Have You Ever...? Part 3 - Virginia Strikes Back

11. Have you ever called your girlfriend/boyfriend "Honey?" I do believe that I have called a boyfriend, "Honey-lamb." But you see, here in the South, we're lazy and we call our boyfriends, "Hun." As in, "Don't worry, hun. It happens to everybody." or "Hun, why don't you put down the gun and come back to bed?"

12. Have you ever changed your appearance a lot in a short time? I once made my black-as-an-Ace-of-Spades hair platinum blonde. Freaky, to say the least, and not attractive. Not long after that, I did something with my goatee. But I can't remember if I shaved it or it I grew it.

13. Have you ever cheated on an exam? Yes, I have. In a math class in college, I hid the formulas I needed in the sliding case for my scientific calculator. And I've lifted my paper a little too high to show my answers to the cute but perpetually dumb boy in history class.

14. Have you ever cried in public? Gimme a break. Of course I have. I cry at movies. I cry at "Extreme Makeover: Home Edition." I cry whenever channel-hopping just happens to land for a second on one of Animal Planet's animal rescue shows. I cry when I'm very angry and I cry when I'm very sad.

15. Have you ever dated someone from another race, culture or religion? "Dated?" No. And I'll let it go at that.

16. Have you ever driven a truck? Yes. Before I got my first car, I drove my father's black 1978 Ford pick-up truck with the fire-engine red tool box.

17. Have you ever eaten in a restaurant and realized you have no money with you? No, but once, HotAss and I were invited to a going-away dinner for which Hotass was assured that the host was picking everything up and that "everything will be taken care of." The restaurant happened to be a little out of our budget at the time, and everything wasn't taken care of. When the checks came, HotAss and I exchanged a few nervous glances across the table, when we realized neither one of us had enough cash to cover our tabs. Somewhere between random dollars and a little extra room on the credit cards, we covered it.

18. Have you ever eaten frog legs? No, but then I do have an aversion to eating meat off a bone. Especially bones that are prone to hopping and flopping around in swamp water. Blech.

19. Have you ever fallen asleep while talking on the phone? Yep.

20. Have you ever fallen down the stairs? Do I really have to answer this? Cue the wavy screen and the flashback music.

Red, Red Wine, or Que Shiraz Shiraz

To prepare for my going-away party from the nonprofit agency in Nashville, a co-worker asked Virginia, "What kind of wine does he like?"

In pure snarky fashion, she replied, "Whichever one he happens to be drinking at the time."

Hey, da bitch knows me.

In the summer, you can't beat a perfectly-chilled Vivacious Vicky. Yeah, she's cheap. She's white, but damn, that girl know how to work it. But, I live above a liquor store, and the WineBear works there. I get a lot of the "budget-minded" wines, as he reminded me a few days ago. If I go in and he's working, he knows how just to direct me to the perfect white wine. Like the Cousino-Macul Sauvignon Gris.

But fall has arrived in Memphis. The cool, crisp air. Leaves are starting to fall from the trees. And a man's palate turns to tastes of something richer. Something red. And WineBear has some excellent recommendations.

Combine that with the fancy-schmancy corkscrew that was given to me by the Dynamic Dou for my birthday, I popped the cork on my first bottle of red wine for the season.

Ferngrove Shiraz 2003. Very tasty. And shiraz has always been my favorite red wine.

Desolation Flats Rustler's Red. Also very tasty. And perfect if you don't really know what you want since it's a "kitchen sink" of every red wine.

Cheers to Autumn.

Have You Ever...? Questions 6-10

6. Have you ever been on TV? Yes. In a previous lifetime, I was the media spokesperson for a nonprofit agency in Nashville, so I ended up on the 6'o'clock news a couple of times. Once, I even demonstrated how to make sweet potato ice cream in the cooking segment on the midday show.

7. Have you ever broken a bone? Yes. When I was a college freshman, I had a group of friends with whom I played Death Tag in the Fine Arts Building on Friday nights. We drew names of our target, ensuring that no one knew who their killer would be. We chased each other through acting labs and music appreciation classrooms. One night, as I was being chased down a flight of concrete stairs in the fire exit, I landed on my right ankle wrong. Snap went my ankle and I spent the next six weeks in a smelly cast. The incident also ended my acting career. Just that afternoon, I found out I had gotten cast as Chorus Member #4 in the spring semester's production of Wiley and the Hairy Man.

8. Have you ever broken up with someone? Yes. When I was a college senior, I began dating Crazy Keifer. He worked with my roommate at Chili's, and he drove up from Nashville to spend his crazy server days off. After four weeks, it wasn't working out. So I broke up with him in the rain under the pine trees. Dramatic, huh? It gets worse. The next day, while I was in class, Keifer was still in my apartment and began drinking cheap beer at 10 a.m. By the time, I arrived home at 4:30 p.m., he was blind-ass drunk. I put him to bed and went out with my friends to The Pub.

We got back home about eight. Around 10, someone suggested I might should check on him. Crazy Keifer had slipped out into the night. The red light bulb on the bedside table was dramatic, casting the room in a spooky crimson light. The open window and the billowing curtains were even more dramatic.

I don't know how long he had been gone. He could have slipped away after we arrived home, or he could have left while we were gone, in which case he could have just left through the front door.

Coincidentally, Crazy Keifer also started the Crazy Crab Infestation of 1995.

9. Has someone ever broken up with you? Yep. And in every instance, it was the best thing that could have happened.

10. Have you ever called your significant other by the wrong name? I'm sure I have, but I can't recall a specific time. Wait, does "motherfucker" count?

Wake Me Up When October Ends

This past week just might be the most blogworthy week I've had in quite sometime. So many things happened and I think that each one deserves its own post. But who has that kind of time?

So here are the highlights...

...Last Friday night, Kimdog took a roll on the river and spent the weekend with the Gaggle. She proved herself as a true honey when she conspired with us to redecorate Bobo and Dusty's bathroom in rubber duck.

...Bobo and Dusty hosted a housewarming party at their beautiful home. I'd love to visit them more, but I hear that Homeland Security has imposed travel restrictions on Memphis Midtown citizens to the state of Arlington. The evening also featured the surprise rubber duck motif in the bathroom.

...I went on a management retreat where I learned how to make boursin stuffed chicken and watched my boss get pathetically and unprofessionally drunk on scotch. In the middle of dinner, she tapped her glass with her fork, stumbled to her feet, and explained why Memphis' rank as the number one bankruptcy per capita city wasn't such a bad thing.

...I endured a five-hour-long and awkward car-ride back to Memphis with my boss.

...Upon getting home, I quickly painted my face and changed into my goth punk costume for the Halloween party.

...Today is my 33rd birthday. I almost feel like I should be disturbed by this, but, um, nothing.

...The Dynamic Duo threw a birthday luncheon for me, complete with Monte Cristo sandwiches and hearty vegetable soup. It was a nice chilly day, and it feels like fall has finally arrived in Memphis. We drew names for Christmas, and we discussed plans for our post-Thankgsiving progressive dinner party.

...I got some cool stuff for my birthday. A book of vintage male nude photography. A fancy-schmancy corkscrew. Gift cards to both Barnes & Noble and Old Navy. Kenneth Cole Reaction cologne. Yesterday I took myself shopping and found white 100-percent Egyptian cotton sheets on sale and a new shower curtain at Target. I can't tell you how excited I am to go to sleep tonight on classic white sheets. It really is about treating yourself to the small luxuries in life.

...I got so wrapped up in sheets I almost forgot about Dusty & LeBobo's gift. So now I get to figure out what do with my own website. Hotass has nixed the idea of a gay porn site. He thinks that might be overdone and common.

...When I got home from lunch, I had an instant message from my ex, "It's a chilly day here... brrr.... the kind of day when i miss you most... makes me want to be cuddling with you under a blankie, snoozing...." My ex and I had an instant messenger conversation for almost an hour and a half. And he never once acknowledged that it was my birthday. I almost feel like I should be disturbed by this too, but, um, nothing.

The Mad Organist - A Halloween Tail

People on Willett Street whispered about the organist's house. There was something a little creepy about it, and every October the house became more sinister.

Some of the residents of the tree-lined street suspected that something twisted and evil lived in the darkness. They saw the old Ukrainian man through the windows, playing dark and disturbing melodies and inviting something perverse to their quiet conservative neighborhood.

As the leaves fell from the trees in the front yard, the house became more and more shadowed. The bare branches seemed to menacingly beckon to the quiet neighborhood.

Ten days before All Hallow's Eve, darkness came early to Willett Street. Candles in the windows in the house flickered to life, and the ghostly guests began to arrive. Like shadows, the shrowded visitors moved silently through the leaves, and entered the house. What demented ritual was summoning these souls?

A single virginal figure dressed in white arrived. A minotaur stomped through the yard with his manly devil hooves. The wild-eyed Devil himself appeared with one of his Satanic minions. The living dead and necrophiliacs mingled around the porch, swilling poison from red Solo cups and sucking down sweet blood-red Jello shots. Evil laughter and the agonizing cry of "Will someone please put on dance music?" drowned out the eerie music and echoed down the street.

And the organist, dressed in a cassock, chains, harness and a leather jockstrap, reigned in a kingdom of phantom fags and gay ghouls. As his ghastly guests reveled throughout the night, unfortunately the poor organist had no control over the poisonous evil he consumed that evening.

As midnight approached, while bloodsuckers floated rubber rats in the queso dip and a witch hunt formed to reveal the identity of the Black Phantom, two undead marched the organist to the second floor to prepare him for sleep.

Throughout the night, the neighbors heard gutteral moans, groans, garbled exclamations of "You guys are the greatest!" and the rattling of chains coming from the second floor window. By sunrise, the party had vanished into the cool October morning.

The organist came to just before church on Sunday morning with shackles on his wrist, mysterious ectoplasm on his crotch and shoe polish on his tongue. Hell's bells rang in his head, blocking out any recollection of the evening. And he's forever tortured because he can't remember if the evil he summoned truly arrived or if it was only a nightmare.

Seven Things: Revenge of the Fortune Cookie

So you're sitting there at the Chinese buffet at House of the Golden Dragon China Panda Garden. You've had more than your fair share of Won Ton Soup, General Tso's chicken and something with snow peas, but otherwise unidentifiable. Everyone has laughed at the whore born in the Year of the Cock as determined by the paper placemats.

Your server arrives with your black plastic tray of fortune cookies. Everyone reaches for the plastic-wrapped treats, because you've heard before that it's bad luck to choose someone's fortune for them.

But doesn't the one who chooses last have his fortune chosen for him, simply by process of elimination? Or is that how the universe works? Are the ones who lunge greedily for the post-Moo-Shu-Pork taste of something sweet the same ones who should be beaten back unmercifully with sweet-and-sour-sauce-caked forks in an epic Oriental battle for the best destiny?

Or is it just a cookie? I'll leave it to Confucious to decide for sure.

Anyway, as you crack open your cookie, the greedy sons-of-bitches have already started reading their slips of paper.

"Good things are being said about you...in bed!" Riotous laughter ensues.

And everyone goes around the table, reading their fortune aloud and tacking on "in bed." Everyone smiles politely at the person whose fortune is stupid when their sexual proclivities are added on, and quickly moves on the next person, hoping for something racier.

Question for Confucious: Are our destinies and our personalities really determined by our bedroom habits? Get back to me on that, would you?

Anyway... so what happens if you take those two little words and start applying them to our favorite memes?

For example...

7 things I plan to do before I die..in bed:
1) Have sling sex.
2) Digitally record sex.
3) Zip through the Gay Kama Sutra.
4) Scream like a banshee.
5) Have a beefy, hairy, youngish farmer with a beard and in overalls plow new ground.
6) Fall asleep in farmer's arms
7) Now, that I'm older...sleep a full night without having to get up to pee.

7 things I can do...in bed:
1) Perform oral sex that's sure to please.
2) Analingus that's also sure to please.
3) Cuddle
4) Have breakfast
5) Well, God is a DJ...
6) Dream
7) Get distracted. (This was left over from Dusty's responses to the original "Seven Things," and I thought it seemed somewhat appropriate here.)

7 things I cannot do...in bed:
1) Eat a dirty ass.
2) Perform while the doberman watches.
3) Perform while the TV plays in the background, unless it's porn.
4) Sleep if it's unmade.
5) Cuddle with a 100 percent smooth man and 100 percent enjoy it.
6) Wear underwear or pajamas or anything of that nature.
7) Sleep when he's too hot. And I mean body temperature...

7 things that attract me to the same sex...in bed:
1) Thick dicks
2) Hairy chests
3) Uncut dicks
4) Facial hair
5) Good hands
6) Dark hair
7) Deep voice

7 things that I say most often... in bed:
1) Snooze. Snooze. Snooze. Where is the goddamn snooze button?
2) I fuckin' hate that alarm.
3) Gotta pee. Gotta pee. Gotta pee. Fuck, it's 4:13 in the morning.
4) Goddamn, you're burning me up.
5) Is that all there is?
6) Move a little to the left.
7) Oh, there you go.

7 people I want to do this with me...in bed. Well, they don't have to do it in bed. They can just blog about it.
1) Char
2) Virginia
3) Dusty
4) HotAss
5) Kimdog
6)The Artist
7) The Chef

Before Party-Throwing Fags Rejoice...

Before you demand one in your new-construction, neo-Craftsman cottage, know that the DishMaker has a drawbacks.
Wired News: Machine Makes Dishes on Demand

This seems like a pretty cool idea. Instead of washing dishes, make them at home and recycle them.

But it seems a little over-the-top.

"When Barbara Wheaton, culinary historian and honorary curator at Radcliffe's Schlesinger Library, told Massachusetts Institute of Technology researchers that she longed for durable dishes that didn't need to be washed and could be thrown away after a meal, she was surprised when they took her seriously."

Hello? Barbara, that's what we call "paper plates." And even Chinet makes some pretty durable dishes that don't get soggy with baked beans or ice cream.

And for example, it only makes a dish every 90 seconds. But for a Gaggle gathering, you might need 100 cups (we drink a lot) and 50 plates (we eat a lot too but the machine only has the capacity for 150 dishes). We'd need to put aside 3 hours and 45 minutes just to make dishes.

Hardly a good use of time.

I'm Coming Out!

In Honor of National Coming Out Day...

In the out-versus-closeted continuum, RuPaul might be a 10. She is pretty out there, out, proud and glad to drape herself in a rainbow flag. On the other end, you might find Tom Cruise or Kenny Chesney.

Now, as for me, I think I might fall somewhere about a 7 or 8. My parents don't know I'm gay. Well, at least not that I'm aware of. Or maybe like good Southern families, they just don't talk about those things. In either case, I decided a little more than a year ago, after debate for years, that I'll tell if they ask, or if a situation arises in my life that requires them to know.

Most of my friends are gay, and the ones who aren't gay know I am. And to be honest, unless you're gay, I don't let people into my world easily.

Most of my co-workers don't know about me. Although, in the past week, a few more people at the office have been clued into my secret.

My policy for coming out is to use good judgement. I'll tell you when you need to know or when I'm ready for you to know. I don't go to great lengths to hide it, nor do I make it the first thing a person recognizes about me.

Some people live quietly in their closets. Some crawl in behind the dusty shoeboxes and cower in the dark. Some men slowly open the door, and others kick the door down. My experience was more that someone ripped the door off the hinges and came in after me.

After a long and heated discussion about our respective sexualities, my college roommate, with whom I'd been fooling around with for years, pinned me on the bed with his knees and told me that I was gay and I would never be happy until I admitted it. The best he had been able to do up to then was get me to confess that I might possibly be bisexual.

That was also the same summer that I discovered Diana Ross. In a moment of boredom and love-sickness, I picked up the unauthorized biography at the library, and I bought three cassette tapes: Miss Ross and the Supremes, the best of Motown - 60s & 70s and the best of Motown-1980s.


I got stuck on "I'm Coming Out." The thought intrigued me and terrified me. I didn't want the world to know, but I wanted to let it show.


The whole "coming out" issue was complicated by the fact that my college roommate and I were from the same hometown and had been best friends all through high school. We had the same friends, and when he began dating a guy in our hometown who was known by all our friends, I knew it was just a matter of time before I was dragged through the homosexual mud.

Sure enough, it wasn't long until I was asked to come home by a girl friend to explain to another girl friend that I wasn't gay. She's in love with you, Julie said, and she'll be devastated to know that you're gay. So just come home and tell Diva you're not and it'll be okay.

I went along with the plan. I told Diva how absurd it was that I was gay and it was totally untrue. And I figured at best, I might be bi, because I still wanted to marry and have kids and and blah, blah, blah. She breathed a sigh of relief and we had a good laugh about it. In fact, we laughed all afternoon because...wouldn't it be so funny if I indeed were gay? The gay jokes ran rampant, and they eventually wore on my nerves. So I pulled her aside and confessed that I wasn't really bi and there was no way I was straight. I'm gay.

I knew she needed time to process it, so I told her to write down any and all questions she had. Nothing was too taboo, and keep a running list of questions. The next time I was home, I'd answer any and all questions she had.

The next time I was home she had a list of 35 questions, and I answered them all.

WWJD? - #2

He's 34 and lives in Washington, DC. He likes playing rugby and he describes himself as "somewhat kinky."

Today's link is brought to you by Bigmusclebears.com.

(Disclaimer: Not all links are workplace-safe. If you're going to surf the Internet and read crap like mine, surf responsibly.)

W.W.J.D.? - #2

Have You Ever...?

I got tagged by Virginia.

1. Have you ever appreciated a sunset? When I moved to Memphis, I had a great view of the sunset over the skyline every single night. And a July sunset in a partly-cloudy-Memphis-Tennessee-sky-with-a-chance-of-scattered-thunderstorms sky, full of reds and oranges and yellows and deep purple, just might be one of the most beautiful things you'll ever see.

2. Have you ever ridden a horse? Yes. In fact, at age 10, my intent was to become a serious barrell racer. I had this horse named Gypsy Lady, and she was black with a white star in the middle of her forehead. Because she was a little short-legged, she was not a barrell-racing horse. She wasn't really good on the turns. MaybeI wasn't that great of a rider. But if you put her on a straightaway, to a 10-year-old me, she ran like the wind.

3. Have you ever been a guest at a surprise party? The 7-11 party comes to mind. The Artist knew something was happening, even if he was a just little miffed that nothing happened on the birth date.

4. Has anyone ever thrown a surprise party for you? A poorly disguised surprise party that HotAss organized. The boyfriend-of-the-moment (Mr. Boring) took me out driving for a while and brought me back to my place for the Eeyore party. As an almost 33-year-old man, I am positively embarrassed that I had an Eeyore party at age 26.

5. Have you ever been in a fist fight? There have been times I wish I had used fists, and left a black eye or a busted lip. But the only real fist fight I've been in, I threw the one and only punch, breaking his nose in three places and making him bleed like a stuck pig.

The Night the Disco Ball Stopped Spinning

You might want to sit down for this. I have something very important to tell you.

I'm bored with dance music.

I know. I'm a little shocked myself. I sure didn't see this coming.

What Makes a Gaggle-Gathering?

It started with a birthday party for HotAss and me, and there has been a winter solstice dinner, a Village Christmas party, a New Year's Eve party, a chocolate party for Valentine's Day, a toga party, a Memorial Day camoflage party, a Fourth of July party, a convenience story party, a South Seas pool party, Pistol Pete's Bowl-a-Rama, and finally a celebration of love. And there's a housewarming for Dusty and Bobo coming up in a few weeks. Followed by a Halloween party and then a All Hallow's Eve dinner. The social calendar tends to fill up quickly.

And there were various and sundry gatherings thrown in there. And after 11 months with the Gaggle, one begins to see certain trends.

1. The Chef will lose his clothes. The first time I ever met the Chef he was naked. And, whenever acceptable, he is the first one to strip out of his clothes or wear as little as possible.

2. The Chef will put something in his mouth. I've got at least two pictures of the big-mouthed Chef inserting something huge into his mouth. In one it's a Diet Coke can. In the other it's a big-ass cookie. Like a python, he has the uncanny ability to unhinge his jaw and devour his prey.

3. The straight girls look glamorous. I'd like to think it's the influence of gay men. But secretly I know that these girls have more fashion sense in their purse than we have in ours. And they always look radiantly beautiful.

4. I end up naked with Wanda. I won't profess to understand. It's like the Bermuda Triangle, Sasquatch or the Loch Ness Monster. It's been witnessed by a handful of folks, but we may never completely understand what the hell is going on.

5. HotAss gets drunk. In the 10 years I've known Hotass, I've only seen him stupid, falling-down obliterated drunk a few times. But if the gathering a classic one, HotAss is stupid, falling-down obliterated drunk.

6. Dusty pukes and Bobo gets embarrassed. To Dusty's credit, he didn't puke at the wedding. Nor was he even obviously drunk. However, I've have seen or heard about him puking his guts out after a cocktail or nine. And amazingly enough, he has it to such an art form that he can puke and walk at the same time, never missing a step. And when he pukes, you can tell that Bobo just wants to drag his spewing ass away from the light of day.

7. Buffy chases a boy. 'Nuff said.

8. Buffy and The Pink Lady cheese it up for the camera. Because they are so photogenic, or because they are camera-hogs, I have numerous pictures of the two posed together for the camera. And it's not a candid shot. It's intentional. "Here. Take our picture."

9. Movies are quoted. I don't know how we could communicate if it weren't for quoting lines from Steel Magnolias or Sordid Lives.

10. There is a costume. Whatever happened to "come as you are?" I have to plan for every gathering, ensuring that my outfit fits within the theme of the evening. Or we make t-shirts for a function. What are we? Sorority girls?

11. T-man doesn't get a joke. Let me first say that T-man is brilliant, but sometimes he's a little slow on the uptake.

12. Wanda sneaks food in a corner. Like a bulemic binging on leftovers, when Wanda disappears, you're likely to find him hunched over the cake, the chips & salsa, the grilled bratwurst, or all three. "Girl, I'm hungry."

13. I fall down. I am one of the klutziest humans on the planet, and evidently I am more of a klutz around stairs, steps, and cracks in the sidewalk.

14. More than 75% of the Gaggle are wearing a cockring. What is the fascination with rubber, metal and neoprene? And why do we all feel the need to hoist up the boys? If you ask the Gaggle who is wearing a cockring, more than three-quarters will drop their pants to show you.

The Gaggle Goes to The Fair

What would a trip to the fair be without a cocktail? Not quite the fair I remember from my childhood, trying desperately not to spend all of my money in the first hour I was there and getting giddy at the mere thought of being flipped upside down.

Friday evening found me sitting at T-man’s, flipping through the Halloween issue of Martha Stewart Living. I ooh-aah’ed at Martha’s ideas for post-prison Halloween décor and food. Pumpkin lobster bisque served in hollowed-out squash. Artificial ivy spray-painted black tacked against Turkey Hill while tattered lawn-and-garden Hefty bags billowed in the windows.

Buffy entered the front door and gave hugs all around.

“Do you have anything to snack on,” Buffy asks, and then reconsidered. “What am I thinking? There’s gonna be all that food there. Do you have anything to drink?”

“We have gin. And gin, and gin,” Hotass offered. “How about a gin and Sprite?”

I sipped my drink while I marveled at Martha’s pillar candles wrapped with gauze and safety-pinned.

“That Martha. She is so fucking clever.”

Halloween is a big deal because it is a time to stick shit in the chandeliers. Hotass was already discussing plans of sticking tree branches in the chandelier to create an ominous canopy of reaching arms. Last year, ravens perched above the dining room table and Styrofoam skulls grinned down in the kitchen.

The Chef and the Artist arrived, fresh from their honeymoon, just as T-man bounded down the stairs, fresh from a healthy poop generated by his newfound love of all things organic.

After a quick discussion about riding arrangements to the Fairgrounds…

“We might as well take one car and save on parking.”

“We can but I’m on call.”

…we loaded into two cars, three by three, passing through tree-lined neighborhoods with the windows down, sunroof open, and back window down. Buffy shouted “nice ass!” to boys as we passed. It was truly a great day to be alive.

We had yet to even pull into the parking lot before we spotted the beefy security guard we believed to be text-messaging his boyfriend, and the Christian Brothers University’s baseball team, directing cars into the spaces.

“Well, what’s the point of going in? All the rides are out here.”

Walking to the fairgrounds, these 30-something men transformed into giddy adolescent boys. I swear I saw somebody skip.

We purchased our tickets, and the never-ending debate of food-versus-thrills resumed.

“Do ya’ll wanna eat first?”

“Let’s ride something first so that nobody pukes fresh corn dog.”

We couldn’t argue that point, and dazzled by bells, buzzers, hawking carnies and flashing lights, we moved down the Midway toward the first remotely-thrilling ride we came upon. Chalk one up for thrills.

Two rides later, we were reminded that we were not adolescent boys. We might have been squealing schoolgirls, giggling about the prospect of being thrown out into the middle of Arkansas and how hot that guy would be if he had teeth.

Or we might have been 30-something men, painfully reminded throughout the evening as we passed hydro-massage tables and hot tubs in the exhibit hall that carnival rides jostled our bones in ways that we just weren’t cut out for anymore.

We headed to the restrooms.

“Is this the one where there’s a gloryhole?”

“No, that’s the one on the other side.”

“Whatever happened to the old troughs?

“Hey, your name is still written in my stall.”

We stood and wondered about our next direction. A young couple passed by, the man swilling beer from a bottle.

“Hey, where can we get beer?”

“Do ya’ll want to eat now?

“Since we’re here, we might as well ride the Zippin’ Pippin.”

Thrills, two. Food, zero.

“This was Elvis’ favorite ride. He used to rent out Libertyland and bring his…hey, where can we get roasted corn?”

It didn’t take long for the eating binge to begin. Hotass and I stopped for Pronto Pups, slathered in mustard. T-man disappeared for a roasted turkey leg. Buffy returned with a boat of French fries covered in cheese from a jar. We turned the corner, and Hotass and I pitched our sticks and napkins in the trash. Up ahead, we spied a place with roasted corn, gyros, butterfly fries and more goddamn turkey legs.

I have this incredible aversion to eating meat off a bone that I have to pick up with my hands. Not only am I afraid I’ll choke on a bone, but I just feel barbaric gnawing at meat and slinging grease and barbeque sauce on my face. Ribs are out of the question. As are fried chicken and turkey legs.

The Dynamic Duo got gyros and fries and Hotass got a roasted ear of corn, generously dipped in a butter-like sauce. I got butterfly fries, a spiral cut potato thinly sliced and deep-fried. A little ketchup and it was positively divine. And I started to feel the sludge moving through my veins.

We wandered a little further down, and like eyes first looking up on the face of God, we stopped, mesmerized by the prospect of deep-fried junk food. Yes, battered and deep-fried Twinkies, Oreos, Three Musketeers bars, Snickers bars, Milky Way bars, and sprinkled with powdered sugar. At least one of each was ordered and we placed the paper plate around, sampling and reveling in the decadence.

Food scored a comeback, trumping thrills for a good 30 minutes, while we ate our way around the Midway.

“Let’s go into the Creative Arts Building before it closes…hey, look, mounted police.”

Inside the Creative Arts Building, there wasn’t so much art as it was people selling “You As a Cartoon!” portraits and scented candles.

We did see a real-live black Republican who was recruiting people for the Dark Side. Forming our solid alliance as Jedi warriors bravely facing the rise of conservatism, we moved deftly through the crowd and away from the men offering the smiley-faced “Smile! Jesus Loves You!” stickers on behalf of the First Fundamental Church of God Hates Fags.

Preventing an ugly scene, Hotass also managed to navigate me away from the snake on the fish and wildlife table before we made our way back out to the Midway.

As we stood in line for the Ferris wheel, we spotted the panties. We stood as a group for at least 15 minutes, laughing hysterically as parents re-directed their children away from the raspberry-colored panties that lay crumpled in the middle of the Midway.

From high atop the Ferris wheel, we called the Pink Lady, just to let her know that we were high atop the Ferris wheel.

We roamed the entire fairgrounds, deciding if we should eat or if we should ride something else.

“How about the Himalaya? I always wanted to be guy who ran the Himalaya.”

“Do you wanna go faster?!?” the Artist howled in a crazed rock-star voice.

“Do you wanna go backwards?!?” HotAss howled back.

“Remind me before we leave I want to get one of those Fiddlesticks.”

“Oh, and I need to pick up some salt water taffy for Big Linda.”

We all paid our 25 cents to see the spider girl. It was the discounted rate as we all saw that it had been a dollar earlier in the night. We literally stood transfixed as we tried to figure out how this lady’s head seemed to grow from the spider sewn together from pieces of black shaggy fabric. Then, the Chef pointed the mirror out to us.

“You know, that would have been a lot more believable if the spider had looked more realistic.”

“Do ya’ll wanna go out tonight?”

“We’ve done the fair. We might as well do the freak show too.”