Siegfried and Roy Ate My Brain

First, here are cute pictures from Halloween before the alcohol made us incoherent. At a party thrown by an exquisite local dominatrix, I met up with my pals Thomas Roche, Chriso, and Sexy Hornboy for mayhem and silliness, mostly marked by the punchbowl of cosmopolitan mix and the party’s proximity to the Castro. Over 300,000 people invaded SF to leave litter and vomit in my pretty city, and I got to hang out of a window just above the crowd’s heads and slur drunken heckles at non-costumed gawkers and make homosexual comments at the out-of-town straight boys who roved in pairs screaming "Show us your tits!" I mean, really, ew. Don’t worry, I told them where they could go to get their cocks sucked for free. They did not like me. Oh well. Here is me as Trinity and my gay pal Chriso as a zombie trying to eat my brains:


Meanwhile, back at the porn ranch… I’ve been holed up in a blanket-and-pillows fort trying to weather out George W. Bush’s Protection From Pronography Week. (Thanks Daze) I got a week’s supply of batteries, lube, and of course, porn, and did my best to give myself RSI from the fast-forward buttons, and I’m glad that’s over because I’ve never masturbated so much in my life. I’m also glad our leader is doing his part to protect the rights of porn watchers and masturbators everywhere, because a society without porn would be a dangerous one, indeed. We’d have to make sex toys out of rocks and sticks, and you might get poked or really abraded. But seriously, I have major concerns about anyone, any man, who *doesn’t* find healthy sexual release through explicit imagery and fantasy (porn) — especially the president.

Oh, that reminds me — a friend of mine is the daughter of a member of congress, and I saw her yesterday, and for some reaosn the subject of California’s new governor came up, you know, The Gropenator. My friend salacioasly told me that Arnie has a nickname on Capitol Hill — they call him "Niptuck" for what seems to be some very obvious (in-person) facial surgery… On the topic of surgery, I saw Siegfried and Roy on Halloween, and they are doing just fine. The bulges in their Spandex attested to their robust health.

My arms are sore from working at SRL, where for many hours yesterday I used a wire-brush grinder to buff a gas tank for a V1 rocket engine, grinding paint off to reveal a beautiful shiny galvanized aluminum gleam. No, there’s no show (until February, anyway), but I’ve been in front of the computer way too much over the past few months working on books, and I’ve missed working on the robots and machines. It’s a really great way to clear my head.

Not like going to the Power Exchange. Nope, that didn’t clear my head one bit. On a research mission, I ventured with Naughty Minx and Sexy Hornboy to SF’s "premiere" sex club, a place where no alcohol is served, safer sex is enforced, and the whole huge three-level space is split into theme rooms, most of the themes being beds. Hornboy was pretty disappointed by the atmosphere, and though I thought the pirate room was kinda neat and the jail cells pretty detailed, the rest was just little alcoves with rubber sheets on beds.

Admittedly, we went on a "couples’ night," where couples and single women are admitted only, and there weren’t many of either. I wanted to see what the couples’ things were like, thinking that it would be kinda orgiasitc and wild, but it was really not — I mean, some of the couples had sex, and there was some S/M activity, but many couples were just gawkers and clung very closely to one another. The diversity was nice (not all white), but there was no same-sex contact of any kind. Maybe I live on San Francisco Island, where there are lots of bisexuals, but that seemed weird to me. Not even girl-girl! In fact… In a spontaneous moment, Minx bent over and hopped into a set of stocks (like for punishment) and I couldn’t help myself to her lovely bottom, giving her a few spanks, scratches and squeezes — and found a cool reception from onlookers, who trickled out! We were the only ones who tried anything like that, and felt a little out of place. But unfortunately, the vibe of the club didn’t inspire us three to keep playing, so we ducked out to Martuni’s on Market street for some terrific mixed drinks, and an aging gay male piano bar atmosphere that made the night instantly more fun.

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