The Next Part... VI

I realize I'm now into week 2 of talking about a weekend that occured 2 weekends ago and it may go until this weekend. This past Saturday I was in New York City. It was, of course, a filth fest. The highlights include a wondrous hot dog at 4 AM, free style walking, and my open challenge to anyone who got near me on the dance floor.

Not sure weather or not this is known to you, the reader, but your funnydanny is a wondrous dancer. Wondrous. As girls danced close to me, I would shout: "Did you just challenge me to a dance off?" My boys would then clear a circle for said dance off to ensue. I was not defeated once. Several times, the honies in question elected not to play entirely. One girl, a small girl named Ali, was a fiesty competitor... she lost too. The only reason I bring her up is that a few of us were hanging out and she points a guy close by and says: "This is my boyfriend".

I said: "Oh, he's wearing a really cool jacket." It was 400 degress in the bar and the jacket was actually not cool at all. Know what she did? She slapt me in the face. She slapt my face with her hand... in the face. What did the hand say to the face? Slap. Face/Hand, became one for a time. My head was still and her hand moved to it, struck it, then followed through and disengaged contact. A collective: "oooooooohhhhhhhhh" was heard from the surrounding persons. New York City '06.

Part 6:

When Prince is done, they kick everyone out of the place. Everyone. Even Prince I assume. I am one of the last to leave as I am paying my tabulation. As mentioned in Part V, its $188. I remit payment via credit card and the bartender says to my boy Winship and myself: "You guys want to get back in?" We tell him that we do. He says: "Just tell the bouncer out front that 'Paul the Bartender' said it was cool for you guys to come in." We thanked him and met up with our group of 12 disgusting dudes outside.

I attempt to be serious: "Y'all, we can go back inside it we want to. Do we want to do this? I need to know right now. Mike, Rams, you guys' call..."

Some blank stares and some milling about ensues. Winship and I go to the bouncer to establish our connection with him because its about who you know.

Me: "Hey what's up man (glance at the huge line that has formed for re-entry)? Hey, our boy 'Paul the Bartender said to talk to you about getting back in."

Gigantic Black Bouncer: "OK..."

Winship: "He said to just come talk to you about letting us back in because we had a huge tab with him."

Gigantic Black Bouncer: "Ain't no way man."

Apparently, Paul the Bartender does not have near the influence he believes he does. Bouncers in South Beach are as important as mayors in many cities. They're really influencial people who can make a difference.

We gather the 12 sweatiest dudes into cabs and journey to another bar. I am silly drunk at this point so the reasons for things are unclear at best. For example, at some point, I was out of the cab talking to my boy Quinn's metrosexual cousin. Really nice dude with a hot girl friend. I may have said something about how metrosexual he was outloud and offended everyone within earshot. Even this dude's name was metro. It was too perfect. Other metroseggsuals would say about him: "That dude is really metro..." I have no problem the metrosexual. To each his own. In fact, we need them. Its free comedy people. Take my boy Quinn for example. He was a meatheaded jock and was (still is) one of the most well-liked people I have ever met. He has shed the jock influence and become a full blown metro. He has $50 thimbul-size bottles of pre-shave-lotion lotion. Not kidding. He gets his hair cut at the 4 seasons. It costs him $100. Note: he does have nice hair. This is a man who has more products in the shower than a house full of girls. We used to share a shower but not at the same time except for that one time because I lost the bet fair and square...

Next club. Very cool place. Very open and its on the beach. Sweat. I only see brief glimpses in my memory at this point. My boy Vits has fully morphed into his alter ego: "Bourbon Rick". Bourbon Rick is a dancer with a non-stop motor. Incredible sight to behold. As I mentioned, I only have a few pieces, but I remember walking around. I remember going into the bathroom and not paying the bathroom attendant and him getting pissed. I go: "I'm spending hundreds at your bar mannnnnnnnn..."

I stumble outside...I see a teepee on the beach on the club grounds...I walk towards it...

To be continued...