So, last week we had Cameo codpieces on Friday, Rawkus ribaldry on Sat, and drunkenly coming 4th in the pop quiz.
So what better way to recover than by doing it all again with added gayness!
Begin Fri at The Owl Sanctuary, down a couple, on to The WhatACunt for Joykiller and Liqueur, and persuaded to stay for 90s night, where Xymon is a dancer, he's a source of magic...
..who likes to move it, move it.
Then last night...
Picked up for pre-club Hulkage. Down The Owl for more, with the Jukebox and the Pool. Off to The WhatACunt once more for Britpop,,,
,,,and somehow, at the end of the night, ended up down The Loft where all the gayers go to be gat in their gayness.
Surely, Xym, a gaybar is just the same as any other bar!
So I would have thought. But when a gayer is campingly mincing in stereotypical queenery upon his exit announcing it was too gay, then there must be something worryingly wrong for a gayer to be outgayed by a gay bar.
or something.
Anyhoo, in we went...
Well, obvs Xym in all his finery got a lot of attention, and discovered that a Gayers hands wander MUCH more than Pretties down The WhatACunt in the plume of smoke machines.
And there was a triplicity of Pretties dancing near Xym, and "giving him the eye", and that barmaid from The Raving Queens Of Icini down Riverside... at least, one hopes they were Pretties, and I've not turned all tranny-fancier. Urgh!
But apart from the same-sex snoggage, and the bloatyman wrestling on the dancefloor, you'd never know it was a poofters palace. Even the music didn't give it away.
Erasure? Bronski Beat? No crass campyfied crooners here! Oh no, it's the manly butch anthems of Cher, S-Club 7, The Vengaboys, The Weathergirls and Abba.
And no-one spiked our cider with champagne, lager and Rohypnol.
Although my sister was bullied by the bouncers into putting her shoes on. Apparently, women aren't allowed to dance barefoot in The Loft. I believe their Victorian repressed beliefs are of the inclination that the sight of a bared woman's foot would ruin their hunger for cock, and instantly turn them into vagetarians.
Either that, or it's PC Health & Safety gone mad, and they can't have you getting The Gay Aids off a broken glass covered in HIV spunk on the dancefloor.
Next time, we're gonna wear flip flops to fit in as we flounce.
But not crocs.
NEVER crocs.
