It’s a hole in the wall of a homo-watering hole, illuminated only by red light and smelling of sweat, tears and other questionable manly excretions. It is a hidden jewel of a gem located on lower Santa Monica Blvd. called Fubar (which oh-so cleverly stands for Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition), and it is where I spent this Wednesday night.
Watching the personalities and personality disorders flit and sashay about the bar, a new blogging topic crept into my somewhat intoxicated mind: THiNG$ i WouLD’NT Do 4 a DoLLaR!
Take for example, the attractive-only-in-soft-and-backlit-lighting go-go boy who was letting a man three times his age (and quite possibly dead for the past ten years) lick the Viagra-induced bulge in his jockstrap for a mere and singular green back!
That is one of the many… THiNG$ i WouLD’NT Do 4 a DoLLaR!
WeLCuM 2...
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