Truck Stop Pride, 6/25
Truck Stop needs no introduction. Every last Saturday of the month the batsh*t insane rager of a party infects Chelsea’s Slate Lounge with a frightful disease.
(1) frothing at the mouth whilst parting with your hard earned cash by stuffing dolla dolla bills down the pants of one of the the dancers,
(2) pinching your nose with a clothespin for fun like you did as a kid, except now you’re an adult and the clothespin is someone’s bottomless cleavage,
(3) finger banging the air,
(4) hanging off the rafters,
(5) dousing each other with bottled creme de la femme,
(6) whatever this is —I don’t know what it is but I like it,
(7) mugging for the camera, because you want proof that you are a carrier of the disease and are more than willing to help perpetuate the epidemic,
(9) proposing to your girlfriend at Truck Stop, because nothing says “I Love You” more than experiencing one of the most pivotal and intimate moments of your life being surrounded by barely clothed lesbians sweating Patron,
(10) wait — you guys look normal — what are you doing here?
Oh I’m sure they’ll catch the bug soon. Eventually, everyone does.
And now, let’s stumble into Sunday!