Like We Just Said, AGAIN...

Another dispatch from Pride weekend has rolled in, this time from a friend who happened to stumble into the wrong (or is it right?) bar at 7:30 pm on Saturday. We apologize for the long post, no one ever showed us how to make one of those "jumps" that other blogs always use:

So I stroll over to this bar that is next door to double happiness on Mott Street. I am greeted by what I thought was a bouncer checking ID but later I realize was one of the patrons sizing me up. Inside there are about 12 guys, 12 fratty, 15 beers deep, drunk like I have never seen before, each one hotter than the next, guys (and one coyote ugly typebartendress with a push up bra).

Most of them were in various states of dress, but I just assumed it was some sort of soccer thing as there is a game on the television and something about the world cup makes men do these things. I am then ordered to take off my shirt, no shirts allowed. I abstain, thinking I have a one drink minimum for that. I attempt to speak to the guy next to me at the bar who is the least rowdy of the bunch. He proceeds to fall off his bar stool, then falls again, then falls again, he finally makes it back up to the bar and hands me his sunglasses.

So here is where it gets interesting. On the other side of the bar I notice a lot of hugging and such going on. Then one guy grabs a candle and pours hot wax on another guy’s chest. He then pulls down his pants and they pour wax all over his you know what, bartender taking pictures.

Hmm, I thought, these guys are very comfortable with their sexuality.

Then the same two guys come over and flank me and attempt to simultaneously french kiss me. They then remove my shirt and introduce themselves. One guy is British I guess, [named redacted] and looks like David Beckham. Then another guy stands up on the bar stool next to me. Someone of course pulls down his boxers and then I am offered 20 bucks to suck his dick. I abstain much to their disappointment, but no worries as he lies down on the bar and they start doing shots from his butt crack.

As I ran out the door they were lining their dicks along the bar and taking pictures.

Yes, this is a true story, and no, we don't understand why he left, either.