Here's the kind of magical evening I had last night, and this is only the last part of the fun 'n games I had, first at Eli Cannon's where I got myself kicked out for refusing to back down from a confrontation with an asshole pudgy little fat-bellied man who claimed himself to be a lawyer who could argue me speechless, and then at my favorite hang-out on non-dance club nights, The Shadow Room. Anyway, here's a detailed account of how much FUN I had after the appetizer course at Eli Cannons, once I got to The Shadow Room:
I'll give you the first part. To read the rest, I'll give you the link to my blog, "Bobs blog," where I've posted the rest of it. Please note that David Gere is a professional movie and TV actor, and SAG member, not saggy like me. He's also a co-owner of The Shadow Room, where the altercation described in the story, in the form of a message to David, happened last night.
Dear Mr. Gere,
As you undoubtedly have heard from Not-So-Jolly St. Nick, late of TSR, Santa Claus personally evicted my old ass from TSR last night, following a certain pissin' match intitated by a humor-less and very very horny and up-tight Mere Mortal Man who appeared to be jerking off or fiddling with his I-phone accoutrement or some such at the end of the couch (sorta' rhymes, don't it? figures, dude, i am, a POE-it). Now as I 'splained to the Prophet Joshua, whom I really like, and in a FB Message to Mr. Claus, your esteemed pardoner at TSR, the two HUMANS with a Sense of HUMOR who were allegedly associated with that certain Jerk-Off (see, supra.), I had no idea whatever that the aforesaid Beefy Jerk-Offy (he was rather fleshy in his self-same corpulence) was even paying attention to all the Fun 'n Games the studly young man and the hot young Goddess in the back dress were havin', talkin' 'bout "Bobs blog" and The Hollywood Mythic Pics and the poetry 'bout yo' Main and Only (I should hope) Main Squeeze, Toni the Ti-GERE, when all of a sudden, before Jolly St. Nick could hitch up Dasher, and Dancer, and Prancer, and the Goddesses and see what was a-foot, Fat-Ass Beef Jerky tells Your Humble and Most Introverted and Perverted Servant, moi (en Francais), to "Get out of my face." Now, since he (I use that appellation loosely, like his loose belly fat) had been jerking off or fiddling with Facebook (or, only in his dreams, Fuckbook), I assumed he was saying, "Get out of my Facebook." I then told him, I'm not using Facebook right now because I only have a dumb-phone, not a smart-ass phone. This seemed to infuriate the Bull further, and he or she or it, suddenly jumped up and, after telling ME to get out of ITS face, proceeded to bring what allegedly was ITS face very close to MY UGLY OLD FACE (and I don't even get the Ugly Man Discount at TSR). When I pointed out, with perfect calm, that he or she or IT was actually increasing ITS proximity to my ugly face, and not the other way 'round, IT was seething with such HATRED of my dumb demeanor that I just couldn't resist telling him, with most polite enunciation, to "Go fuck yourself. And furthermore, sir, I LOVE you and want to make out with you." Now, for some unknown Raison d'Etre, this appeared further to infuriate the Little Boy in the Big Fat Quasi-Man Ray and he said something like, "You think you're so SMART, Mr. Lawyer, but you're a fucking asshole. Get out of my face." Since I couldn't disagree with anything he accused me of, it all being totally true, except the part about Me being in His face, I immediately pled guilty and put myself on the mercy of the bouncers. In my own defense, I pleaded as follows to the Wannabe Tough-Guy Bully: "Go fuck yourself. What are you going to do about it? Why don't you hit me. Then I'll at least have something to write about tomorrow on Fuckbook and my blog." By now, the Prophet Joshua, whom I really like, as he is a very good man with a big heart and even Bigger Cohones, and that other bouncer, the white guy who ALWAYS looks like he's in final preparations for a colonoscopy (you know the face you get when you drink that orange liquid that makes you shit the entire night before the procedure), realized that somethin' BIG was goin' down, so they came over to me and asked me to move away from the Bull or they'd have to ask, nicely of course, since they are good men, me to leave TSR. Of course, Sir David, out of respect for you, and admiration for the ass-ets of your GF, the Goddess TTT, I immediately acceded to their request. Several minutes later, Goddess Emily waltzed in to your establishment and, of course, caused quite a stir. Goddess Emily greeted me warmly, with a big smile and an even bigger hug, which instantly made me a bit bigger than I hadn't been before the aforesaid big hug. I told her that I had earlier had a nice conversation with the hot and studly dark-haired Mere Mortal Young Man who had been her TSR chaperone or companion for the evening when I first had the pleasure of meeting said Goddess Emily the night my current Profile Hollywood Classic Pic was snapped. I suspect the Bully, seeing this little tableau, of a blonde, Platinum Hot-tttt Goddess embracing the Creepy Old Man whom minutes before the Bully had gotten almost close enough to kiss me, was even more worked up (for the Goddess, I meant to imply, not for me, even though, as I said above, I had offered to make out with him, just to calm him the freak DOWN). At this, the Bully left, trailed by his two companions, the man of whom, who had aready checked out my FB page and invited me to be his Fuckbook Friend, had an expression of serious solidarity with the Bully, although the hot Goddess in the black dress seemed to be a bit bemused by the whole situation, as if she realized how dumb-ass the Bully was. At this, your bidness partner, the aforesaid Jolly St. Nick, informed the Colonoscopy-preparing Bouncer to ask me to leave the premises, which I did, of course.
Now I realize how DEPENDENT Santa is on the revenue from the moonshine sold as legal booze at TSR, so I may no longer be welcome in your Storied Shady Shadow 'Stablishment. If that be the case, I'll certainly understand. In which case I suppose my only alternative is to buy out, not eat out, the Indian Restaurant a few doors down and open a new artists' bar, dance club, and eating-out establishment which I shall call, "In the Sun." This will present a stark, even Platonic, contrast to the cave-like precincts of "The Shadow Room." But here's the rub, dear friend and demi-god. In "The Republic," Plato wrote a little piece he called "The Simile of the Cave." And in that little philosophical riff, the Sophist-NOT explained that human life is a lot like being in The Shadow Room, or as he put it, in a cave. Humans only dimly appreciate the True Reality of the Platonic Forms. But once humans achieve a sufficient Enlightenment, a kind of clearing out the cobwebs from the brain and achieving a state of True Wisdom, Love of Wisdom, Philosophy, really, they are able, finally, to leave the cave and enter the bright light of daylight, "In the Sun." Which is why I'd call my bar "In the Sun." Get it? And I can only dream, and hope, and pray, and fantasy that The Goddesses, the really Hot Goddesses, the blondes, the redheads, the streaked, the oiled, the Playboy-quality Hollywood Mythic Goddess, would avoid dim-witted, shadowy figures like The Bully, and re-join this Mere fuckin' old ass Mortal Man, aka THE WRITER, at Up or on the Rocks for dancing and "In the Sun" for a little nude sunbathing.
All best, my dear young studly demi-god Fuckbook Friend and TTT companion and freak-mate, I shall, always, remain,
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