Trailer Park Physics

I always have such bittersweet thoughts about dealing with Thursday nights.

I mean... on one hand... I love them because I�ve just gotten paid... and because of the glorious entity known as Pleasure Island (PI), I can see everyone from all of the places I work in one "fun" location.

So... tonight, for the first time in a while, I actually went to the Island.

At first, it seemed as if it was going to take people dragging me kicking and screaming to get me there... but... that�s nothing that a 1.5 liter bottle of Arbor Mist can�t cure.

So... after a LARGE bottle of wine pumping through my system and a drunken conversation with my Aunt Tori (although... being after 5pm MST, she was equally blitzed as I was), off to PI I went with Miss Kim.

For those of you who haven�t ever had the pleasure (or displeasure, as some believe) of going to PI, let me explain. Pleasure Island is a nighttime entertainment district, where adults can go and drink and enjoy seven different clubs with varying types of music, atmospheres and crowds. On Thursday nights, all of the cast members at Walt Disney World get in to PI for free. And because there are so many flaming homosexuals working for Disney, the club known as Mannequins becomes a giant homo-infested club.

And I�m still not sure how I feel about that.

On one hand, it�s really amusing. I love walking in and seeing random people that I�ve seen around work and winning bets on the guess of some people�s sexuality.

"Oh my God! I knew he was a big queer! I told you he likes the cock!"

You laugh... but if you listen to four of any five conversations of gay bois walking into the club, you�re bound to hear something along these lines.

It�s also fun to see people from other locations that I so rarely see and work with.

I also like the eye candy. There are a lot of pretty bois that I�ve never seen before that, while I would never have the gaul to walk up to them to talk, I enjoy having them surround me.

But... then there�s the icky seedy part of any gay club.

That�s right... the nasty vultures scoping the pretty bois on the outside of the dance floor.

At Mannequin�s, the dance floor is a giant rotating contraption that is guarded by a little ledge with barstools. The vultures stand along said ledge and along the wall, just waiting for a poor little boi to leave the floor for a breath of air... or more often another drink.

So... I got into Mannequin�s and did my usual random drink from the upstairs bar and a giant jello shot, and made my way down to the main floor, making the usual "Oh my God, he *is* a homo!" observation. I started to see the familiar faces and the faces of those that I had almost forgotten in the previous weeks.

And then it happened.

I was making my way around the dance floor to see who I could see on the sides... and I felt a hand.

Now... right off the bat, I could tell that it wasn�t the joking grab of Miss Kim (my fabulous fruit fly).

No no no.

It was a vulture.

As I stopped, in semi-shock, to see who the offender was, I saw that the man had a somewhat familiar face. I could tell that I had seen the man before, but couldn�t immediately remember who it was.

I stopped for a second and the skinny balding man with glasses and the viscous hand says... "I see you�ve lost some more weight since I last saw you."

"Yeah. A little I guess." I said, distressed that I still couldn�t place the man with the bad breath.

"You�ve come a long way since we worked together," the scary man continued.

Finally I had it. He was a previous manager. A disgusting manager that I once had long long ago, in a department far, far away from the "glory" of entertainment.

"Well... I... YIKES!"

I felt a familiar, playful ass grab.

"I�ve gotta go... Good to see ya!"

Thank god for the fact that I work in a department with so many flaming gay men, where groping someone is a perfectly normal way of saying "hi."

The next time you�re in the office... try groping someone and see what happens.

I�m willing to bet that in nine out of ten other jobs, you�re not going to get a "thank you for saving me."

By far... the funniest moment of the night occurred while on the spinning dance floor.

In order to contain the spinning dance floor and protect people to some extent, there are barriers on much of the perimeter.

One of my favorite pastimes is to stand off the dance floor, close to the main exit of Mannequin�s to watch the drunk ass bitches attempting to get on and off of the floor.

It seems to be a general rule of thumb that the drunker you are, the more room you need to get on and off of the floor.

Now, when you are going to get on the floor... especially with drinks in hand while drunk... it is accepted knowledge that you need to take a running start. You also need some room on the dance floor because you need some space in order to slow down and your body needs to deal with the fact that the floor is, in fact, spinning.

Unfortunately, the woman who was double fisting the beer bottles never got any of those memos.

Not only did she not take a running start... she started to try to walk against the flow of the dance floor.

Now, I do have to admit that, especially when drunk, I laugh a lot at other people�s misfortune.

So... imagine how much I howled when this drunk bitch stepped from the solid ground onto the spinning floor, while attempting to move against the flow of traffic... and directly into a group of divas who were all trying to get their collective groove on.

This girl, who was definitely a stereotypical hag, sure did get knocked back off the dance floor and onto the solid ground.

With her heels totally up over her head.

And her beers, which were once being guarded upright with her clenched fists and pressed against her more than ample breasts, never moved.

Which was highly comedic, as once upright, were now pouring out all over her chest, as she lay there on the ground.

Unfortunately, as there were too many people in the way and the floor was moving too quickly away from the mess, I didn�t get to see too much more of the show.

A couple rotations on the dance floor later, I did see her fag against the wall attempting to soak up the beer on her blouse with bar napkins.

And a rotation or two later, I saw her trying to squeeze and suck the beer out of the napkins.

Well... she might have failed physics in school... but I�m glad she learned something from home ec... or from whatever trailer park in which she was raised in Kissimmee.

later, kids...

~robert