The phone woke me up.
‘What?’ I answered.
‘Did I wake you up?’
‘Of course you fucking woke me up!’
‘It’s half four in the afternoon man.’
‘Who is this?’
‘It’s Johnny.’
‘Ah Jesus. Call me back in fifteen minutes.’
I drank a cup of coffee on the can and was eating a banana when he called me back.
‘Alright what is it this week and what sort of lunatic am I going with?’ I asked.
‘Well this one is a bit awkward. It’s going to require some… tact on your part.’
‘Tact? Jesus the only thing I have less of is chest hair!’
‘Actually that might be a positive here.’
‘Stop dancing around it. What is it?’ I asked, losing patience.
‘It’s a multi-act show in aid of Outburst, the gay arts festival.’ I knew what he was going to say. Suddenly I didn’t feel like eating a banana any more.
‘I know what you’re going to say.’
‘What?’
‘My date is a gay guy.’
‘Not exactly, no.’
‘Well what then?’ He paused.
‘The only girl I could get is a lesbian.’
‘Well why the hell would she go on a date with me?’
‘That’s where the tact part comes in.’ He told her I was a lesbian.
‘You told her I was a lesbian.’
‘Yes.’
‘So I have to pretend to be a woman?’
‘Yes. A gay woman.’
‘You savage fuck, how the hell am I supposed to make myself look like a lesbian?’ Silence. He thinks I already kind of look like a lesbian.
‘You’re going to say it shouldn’t be too hard, aren’t you?’
‘Well you are vaguely feminine looking. And you have terrible dress sense.’ My grip on the phone tightened.
‘Just tell me where and when.’
‘Black Box at 8pm tonight. She’ll meet you out front.’ I hung up, went to the cupboard and got my bottle of Jack. I took a long slug.
I showed up late, on account of stopping off in The Kitchen Bar (my favourite bar, for anyone interested) to neck a few whiskies. When I got there, there was only one girl outside. This broad did not look like a lesbian. A porno lesbian yes, but not a real one. I felt like a complete ass but I had a whiskey fire in my belly, and that was enough.
‘Hey,’ I said, realising I forgot to ask Johnny her name.
‘Peggy-Sue?’ she asked. Obviously Johnny’s idea of a joke.
‘That’s me,’ I smiled. She didn’t introduce herself, she just stomped inside. Oh well, just another beautiful woman with no interest in me. No biggie.
Right inside the door I bumped into a guy I know. I tried to duck away.
‘Hey man!’ Damn it.
‘Hey how’s it going?’ I said.
‘Not bad… you look different,’ he said, looking me up and down.
‘Uh yeah, I shaved.’
‘No it’s not that… Are you wearing a bra?’ he asked. I was.
‘Um, yeah,’ I said, ‘it’s a medical thing.’
‘Bitch tits!?’
‘No! It’s for support. I had an operation.’
‘Oh, sorry man. Are you ok?’
‘Yeah. I’m going to go get a drink. Take it easy man.’ I got myself a Guinness and located the broad. She was sitting at a table with a bunch of women who were all drinking Guinness. They all looked like me. Fuck my life. I shook hands with them all and sat down. The broad didn’t say one more word to me the rest of the night; she sat talking to some bimbo. The tart. I focused my attention on the total hottie in a red dress at the next table. The first act went on.
Koko and the Boomtown Cats is not the sort of band anyone would expect me to like, especially if they had read last week’s Motorhead review. But I’m an eclectic kinda guy and sometimes things don’t go the way you’d expect. Despite sitting with a bunch of women who were all just as interested in the lead singer’s tits as I was, and the bra, and being relatively sober, I noticed something strange happening to my face. I was smiling. It was impossible not to. They are three pretty ladies with pink hair, backed up by a band that rocks and rolls in equal measure, and they’re awesome. Next up was Jitterbug Jackson, who did a sort of circus act to the sounds of Mr. Blue Sky. My smile widened. This guy’s energy is infectious, even to a surly fuck like me, and he sure plays a mean diablo. After charming the entire audience he took a seat behind the drum kit and Katie and the Carnival took to the stage. Anything I say here is redundant; Will already told you how great these guys are here. I will simply say that while they were playing I got that sense of selfish satisfaction you get when you see a band right before they hit the big time. Katie and the Carnival? Kid I saw those guys live when you were still shitting your short pants. Then something magical happened. A lady I recognised as one of Koko’s backing singers appeared on stage, having swapped her pink wig and frilly skirt for a sexy yellow dress and elbow length gloves. Then she started taking her clothes off. For an accurate representation of my reaction, see this video. Granted, it is hard to go wrong with a beautiful woman stripping on stage, but this was different man. This was burlesque. This was classy. For me this was love. She stripped down until the only things covering her modesty were a pair of vintage undies and two light-up nipple tassels, and the whole thing was just too much for me. I’m no lesbian! I am man! Testosterone surging through my body, I reached under my shirt and whipped off my bra. I stood up, proudly adjusted my crotch, and headed for the bar. My little scene must have been very inspirational because as Koko once again took to the stage to close the set, all the women at my table started to whoop it up and take off their own bras, leaving their tits swimming around in their sweatshirts like two ferrets fighting over some food lodged in the belly button. I turned away from the grisly sight and realised I was standing next to the hottie in the red dress. Go for it, I thought, the spirit of Mickey is with you. Just then the bartender appeared.
‘Jack Daniels please, no ice.’
‘Sorry mate, bar’s closed.’ At 11pm! This knocked my confidence and allowed reality to seep into my horny, whiskey-pickled mind. She was out of my league. Way out. As usual. I didn’t say a word to her, as usual. I went back to the Kitchen Bar for a lonely pint, as usual. Maybe I am a lesbian, I thought. I like the ladies, but I sure as shit don’t have any balls.
