40 J u t M t ! march 16.2QQ1
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w ■
1
hen I decided to go out and party for
Portlands Mardi Gras this year, 1
expected it to be a wild and crazy time.
What I did not expect was just how
wild and crazy three nights of partying actually
could be. Two fistfights, one bitch-slap, two
dozen dicks, four sets of tits, three unwanted
run-ins, some public masturbation and one
cracked-out stripper later, 1 decided, “Why can’t
every weekend be Mardi Gras?!”
1 started out Friday night at one of my
favorite bars, Boxxes, then headed up to Silver
ado—or, as I affectionately call it, Skanker
ado. From the second I walked in I was in
shock. I’ve been to Silverado before, but
whoa, let me tell you, it was something
else this night!
The regular dancers were on break,
and because everyone was in the
Mardi Gras spirit, amateurs— the
best kind, drunk ones— were
going up on stage and just drop
ping their pants. No striptease,
no exotic dancing— nope, just
cock and balls.
The funniest part was that
all the wasted people in the
crowd decided to reward the
poor bastards by chucking
beads right at their packages. It
was like some kind of sick cami-
Bottoms up!
Mardi Gras virgin recovers from a wild weekend
by
M ichael W ayne K eck
val game— a “cock toss,” if you will. But the
amateurs seemed to love it (until they saw their
bruises the next day), and more people started
lining up to partake. It was complete madness.
I wanted to get away from the chaos
for a minute, so I ordered another drink
and took a seat in the back of the bar.
To my horror—OK, my delight—
when I looked to my right some guy
had his johnson out and totally was
spanking his monkey, right there in
front of everyone!
Saturday night I decided to hit the
bottle before I went out, which made
sense at the time— you know, to
save a few bucks. Turns out
it might not have been
the greatest idea. I
started off at Boxxes
again because the
drinks, just like any
good man, come
cheap and stiff.
Next thing I knew, my friends were drag
ging my dmnk ass down to Panorama, where in
my own moment of Mardi Gras humiliation 1
agreed to flash the doorman to get in for free.
(Mom, I hope you aren’t reading this!)
I ended up just dancing the night away
until 3:30 in the morning. At that point I
needed toothpicks to keep my eyes open, so my
buddies took me home.
After two days of hangover hell (I know
you all can feel my pain), I debated whether
even to go out for Fat Tuesday. But being the
lush I am, it took my friends about two
seconds to convince me.
This time I wasn’t
going to drink until I
went out, but that
meant a sober
encounter with
Ralph Waldo
Emerson, this
guy I met at
a rave back
in January.
He was
totally high
on Ecstasy at
the time and
decided that
he never had
met someone
like me before (or
at least not that
night) and that we
should be together (go
home and fuck). He continued
to profess his love and affection
(his altered state of
■>
reality due to chem
icals) with a bunch
of poems he had
written (memorized
in high school), my
favorite being a lit
tle Irish sonnet
about my sparkling
blue eyes (they’re
green). He even
went so far as to say
we should live to
Clockwise from top: Sky Dreams dishes advice; P.J. Swan,
gether (go home and
Candy and Kuntesha are bosom buddies; Michael Dippel
fuck). Being the sweet,
and the author earn some beads; general jackassery
innocent little angel I
I0 Q S 2 0 0 1
SOFTBALL TEAM!
people read
e a ch is s u e of
- Vs. Portland Police
” at Gay Pride
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M ichael W ayne K eck , although contrary
to what it might seem, is not an alcoholic. He is,
however, a recovering frat boy who likes to go
out and have a good time. E'mail him at
michaelwaynekeck@hotmail. com.
50,000
ilio
^ ) ) T h e Best Social
Gathering in Portland
World Series
Held in San Francisco
am (my friends took me home because I was so
smashed) we never hooked up, but I swore if I
saw him again we would go out and live happi
ly ever after.
I excitedly approached Emerson to say hi
and ask if he remembered me. His reply, as
he got into some other guy’s car, was a sim
ple “no.” Hmm, funny how soon his love for
me faded.
Feeling like some Temptation Island reject, I
went into Boxxes, where I proceeded to have a
heart-to-heart with a drag queen named Sky
Dreams. She sat there for 30 minutes and lis
tened to me bitch and moan about how I never
will meet a nice guy.
Then, like any good queen she gave me a
pep talk— “You’re special, and damn it, people
like you”— and handed me some beads. That
was about all the pep talk I needed, because
right then some straight dudes came over from
the Brig and started flashing their breeder
cocks at us for beads.
Apparently, nobody told them they
could’ve bought some at Rite-Aid for about
$1.39. But what fun would that be?
I decided to hit the Brig and see what kind
of shenanigans were taking place there. I pulled
up a stool by the dance floor and just watched
all the clowns shaking their groove thing.
Some straight schmuck was working his
magic on this pregnant girl in a miniskirt so
short it would make Erin Brockovich blush.
Sadly, the guy was so drunk 1 don’t even think
he knew she was knocked up.
Then 1 noticed a really wasted lady try to
take a flamer’s pride and joy: his big pearl neck
lace (the beaded kind). He was having none of
that, and all of a sudden I was watching some
messed-up Fox special, Homos Gone Bad: When
Fags Attack.
He shoved her so far back she almost fell on
her ass. She got in his face and began shouting,
but our little gay diva stood his ground and just
starting shaking his finger back and forth like a
mama scolding her child.
Before long she was pushing him, so he
pulled a Diana Ross and bitch-slapped her.
After that, I decided I’d had enough Jerry
Springer fun, so I headed home.
It would seem I picked a good year to pop
my Mardi Gras cherry: fights, tits, dicks, divas,
skanks and all-around jackassery. But from what
friends have told me, it was nothing out of the
ordinary. Dang! I thought it was just because I
was special and people liked me. jH
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