Thursday, November 5, 2009

Atlanta Pride.

They didn’t start serving drinks until 12:30. I know it was before noon but, goddamnit how am I supposed to enjoy a gay pride parade without being drunk? My choices were to either tally as many dude-blowjobs as possible or get drunk and dance the afternoon away. Luckily I had a water bottle half-full of whiskey to hold me over.

Once 12:30 rolled around we placed out drinks at Park Tavern and waited. And waited. I know that Coors is brewed in Colorado but I was hoping they would have at least some sitting around behind the bar. After we flagged a waiter and told him our server abandoned us, the waitress came back and took everyone’s orders again. Everyone besides me.

“Am I here? I’m here right?” I asked the person next to me.

Once in a while I need to make sure I’m still around. Automatic faucets seem to never work for me and people never move out of my way on the sidewalk. My only explanation is that I cease to exist every once in a while.

After finally getting our drinks we take off to find the festivities. There were gay people everywhere but no blowjobs. What kind of gay festival is this? We stumbled upon a cop and figured she could help us out.

“Do you know where the free blowjobs are?” a friend of mine asked.

She didn’t.

We found an open spot and waited for the parade to make its way to us. We could see it coming down the street like a typhoon of self-comfort and flamboyant cheer. Sailors without shirts. Roller skaters without shirts. Leather pants…without shirts.

As the floats and cars cruised by we decided to give something back to the paraders. I mean, they were giving so much to us. We offered pepperjack Cheez-Its to all comers and only a few were willing to jump onboard. The ones who refused, however, were not free from the cheese. I perfected a Cheez-It toss much like that of a Frisbee. The arc is the thing you have to get control of. Cheez-Its began flying at all angles towards all comers. Dancing on top of a float? Doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy a treat. Zing.

We danced, slapped high fives, threw food, and drank in the gayest way possible and had a great time doing it. However, the group of lesbians ten feet away didn’t share my enthusiasm.

“Hey! Watch your mouth. There are kids around!” they said.

I looked left and right. Up the street and down the street. I was not able to spot one child. Even if there was a child, it’s pretty unlikely that it would be able to hear me due to the music being played at such a high volume. Besides, I don’t judge them for their lifestyle choice. Why should they judge me if I like to swear and tell cross dressers that I want to sleep with them. That’s unfair and they are hypocrites.

This led me to wonder, if a lesbian were to beat me up, would I be the victim of a hate crime? I decided that yes I would which gave me more motivation to ignore their warnings. I could’ve been the next Malcom X, but for straight people at gay pride events.

The festivities eventually ended and we made our way out. I left my friends to turn down a street where I though my car was waiting for me. It wasn’t. I walked around the neighborhood for a half hour before finally finding my beautiful, green Chevrolet.

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