Good friends and drag queens...

Last night, being in a rather melancholy mood, I called Becki to hang out. Neither of us really knew what to do...so we went to Club 5. Club 5 for those of you that don't know is Madison's only real gay dance club. It's one of my least favorite places. We, however, the intrepid fun-finders that we are had a lot of fun. We stumbled, completely surprised onto a drag/strip show. I know it sounds as if drag queens were stripping and that would be a pretty intense/cool show anywhere other than Madison but no, there were drag queens and then there were strippers. Both groups were kinda funny in a semi-pathetic way. People-watching is one of the highest forms of entertainment in my world and last night was like the super bowl.

Drag queens in Madison are really nothing more than female impersonators and rather poor ones at that. Real drag queens should be, in my opinion, for lack of a better word, fabulous. Ours are pretty shabby at best. Below, on the left, you'll see a good example, on the right, a piss-poor Madison type.

The strippers also left a little to be desired. They suffered a different problem though. Rather than being really sexy, they were kinda cute and endearing which also made us laugh. The first guy, whom we've dubbed 'cowboy guy' was kinda cute but had no rhythm at all and the skinniest little chicken legs sticking out of his huge boots.

The people on stage though, weren't the only ones worthy of scrutiny. A few tables in front of us was a table of goth-gays and a girl. These guys were completely bombed out of their minds. At one point, while I was standing at the urinal, which is thankfully in an alcove of its own, one of the goth guys came in and announced his presence with projectile vomit. It's never a good idea to have your puke precede you. After this impressive display, escaping the rancid bathroom with the other innocents was a challenge. Trying to dodge the puke on the floor I grabbed the wall and my hand slipped on the upchuck there so I had to go back in, doing the crazy hop-over-the-puke dance to wash my hands again. Needless to say I got out and back to the table, ready for more people watching

Puking completed, goth/raver boi was back in action on the dancefloor. He and his matching friend were grinding with some girl. The moves went something like this:

Please note: everything seems to be in order:
#1 - we're dancing
#2 - we're dancing
#3 - uh oh, we're bending back
#4 - how low can she go?

Everything is still ok until we get to step 5 however:

#5 - ooooops, I dropped her! on the dancefloor...
#6 - no worries though, I'll just come down to the floor and we can continue dancing there.

So, we laughed about that and then we laughed about "springy gay" who was trying desperately to get onto the box to dance. He was just a little too energetic though and kept overstepping the box, falling to the floor with perfect comic timing. Getting back onto the box also proved difficult and springy gay accidentally somersaulted over it. We laughed. Then one of the strippers came over trying to shake money out of the people. Becki and I however are quite above putting money in thongs (at least last night we were) and we were having none of it. Sensing this, stripper man let his guard down and complimented (?) me on my look, saying, "Has anyone ever told you you look just like Quentin Tarantino?" There's something strange about a man making small talk while standing in tiny leather underwear. So we laughed and then left.

We left but the night was not over. After Club 5 as most people know is "Perkin's Time". Becki and I headed to the famed University Ave. Perkin's for some late-nite vittals. The usual suspects were in full effect. I made my way to the bathroom and discovered the-man-who-loved-paper-towels. Perkin's has a motion-sensored paper towel dispenser. I walked into the restroom and found a strange man slowly moving his hand up and down in front of the paper towels, seemingly unaware of the towels already hanging out the front. I gave a concerned look and went about my business. When I got to the table Becki told me all about "toothless-man" and his disturbing stares. We were served by a young man who we only know by the name on his name tag-Steve the Pirate. Naturally we had to work pirate talk into everything, ie: "Steve, arrrrrrrrr there any lemons?" There were. Seated directly behind Becki was a table of tragically gay men. One man in particular talked without seeming to pause for breath about his cousin who still lived in Jamaica and the unfortunate incident of when she went slightly crazy and decapitated her new husband on their honeymoon. The story kept spewing until suddenly, in a puzzled voice, he asked, "Hey, what happened to my m & ms?"

What happened indeed?!?