38 J u st mat ? august 16.2002
OLD W O R LD CH RISTM AS • CH RISTO PHER R A D K O
HUMOR
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Getting touchy-feely
All You Have to Do Is Listen.
SLEI6H BG LLS
ot SHERWOOD
2
Groping mechanism
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n ancient Greece men would swear an oath
by grabbing the testicles of the person
administering it. No joke— this is where the
word “testimony” comes from. Nowadays
we just use a Bible, which is yet another exam
ple of how Christianity went and spoiled a
g(X)d thing.
W ith the exception of doctors doing hernia
exams and priests interviewing altar boys, gay
men are the only ones left who view grabbing
someone’s nuts as part of the fabric of daily life.
For instance, haven’t you ever noticed how
quick we are to hug after having just met?
Don’t think for an instant this has anything to
do with the solidarity of our shared brother
hood. It’s all about rubbing our dangly bits
against one another.
Fondling is the gay version of shaking
hands, and nowhere was this phenom enon
more in evidence than during my recent night
in Prison Camp.
No, that indecent exposure charge hasn’t
come back to haunt me. (They never proved a
thing, I tell you.)
Prison Camp 2002 was simply the bash of
the summer here in Portland. It followed last
year’s Walk Like an Egyptian party, which was
also great fun despite it being, like,
45 degrees that night. We
were as frigid as Dr. Laura,
but I must say our nipples
sure looked perky.
This year, however, not
only was the weather nicer,
but we had more clothing
options. As in real prison,
outnumbered guards, perhaps
because it’s easier to
throw on a denim
work shirt, tie a
bandanna around
your head and call
it done. Some
opted for classic
horizontal stripes,
while others went for
the simple orange jumpsuit
(including one poor soul
who had to repair a flat tire
on the way home with the
words “Federal Peniten
tiary” emblazoned across his
back). Accessories included
chains, handcuffs and a sur
prising amount of soap on
a rope.
I, however, was the
f»iv*n
only one wearing license
plates.
TH E G O S P E L
A C C O R D IN G
TO M A R C
b y M a r c A c it o
“Free M artha” tank tops, the boys wearing
nothing but a towel and a smile, and the priest
who went by the name of Father Foreskin.
Instead of a cross around his neck, he hung the
Pope on a Soap on a Rope. (I must mention
here that Father Foreskin was continuing a
phallic theme from last year; at the Egyptian
party he simply stuck a picture of Elizabeth
Taylor as Cleopatra on his crotch and told
everyone he was Liz and Dick.)
But this year all eyes were on the blond
hunk dressed as T he Policeman W ho Forgot
His Pants. There are very few of us in this
world capable of wearing buttless chaps, but I
must say this man is definitely one of them.
Because he was a generous sort of fellow (or
perhaps because the drinks were strong), Offi
cer H ottie allowed a goodly number of us to
cop a feel (or perhaps I should say feel a cop).
His heinie was shiny after being rubbed by so
many eager hands.
A t m idnight a siren w ent off, and a guard
grabbed me and Pretty Boy Floyd from the
dance floor and led us away in handcuffs, my
license plates clanking like cowbells. Before
I could explain about th a t old morals charge,
we were whisked to th e top of a building and
flown over th e party in a helicopter— which,
by the way, is every bit as thrilling as
it sounds.
But when we returned we discov
ered that few noticed, their atten
tion fixed steadfastly on the
ground— or below the waist, to be
more accurate. I’m not even sure
they noticed the laser light show
above their heads.
N ot wanting to be left out, I
tried to take part in the fun, but it ain’t
easy grinding against someone when
your crotch is covered in aluminum. I
might as well have been wearing a
chastity belt.
So instead I hung out on the
sidelines, pretending 1 was an anthro- *
pologist studying the mating habits of
homosexual men in their native
habitat. A nd I wondered to myself
whether she physical freedom we
enjoy somehow prevents us from
making a more intimate, meaning-
f fill connection with one another.
If we’re so fixated on grabbing a
quick feel, could we be missing out
on feeling more? Perhaps our lives
are empty, filled only with mean
ingless diversions like drinking too
much, dancing all night and grop
ing sexy strangers.
■m
I can’t wait for next year.
A nd th at, my friends, is
T h e Gospel A ccording to
Marc.
UNO OVR
mong the advantages
of owning a sign shop
are the craft opportuni
ties, so Floyd and I
me a skirt made of personal
ized vanity plates. I spent
much of the night twirling
around so people could read
messages like “JAIL B8,”
“W F BTR” and, my personal
favorite, “BND OV R.” The
latter got me some offers,
which just proves it pays
to advertise.
Originality could
be found elsewhere,
too— the guys in the
BIO JOB
in
M arc A cito can be reached at
marcacitc@atdn.com. For
more information on the
summer dance parties, visit
ivunv.aIleyproductions.com.