Errata and Last Night in Review

Ah, Passover. You have to love Passover. I know I do. Lately, I have offended many people by telling them that they need to stop wishing me a Happy Easter while I am completing my purchase. Really, just because my skin is dark and I am not wearing a turban,, burkha, or some Shaolin robe does not mean that I have accepted your god as my “…own personal jesus…

I am pretty sure that if I were a person who believed in sin, then Lust would be my favorite.

I have been reading other blogs on this site. I am impressed with the artistry of their pages and the apparently ability that some have to add photos without distorting their text. I have not mastered that and it is really making me crazy. My OCD is starting to go berserk.

This week, I have been watching a lot of the History Channel. This is not odd, but this week has been all about God vs. Satan and other Judeo-Christian stuff. Personally, I am all about watching the items pertaining Judaica; the other side, not so much. However, the information on Hell is rather interesting in a pseudo-pagan sort of way. This morning, as I type my blog, the program in the background providing distraction for me is on the Ten Commandments. I find myself typing during commercials. In honor of Mosaic Law, I have decided to institute a change in the operations of The Rothechilde Orchard and Vineyards. From now on, if a person is homeless and starving and without means, you may eat freely from the orchard and vineyard. Indeed, you may eat your fill. However, you may not take anything from the fields. You may not bring containers of any sort to remove any extra. In an addendum that was recommended by my brilliant legal team, you may not move onto the grounds. One the one hand that would be trespassing. On the other, you would no longer be homeless and then would no longer be eligible to eat of the bounty.

Last night, I went out to visit Manthony at one of his clubs. When I arrived, the place was pretty empty. To be honest, it was nearly dead. However, soon things began to pick up and I ordered a drink and sat near Manthony by the entrance and watched people come in. Usually, I would sit in the Very Important Xavier section that he has set aside for me so that I may enjoy my beverage and “out time” either alone with a few select friends; tonight for some reason, I chose to do otherwise.

Now, it is important for me to let you in on a little secret: Manthony owns quite a few clubs. Yet he persists in working as a bouncer in the various clubs and enjoying a sense of control behind the scenes. Why? I do not know. Personally, I thought our nation was all about blatant displays of power and dominance, maybe I have misintrepreted the last few hundred years of history. But, I digress. Before I go on, let me also tell you that this particular club is a “mixed club.” That is, the bar caters to a mixed crowd of homos and heteros. Which ever way that your door may swing, you will most likely find someone to open, enter, and exit it here. You can even find couples, triples, swingers, thingers, and things that go hump in the night here. It is a pretty decent hangout.

As I sat near the door, sipping a Captain and Coke and watching the half clothed GI Joe “stripper”/dancer doing what he considered a sexy set of moves up on a stage, an odd threesome entered the bar. There was a guy accompanied by two women. I learned later that he was the boyfriend of one of the women, but more on that later. The threesome stood at a table near the dance floor and ordered a few drinks. After about fifteen minutes, the dude approached Manthony and myself. He was motioning and moving about, not saying really much of anything. Then Manthony asked him what he wanted and the dude got close to him and whispered something to Manthony. I have no idea what it was, and do not think Manthony knew what the drunken bastard was saying either. He left to go and check the door and left me with the dude.

Well, this guy stood near me and started his vogue routine and then got close to me and squeezed my bicep. Since he was drunk, I resisted the urge to pull out the Glock and pistol whip his monkey ass. Then he took my hand and had me squeeze his bicep. He stated that people get intimidated by him because he is pretty buff (the cat was pretty solid, I shall give him that). Then he made a bicep-ty muscle pose and kissed my on the cheek! Now this completely took me off guard; I was in shock and had no idea what to do at the moment. For one, the guy was not my type, he had no vagina, nice tits, and he was the type of guy walking about in a wife beater and his Toughskins jeans pulled so low that I could see his rancid boxers. If I am looking for a boy, I would rather he be pretty and well-dressed such as I am. After violating my cheeck with his flithy lips, he walked back over to his table and I decided to move to the other side of the bar.

After about an hour, I walked outside to have a clove (our wonderful state passed a ban on smoking in bars…) and saw the threesome standing out in the rain and waiting for a cab. The kissy man was too drunk to fuck and was sitting on the steps of the exit with a coat over his head to protect him from the rain. He was near passed out and leaning against the chunky lady of the threesome, who was going on about her boyfriend being mad at her. The other woman, thin and attractive in a Joan Jett-gone-jean-jacket kind of way was standing and waiting for the cab. As it turns out, she was the drunk-kisser’s girlfriend, had moved to Westland, Michigan from Georgia to be with this guy, and apparently she was having regrets. She told me that she gave up two men to move here to be with the crumpled mass on the ground and was already sick of his shit. I wanted to ask her if she was with the other two men simultaneously, but opted to look at the mass on the ground and pity the fact that he was not going to get to climb his lady’s ample bosom on this evening most likely.

At this point, I finished my clove, went back inside and decided that I should say my good night to Manthony and head home for the night. It was an interesting evening…both a reminder of why I do not go out as much anymore, and one that makes think that it is time to go out threesome shopping; if that drunk fool could score a night that he was going to miss because he was too drunk, then I am certain that it is time for someone such as myself to get back into the game.



  1. Vogue routine… outstanding. Well darling, I am sorry to hear that the wife beater, look at my underwear beyothces, piece of flesh was kissing you… but at least he was not the cowboy or that odd little flamer who kept trying to shoot liquid into your mouth with that super soaker. That guy pissed me off. He completely stood in the way of group sex with a lesbian…fucking blockers… I digress… what was I saying?

    1. Well said. It is not the kiss that was the most offensive, mind you. It was the look of the person that was placing his lips up in my grill. You just will not let that Super soaker incident go will you? Yeesh! I am traumatized everytime I see people having water fights during the summer days.

  2. But do you SING that part of the song to the cashier? It might go over better if you did, or at least it would creep them out enough to leave you the hell alone.

    I used to live in Westland. In fact it’s where I lived when I first moved to this state-I-hate, and I could have told her that no one in Westland is worth moving anywhere for.

      1. It’s a western suburb of Detroit. It’s not exactly as bad as Taylor (lovingly known as Taylortucky), but it’s definitely more redneck than where I live now.

      2. You live in the country? There is “country” in Detroit? Sister Constance, as a primary engineer/planner/genius of the Thunderdome’s Arboretum, you should know that a tiny trees surrounded by metal grates in city sidewalks do not constitute forests nor grocery stores farmland…or am I completely wrong in my assessment of the Big D, boyee!

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