time I got to Florida, I am reminded of just how hard Floridians party, and how if I hadn’t left there when I did, I would probably be dead. Floridians party in a different way than New Yorkers. When they go out, its all about having a ridiculously crazy, fun time. They don’t give a shit if they look good. They are my kind of people.
I went down to support Square One Florida, a company that produces large scale art shows that I started with my friend years ago. (He has since gone on to turn that company into the producer of one of the biggest art shows in Florida). JMO and Emsy were headed down to perform an amazing dance number they choreographed for the event, called Invincible Summer. I helped with the costuming (basically covering them in glitter and drawing muscles on them) and a little with the choreography (fine-tuning things, like telling him not to actually stick his fist in her butthole).
If you think that all of us being there is going to incite a chain reaction of utter insanity, you are right. But my sister was there, too. So it was more like a super nova of intense partying the likes of which the American people (especially the Christians, Republicans, and virgins) cannot possibly fathom. Except, of course, the people who were there. Here is all the shit that went down, in no particular order, with no names, named.
I remember my friend letting me play with his assault rifle. No, that isn’t a euphemism- altho these particular friends have learned not to give me a loaded gun when I’m loaded because apparently I take them all hostage and then don’t remember it in the morning. I ate salt and vinegar chips in the bathtub of a Ramada Inn with my sister. Somebody spent an entire night making out with a married couple. Somebody licked some pretty strange substances off a random iPad. There was a hotel party in our room at the Hilton Garden Inn where I ended up in a fur vest and my undies while crazy bitches all around me took pics of their brown boobs. We had brunch at Hamburger Mary’s in Ybor, which we kindly referred to as Cheeseburger Meredith’s. Apparently Nadia isn’t as hated by all the drag queens as we thought. In fact, they love her. They love her so much they basically put a spotlight on her called her a tranny in front of the entire restaurant. I think their exact words were “This is an OG bitch that we love so much and she has a penis. In her panties. Even though she looks like a girl. She has a penis. A penis.” The rest of the weekend we referred to her as the great and powerful Nadia. If I had a troup of trannies that loved me that much I would storm San Francisco Gaza-style. Too soon, I know. You don’t have to say it. We continued our brunch at Gaspar’s Grotto where they have $2 whiskey shot/beers. The New York side of the table took advantage of this and drank 15 shots and 15 beers EACH. Some straight guy was clinging to us that day (I’m pretty sure that he was egged on by the fact that one of us was trying to dick him hardcore in a very gay way) (PS, it wasn’t me for once) and invited a stripper friend of his to our festivities. She literally looked like an anorexic hatchet-face meth mother with so many stretch marks on her tits you could use them to decipher the DaVinci code. Julia was not having it, so she relocated us to another bar where we held an impromptu fashion show with some random girl’s purse that we found on the bar. Our good friend from Chicago got a VIP area at G Bar, which was awesome because it gave us all a meet-up area since me and my sister are apparently club nomads who get there, and run around meeting strangers passing like ships in the night. We danced our tits off, and I met a cute guy. At that point I was so drunk tho that I found it difficult to think of anything between bouts of dancing to say other than Read more…
I don’t mean to sound racist (mostly because what I’m about to say doesn’t sound racist) but has anyone every considered that maybe Honey Boo Boo is the anti-christ? In my book, the qualifications for being the anti-christ are as follows: be charming enough to make the masses fall in love with you, have a parental figure that is clearly up to no good (coupon queen is the bane of Piggly Wiggly’s everywhere), and put into action a plan for world domination (which is exactly what the world of child pageantry is all about). It is plainly obvious to me that Boo Boo’s Go-go juice is a concoction mixed of unborn fetuses, the souls of blind cripples, and pixie sticks for flavor. The fat folds of Mama June’s triple chin are obviously inscribed with the DaVinci code, obscured by a fine powdery layer of Cheeto’s dust and Gold Bond.
The only issue with the whole myth of the anti-christ is discovering their identity while there is still time to stop them. Honey Boo Boo and her family circumvent this by speaking in an very secret ancient language, created by Apalachian brother-fuckers with uneven mullets that made money by opening beer bottles with their singular brown teeth. Luckily, I have taken five quotes from the Honey Boo Boo family and deciphered them for you.
1. “A dolla makes me holla.” Plainly deciphered, this means “I am one uncomfortable fondling from my uncle at a Sonny’s Barbeque family reunion away from being a teen stripper.” Follow my logic–businessmen control people’s money, strippers control businessmen’s money (especially Japanese businessmen) , therefore strippers have the power to bring the world to financial ruin.
2. “My mother has told me in the past that if you fart 12-15 times a day you can lose a little weight, so I think I’ll lose a lot of weight because I’m going to fart a lot.” This is clearly a warning. There is a reason that Hell smells like sulphur, roasting flesh, and government issued baloney sharts.
3.“My mama weighs the most in my family because she’s fat. Truth.” Mama June is so fat because she not only scarfs down a Costco sized industrial pepperoni plate on the hour, every hour, but she also Read more…
I have no idea if this billboard is real or not, and frankly I don’t much care. All I know is that there are few places in the continental united states that you can walk into at 3 AM on a weeknight and experience as much of a shit-show as you will at a Denny’s.
Denny’s is where strippers go for a fine meal and a hot cup of coffee to sooth the over-sized knock-off coach bags under their meth eyes. It is where my friend was called out for being a tranny wearing a velvet pant-leg as a dress and my other friend snorted an entire packet of sugar. Murders happen there, unscrupulous horrible murders. Once, after busting down the door to someone’s house and robbing them of a pair of jeans and a pager for no other reason than drunken stupidity (they were obviously drug dealers – who else would leave a pair of jeans laying around) I remember going to Denny’s to celebrate. It is one place where you can get into a public argument and the server’s not only let you – they Read more…
So Logan and I have now been intimate. I am not normally someone who has relations with my friends but sometimes things get out of hand and you end up in a penthouse apartment putting both your dicks in the same mouth. It’s just like any other Friday night, really.