Dec. 21, 2007
Christmas is over. Nice to finally shake that dog off your leg, right? Nothing like sitting around all day after the presents are opened drinking eggnog and listening to grandpa fart into his recliner. Now you’ve had a couple of days to contemplate what to do with that Indonesian-made green Wal-Mart sweatshirt your uncle from Missouri mailed you in a duct-taped Quaker State Motor Oil box. It’s the thought that counts, right? And even though he left the partially torn “$6.99 Clearance” tag tethered to the neckline so you would know how much it set him back, your guilt will only extend as far as a Goodwill collection bin. Of course, if you’re smart, you’ll take a picture of yourself in it and Photoshop that picture into another photo where people are doing something interesting – maybe smoking pot with Willie or building houses with Habitat for Humanity – something with a little voyeuristic pizzazz. He doesn’t get out much, you know. Besides, just because your uncle still thinks you’re the same size you were when you were 14 doesn’t mean you have to be a dick, especially since the sweater cost nearly twice as much as the can of Fix-a-Flat he sent you last year. So OK, maybe you didn’t get everything you wanted for Christmas, big deal. What would you do with an iPhone anyway? Surf YouPorn and send MySpace questionnaire bulletins? How embarrassing would it be if you died in a car wreck with your iPhone logged onto Bestiality.com? You’re better off staying hungry and keeping the eye of the tiger (not just because you made sweet love to the empty socket) and both hands on the wheel. It’s only a couple of days until 2008. You’ve got a whole list of resolutions to put together, plus you need to scare up a date for New Year’s Eve. If you play your cards right this weekend you might just find someone to help you iron the wrinkles out of your penis on that special night (unless, of course, your penis is an innie). But where can you hunt up some willing strange this late in the game? Well, there’s always Tangerines over at the Stouffer (aka the “Cougar Cage”). Just a couple of pumps of Axe Body Spray before you troll across the dance floor and you’ll have fur hanging off you like Jeremiah Johnson. If you like to keep it central, however, the Continental Club is your best bet, even though it might not be your target demographic. If like your meat aged and tenderized, the Continental Club offers an impressive selection, and this Friday, when old-timey juke jumpers White Ghost Shivers take the stage, the room should be jiggling with folds of white, sweaty flesh. Just remember: The dance floor is a little like Christmas, you may not get what you want, but you might just get what you need.