Nick and friends came over to my house before we picked up Arianna from BART, then we went to Roland’s work, for no particular reason, but it’s kinda fun to stand in the middle of the sex shop and oggle the craggle faced, tweaked out, old ass white dudes shamefully strolling out of the “arcade” (aka sex brothel) in the back. We looked at the various pussy dildos and discerned that they were racially biased before jetting to Downtown.
So. We went to that “Cans A Make Her Dance” party that Gabe & Albert & Mike were throwing, but showing up at 11pm was the wrong decision, mostly because the venue it was at was split level. And the entry level party was a rave for 14 year old hood kids who were fucking each other on the dance floor, which was fine, because adults do that, too. But walking through the climax of their rave and into the rather uneventful, unfilled room that was their party sucked.
So jet to Ruby. Get some drinks. Talk to people. Dance a bit. But boredom pursues us everywhere we go, so me, Paulina and Arianna deigned it acceptable to return to the aforementioned party. Which, by 1am, had vastly improved in terms of fun level. Sweaty in a basement sneaking alcohol in like we’re 17, but that’s okay. Pretending like the dub influenced tech music was acceptable, and, of course, it must be noted that some bitch was floor fucking, which was great for all the dudes. (The crowd was 80% dudes, btw, ladies, is anyone ever down? Please, come with me to parties, this ratio is fucking ridiculous.) I mean, like, cool, okay, bitch, there’s some video of there floating on the Internet (hey, Rumple, link me when you put it out!!!) wherein in you are face first on the floor and fist pounding on the floor while dudes rotate emulating a variation of doggy style…ummm. Yeah.
After that, things tamed out, the bar shut down, and everybody chased the eternal high of “Let’s be drunk forever.” Or cocaine or whatever.
Anyways, the apocalypse didn’t happen, but, just in case it did and I’m just too drunk to notice, I truly hoped that you got to fuck the person you wanted to fuck tonight, because what’s the point of dying if you have unfulfilled sexual desires? Bunk. As. Fuck.