 Dispatches of theEmergency Queer Reserve |
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Tuesday, May 17 ( 4:00 PM ) Striker Comments from a night at the Corner Pocket Assorted thoughts on the strippers: "I think that I'll call him 'Thunderthighs' because he says that he used to be fat and that is why his thighs are so big." "His penis smells." "Yes but the midget-stripper is also the boss-stripper." "No, that grope wasn't worth a second dollar bill." "Look, if you squeeze and move his ass cheeks like this...it is like a puppet face." # Sunday, December 5 ( 7:07 PM ) Timothy State Loss of Glamour (L.O.G.) Report Location: Sidetracks Time: 0105 Hours Spotted at Sidetracks last night: an extremely intoxicated man walking around hitting on everyone. Every person he went for would grab the person next to them. “Here’s my boyfriend. I have a boyfriend.” When he reached for a friend’s beer, I grabbed it from his hands. “Whoa, that’s not your beer. Your beer is over there,” I said pointing to the cocktail shelf along the sidewall. He wondered off in that direction. He scanned the shelf for abandoned or unsupervised cocktails. After finding one, he’d pick up the random bottle, placing his lips around the opening and throw his head back, finishing them off. # Sunday, November 21 ( 10:20 PM ) Timothy State Slather Them in Semen I crashed at a friend's place Friday night. We were laying in bed, the vodka snores setting in. Glasses on his face, TV remote in his hand. I'm just about asleep when he blurts out: "Slather them in semen!" "What?" I say. "Slather them in semen!" "Slather them in semen?" "Yes! Slather them in semen." "Are you asleep?" I ask. "Yes." The next morning, he denies ever having the conversation. He says it's not beyond him to talk in his sleep, and if I asked him if he was asleep he sees that he would respond yes. And maybe he'd yell something about "semen," but he insists he certainly wouldn't use the world "slather." # Saturday, October 23 ( 8:48 AM ) Timothy State Keeping the Party Alive It was a room of some of the most social inept folks around. A social gathering for the Math Department of a small liberal arts college simply seems like an oxymoron in hindsight. But they had gathered to offer congratulations to their colleagues--a new adopted baby from China, and a marriage in Canada between the department's chair and his partner of 12 years. The conversation was rather forced and awkward, like the number 3.14. But when it came time for the toasts, that's when things changed. "Congratulations," said a man who was obviously uncomfortable with the entire situation in which they were offering congratulations as he couldn't make eye contact with anyone. "And I'm not a political man, but I look forward to the day when you don't have to go to Canada to get married." Now what happened next had to be a random fluke because these are not people who know of urban legends. These are not people who know of the impact of their words. These are not people who know of rumors of Richard Gere and gerbils. So when another person yelled out, "Oh, it must have been a challenge keeping those gerbils alive," he really had no idea what he was implying. His wife corrected him. "It's ferrets, honey. They have ferrets." # Sunday, October 10 ( 8:33 AM ) Timothy State Hair Nets Were out at Sidetraks last night. It used to be a cute neighborhood bar that showed music videos. But it's slowly grown to take over almost the entire block. Now it's more the equivilant f a huge gay conglomerate filled with hyper-gay boys who look like they have been outfitted for an Abercrombie ad The bartender wasn't too interested in serving with any sort of efficiency, he'd rather pose, shirtless having me wonder if he should have a hair net for his chest. # Tuesday, September 14 ( 9:04 PM ) Timothy State How Far Must You Launch the TV? It had to have been the worst rest area I’ve ever stopped in. Driving I-65 north some 30 miles south of Indianapolis, we took a smoke and pee break. As we were getting back into the Ford Escape, Dan said the guy getting into the Mercury Marquis opposite us was a big Mo. As I put my rhinestone-studded wing-tip sunglasses on, I looked up in time to catch his wave, smile and a wink. He hit the road at the same time as we were, and as we pulled away from the scary rest stop, Dan and I both remarked that he was a rather attractive man for being so hairy. He had a beard, and you could see the chest hair trying to escape his collar and his forearms were incredibly hairy. Obviously, he was a bear of some sort, although we were not sure of the specific type. He had a lean build, and was very hairy in a scary way. Does that make him a Cub? Or is a cub a hairless man who likes hairy men? This thought occupied our conversation as we passed Sexy Harry in the Mercury Marquis. He waved again and giggled at my sunglasses. And that was all it took. For the next thirty miles, he would pass us, then we would pass him. Each time, he’d be more serious with his waves. Then his tongue would start to dart back and forth between his lips as he’d roll back his eyes in what he thought was seductive pleasure. Dan had the cruise control, so we were maintaining a comfortable pace. He, on the other hand, had no idea how to use the cruise control. The lights would flash, and the windshield wipers would go—an obvious sign he didn’t know where the controls were on his car. “I think he wants us,” Dan said. “Obviously. But I think he wants us for different reasons than you think. I think he’s a serial killer. He doesn’t fit the demographic group for a Mercury Marquis. And, he doesn’t know where the controls are on the car, so obviously it belonged to the closeted banker he knocked off yesterday morning in Nashville. I bet he ditched his car.” “It was probably covered in blood from the deed, and he torched the thing to delay the investigation. That’s why we haven’t heard anything.” He passed again, this time making obvious sexual gestures with his mouth and hands. “We’d better call someone, just so they know the real story when we don’t show up somewhere,” Dan suggested. “You’re right. This way, someone on Dateline will at least be able to say in a sound byte, ‘I heard the guy was sexy, in a hairy sort of way.’” We dialed up Buckhead John to let him know of the situation. Just in case. On the phone, I turned to my right, and there he was, in his serial-killer blue Mercury Mystique, signaling us that he had to exit in 5 miles and we should follow. “Do you think there is a protocol? At 75 miles per hour, it’s appropriate to give a five-mile warning, but if we were traveling at 35 miles per hour, your could get away with a two-mile warning?” I asked rhetorically. “If we need to loose Scary Harry using evasive measures, the TV is going,” I said. “Out the sunroof,” said Dan. “I wonder, at this speed, how high you have to launch the TV out the sunroof so that it will miss the back end of the car, and land on Scary Harry’s windshield?” For a brief moment, I wished I had taken another semester of calculus. # Wednesday, August 18 ( 8:55 AM ) Timothy State Good Health I think a 7-foot costumed character always makes difficult issues 'accessible'. # |
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