Loading ...Well in a comment in the last post I said I’d tell the story of the Gay Boy Disco in Sparta Georgia.
It was a road-trip, you see. Johnny Bill and I were going to St Simons, and then from there to Athens. At some point Richard the Previous was invited to join us. Here’s something R the P doesn’t know. Johnny Bill didn’t want R the P to come with us. His exact words, “He goes EVERYWHERE with us”.
Well, I didn’t exactly see it that way. Considering R the P was, and still is, my best friend, I was always with him. And when Johnny Bill was around me, he was also around R the P. I think it more likely that R the P’s recent fling with Johnny Bill had rubbed Johnny Bill the wrong way. Whatever the reason, Johnny Bill wasn’t keen on R the P joining us, but I was pretty insistent. After all, I never had more fun than when I was with Richard the Previous. Except that day.
Richard the Previous was in a FOUL mood. It was not our fault - we were entirely delightful company. But R the P had received some dire certified letter from his former roommate that drove him into a fit of rage, and which threatened to despoil our outing at the beach, and our night of partying.
Johnny Bill decided, at the last minute, to include a 4th friend, Apie-Kap, on the trip. I was not averse to this addition because, well, frankly I wanted to nail her. She had some enormous jiggly parts on the front of her body, and we all know how I feel about jiggly parts.
Our detour to pick up Apie-Kap put us pretty late on the road, which put R the P into an even worse mood. I was starting to regret my insistence on including him on the trip but frankly, I couldn’t see taking a road-trip with Johnny Bill alone - the shallowest gay man on earth.
We made it to St Simons, and walked on the Beach, then had some sub sandwiches from subway. It was a fairly uneventful trip to the beach, other than the sight of Apie-Kap’s deep and inviting cleavage. We left St. Simons Island and headed for Athens, where we were to meet some friends of Johnny Bill’s and party. On the way, we got lost.
Really really lost.
By this time, thankfully, R the P’s mood had lightened, and we were no longer in fear for our lives. At least not from him. But I swear, we were lost in Children of the Corn country. We were expecting a bunch of fanatical children (or at the very least, rednecks) to come swarming out of the fields any minute now to hack us to pieces with farm-tools or something.
And the sun was going down.
We drove around, and around, and somehow ended up in Sparta Georgia, where we saw more fields, more corn, and a woman who looked suspiciously like Jason’s mom from Friday the 13th. Then, we saw it, shining like a beacon. Or at least, Johnny Bill saw it. The Gay Boy disco!
Johnny Bill went spinning off the road into the parking lot of this worn-looking little tavern, screaming “The Gay Boy disco!”. The rest of us, thankfully, could read. The blinking sign out front read “The GA boy disco”, not the “Gay Boy disco”, and we knew if we let Johnny Bill go flitting out of the car, we were all getting our asses kicked by the drivers of the myriad Ford pick-up trucks that littered the parking lot.
The rest of us all shouted, “NOOOOOOO!” at the same time, in a panic. No, Johnny Bill, its the Georgia Boy Disco! And he spun out of the parking lot as quickly as he’d entered it.
I still have to wonder what he was thinking. I mean, even if it WAS a gay bar, did he think it would be a FUN gay bar, situated as it was in Sparta, Georgia, gay population 1?
The rest of that trip was… just as eventful. Involving dancing at the colourbox, a switched pizza, and an orgy ruined by a drunk R the P. Maybe one day I’ll tell those stories too.
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This entry was posted on Monday, November 27th, 2006 at 12:07 pm and is filed under criminal, edible, phenomenal, ruminal. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.
I do remember this day, but must admit what I remember most about that day was the EXTREME anger I felt at getting that certifified letter from that crazy woman demanding I pay her loads of money just because she wanted loads of money and was crazy.
There are times when people have off days and that was an off day for me. I was angry at her and took it out on poor Johnny Bill and Che and Apie Cap and the car and the Atlantic Ocean and the gay bar in Athens and the people in the bar and the parking lot of the bar and the beach at St Simons and the stupid back roads of Georgia and Johnny Bill’s slap fights and the people who invented certified letters. All because the real object of my anger was not near by.
I was, quite simply, an ass. But that was now about 15 years ago, and I’ve mellowed considerably since then (keep your mouth closed Mojo) (and you too Che!)
The GA Disco was one bright spot in the trip.
And Karma got me too. When I got back to my house, I found that the heat was on as high as it would go, in spite of the fact that it was May in Georgia, where the average highs are in the 90s. Johnny BIll (in spite of not wanting me to go) came back with me to that house and said, “I can’t stay in this heat.” I couldn’t either, but I had no choice. I have no idea why the heat was turned up. I certainly didn’t do it.
I guess I had a chilly ghost living with me in the swamps.
Well its entirely understandable the certified letter would piss you off. And if the Gay Boy disco was the high point of that day, then it must’a been a really bad day.
I do remember ordering a pizza, getting the wrong pizza, so we called the number on the side of the box and the real owners of the pizza invited us over. We went to their house, and they left us there! There were two guys asleep in one of the rooms - we could have murdered them in their sleep! We could have been anyone! I seem to remember looking for things to steal but finding nothing worth stealing. What a weird night.
Hah, the old wrong pizza ploy…
Ah, so you’ve heard of it then.
I had completely forgotten about calling up the people on the side of the misdelivered pizza box. They were far too trusting!
And how rude to leave us when we invited ourselves over. Even if we were strangers!
At the New Orleans airport again. It is now like a second home! Not nuding it this time, though! I am however tired out of my mind, but thinking back to the GA Boy Disco wondering what exactly could have been going on inside it. We’ll never know since Johnny Bill stripped off several layers from the tires trying to get away.
Even after all these years, I’m sorry I ruined part of that day. And what a day it was. Even with the jaunts we used to get up to, quite a bit happened that day!
Aw, well I think you can be forgiven for being irate at a certain creetcha that day. Though I’m not sure I’ve QUITE forgiven you for getting so drunk you passed out in the only bed in the house large enough to accomodate the orgy I had planned with Apie-Kap, Johnny Bill and that forgettable friend of his. Though I have to wonder what on earth I’d've gotten up to with Johnny Bill. I just can’t imagine for a moment he knows his way around a woman.
I ended up sleeping on the floor….
Richard.
I knew that aspect of the day would come out sooner or later! I did pass out on the only bed! But you guys could have still had that orgy. Either on the floor, or just rolled me off the bed. I was just a whisper of a lad in those days. Now I’m a full shout. But in those days you could have picked me up!
Now look here, a hardwood floor is NOT the place for an orgy. And you were a drunken dead weight that us (also drunken) souls were supposed to hoist…. to where? Johnny Bill mighta broken a nail.
Anyway, there were only two elements of that orgy I was interested in, and both of those were on apie-kap’s chest. And I was willing to endure Johnny Bill’s inept gropings of my female parts to get at’em. But I really think we were all too drunk to have a fully functional orgy.
Remember when Ozzie used to say “Like my mama always said, its never too late for an orgy.”
I think Ozzie’s mama was wrong. That night, it was probably too late for an orgy.
I have to concede dead drunk weight is unmanageable, especially to people who are also extremely close to dead drunk weight themselves.
And that orgy was simply not meant to happen. Johnny Bill’s forgetable friend wanted to try attempt number two when we got back to Macon, only this time without your or Apie-Kap’s jiggly bits distracting him from the pointy bits he really wanted, and that is when we came back to the hundred degree house into which Johnny Bill would not even enter.
It would have made his hair go limp.
He wanted to attempt number two? Uh… I hope by that you mean a second orgy and not a literal number two, because thats just…. well, wrong. At least in certain contexts. (Alone, first thing in the morning after a cup of coffee and a bowl of bran, its fine. )
Soon after that little road trip, Apie-Kap lost so much weight she lost her boobs. She just didn’t have the same appeal as a skinny little thing. I’ve always had a thing for very short, nicely rounded women. She was both those things when I first met her, then she whittled herself down to almost nothing.
The second attempt! That is just wrong. Can you honestly see Johnny Bill attempting literal number two? He didn’t even like to move too much less it caused an unsightly sheen of sweat. Messing around with, well, mess would have caused him to die of mortification on the spot.
And now I know why we stopped seeing Apie-Kap.
You know, I now just can’t imagine the New Orleans airport without the Shattered Prayer. It is almost like having Che here with me.
My plane is supposed to leave soon, but they aren’t even at the gate yet.
I’m glad Shattered Prayer fills those empty airport hours. Too bad your not nuding it.
I myself was helping my neice with an English report. wrote the whole thing myself, actually. What can I say, I’m an English tyrant. Not a tyrant who is English, but a tyrant when it comes to English, though you wouldn’t know it from this blog. But I figure I’m allowed to indulge in a little middle georgia patois now and again (Kaolin!), seein’ as how I’m so smart an’all.
Reminds me of that song Homer once sang in an episode of the Simpsons:
“I am so smart;
I am so smart;
S-M-R-T….”
I’ve gone on a tangent. Anyway, yes… English report.
Well, back to my book. I recently received a book from a publisher for review. Holy shit, I can’t wait to review this nazi-fascist new-age right-wing weird-ass christian mystic racist sexist anti-semitic piece of Hitler-turd. Man… do people like this still exist? And they’re allowed to write books?!!!!
With Fox now in the publishing business they are encouraged to publish!
Is it getting a bit quiet here? Mmm..
Well, i found a 10 pound canister of Kaolin in our storage at work today.
It’s white.
And very dusty.
And i suppose it’s legal. Legal white powder.
Someone have a good recipe for a Koalintini? Preferably of the mid-georgian patois kind!
Ten lbs of kaolin! Why thats a real conversation piece in these parts.
No, I have no recipe for a kaolintini, but I do have a recipe for a nice kaolin facial mask. I used to collect chunks of kaolin from the train yard and make facial mask with it. Very popular with hippie women.
Kaolin facial mask! I’ll sneak some home
Grow some hippie, hippie shade.
Is that train yard still there? I used to visit an old train yard near a friends’ place. Place was littered with train debris. A treasure trove of weird components
I love train-yards - they’re fantastic, mysterious (and somewhat dangerous) places. Yes its still there as far as I know.
One of my exes used to hop on to freight trains and ride the roofs with some guy he knew as a teenager. They would have to hug each other tightly to ward off the cold.
Seems like a long and dangerous way to go to cop a feel to me.
Was that David? For some reason it sounds like David.
No. It was Steve! Of all people.
Steve! I’d so forgotten about him. But he was kinda forgettable. Not to mention in every picture we took of him, he put a pillow over his face - no wonder I forgot him.
Yes. He did not like to be photographed. He was thin as a rail, though. I’m sure he didn’t weigh 100 pounds, in spite of being quite tall. His waist size was in the 20s and I used to say his pants stayed up through sheer determination alone — he didn’t have the hips to support them.
But as forgetable as he may have been, if it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t know you, believe it or not.
I dated him and through him met the hideous ex-roommate, my daughter, Ho-Kim of this very story, and through the hideous ex-roommate’s lousy taste in plays, YOU!
So here’s to Steve, Librarying out there somewhere. Haven’t heard from him in years.