To The Obnoxious Tourists Last Night at MY Ramrod
I live in fabulous Fort Lauderdale, gay crossroads of the world, which becomes one of the most popular places to be for gays elsewhere once the temps drop below 40. And that means here in Lauderdale and south Florida, Season has begun.
But l don’t give a fuck if Florida has no state income tax or that my property taxes are lower than most because of the God Almighty tourist dollar – tourism remains our number one industry. Do you guys, who think you’re visiting royalty, act this obnoxious back home? Like in MY Ramrod, one of few surviving leather bars in the U.S.?
Oh, the obnoxious assholes I encountered last night.
Blocking doors, Chatty Cathying in nomadic tribes right where people are trying to get by, stepping on toes, running like little prom girls not paying attention that you’ve knocked into somebody and their seven dollar drink.
Now if you were all Brad Pitt (when he was young) pretty maybe l could settle for the eye candy dividend.
But you’re not.
For every one hottie there were ten notties, homely, or just plain ugly – how much cosmetic surgery did you have to look that bad – Jennie Craig failures (who’s the daddy?), some old enough to be my grandson, others on their way to being their own zip codes, tres fems, fashion statements from hell – harness, shorts and floppies? Jesus, you would have been castrated in my New York Leather Days right on West Street – ironing board bodies where your sparkly harnesses are training bras, or old old, like nursing home-get-out-the-Depends old.
Plus you’re all too busy talking to your buddies to see what else us going on. Or worse, solo surfing on your fucken I-phones! So why the fuck are you here? To be seen? By who? Lighthouse for the Blind recruits or nasty chroniclers like me?
Give me back my bars that l support six months out of the year (who do nothing for us townies who help pay their electric bills) while you’re being assholes back wherever you came from.
Or do you save all your bad habits for us?