Scary Larry
Life is hard. Black? Blue? Green? What bin does your rage go into?
Fuck all that. Just knock over the trash cans and go about your day. In other words, "this is how we do out here, dude."
[Vid by SATAN'S WEINER]
Dearest nerds and pervs, did you know that El Rio has a monthly all-girl lube wrestling competition? No? Okay, well now you do and you should probably put the next one on your calendar.
See, I'm not going to lie guys. I'd like to offer you a subjective, puritanical review of the evening that's free of sexual charge, but I just cannot do it. This event ruled for so many reasons: the rockin' DJ, the jokes from the MC, the lubricated thumb-wrestling contest, wrestlers with names like "Hella Kitty"… even the costumes were off the charts. But, at the end of the day, this lube wrestling match is a must-attend for a reason I'm sure we're all familiar with: titties. I mean, who doesn't like titties? Seriously people. Girls love titties. Guys definitely love titties. The internet loves titties. Titties titties titties.
That's not to say the party was all lube and boobs--quite the contrary. There were venerable athletes getting into the mix, some of which looked like they could bench press a bus with one arm. And the looks of horror from the front row as they got whipped in the face with a lube-drenched ponytails was simply priceless.
However, the event was not without its drawbacks; namely, the rows of creepy lurkers in the back (of which I was a part of, naturally). Sadly, I was not allowed to take a photo to show you what the crowd looked like, and the idea of getting thrown out of a lube wrestling competition in a lesbian bar was a certifiable pervy rock bottom from which my pride and dignity would never recover. But the back four or five rows were packed with whack dudes in backwards baseball caps grinning like virgins. And then there was that 40-year-old couple making out a little too hard, which grossed me the fuck out but, from the looks of it, almost caused the guy to my right to pull out his dick right there and give himself a fistful of blisters.
Did I mention titties?
Anyway, if you RSVP with Red Hots Burlesque (who aids in putting on the show) ahead of time, you can reserve yourself a seat in the front, lube-soaked, pervert-free rows. So do that.
Go Deep! goes down on the first Thursday of every month at 9pm. $15 cover, but all the money goes to the performers.
Previously on Uptown Almanac
This is weird. I was taking a break from refilling my various whipped cream dispensers (I like to bake) to causally play a game of Ouija by myself and I heard a clinking in the other room.
All the cansisters had fallen to the floor and were arranged in an odd manner. Wonder what this means
Previously on Uptown Almanac
[Editor's Note: Each week, Gnartoons creator James the Stanton will be illustrating some of our favorite Missed Connections found on Craigslist. To kick the whole thing off, he's polishing up a few gems that were left in the aftermath of Burning Man 2011, because a week of unchecked drug abuse mixed with a dash of internet results in some truly bizarre shit.]
Previously on Uptown Almanac
Note: According to a direct witness, it seems that I misjudged the situation in haste and the dude, in fact, split laundry detergent everywhere, rather than peed himself. My sincerest appologizes if that ruined your day. Below is the original post, which remains unedited despite its incorrect analysis. Refunds can be collected at the box office.
Rainy days in San Francisco can really be a blessing in disguise. They force you to switch up your routine. Wear that $40 North Face rain coat you begrudgingly bought at Sports Basement last time it rained. Leave your bike in the garage and take public transportation to work. Whine on Twitter.
I, like many of my friends and neighbors, did all of that yesterday. Only my iPhone-equiped, North Face jacket-clad BART ride was a little extra special, because I saw this:
What's that you say? Well, dearest readers, that's what happens when someone fucking pisses themselves on a rush hour commute BART train. That's right, it's a pool of fucking urine.
Pee-pee. Jersey discharge. Liquid gold. R. Kelly's Viagra. The Smello Yellow. Whatever you call it, it's fucking gross.
And to make matters even more amusing? This dude let it go down right in front of two cops.
Now, I must be totally clear here, I didn't see this guy whip out his most likely-syphilitic dick and hose down the floor with my own two eyes. But if the ghastly, PTSD-Vietnam-flashback looks of horrors in everyone's eyes as they fled the train at Civic Center tells any story, there was most definitely a traumatic experience in his pants.
The cops, contrary to one's justifiable expectations, did not freak out and tase the relieved sonuvabitch. Rather, they got on the radio and serenely called in "clean-up in car 1431," as if they were fired from their minimum wage stocking job at Safeway just last week. These cops have seen it all, goddamnit, and they weren't about to let some unkinked hose get them suspended.
It was around this time that things started to smell a little off and I bailed off the train myself, but not before noticing the reflection of one man's unadulterated terror in the puddle of piss:
Previously on Uptown Almanac
Note: the contents of this post have been removed at the snarling request of the business owner, but you can read more about the eviction at SFMOMA's Open Space blog.
Previously on Uptown Almanac
I've been down on the whole "Haight Street gutter punks invading the Mission" thing in the past, but this conversation between a Mission kid and a crusty set of Caucasian dreadlocks that I overheard last night outside a bar (where else?) has me reconsidering my scorn:
[Following a 5 minute rant about Ron Paul and how dyslexics are the only hope for America]
Gutter Punk: How could you vote to reelect Obama?!
Mission Kid: The world is a complicated place...
GP: Did you know he voted for indefinite detention?!?!
MK: Obama doesn't "vote."
And then he stole my friend's margarita.
Previously on Uptown Almanac
The SFPD is currently seeking the public's assistance in a manhunt for an attempted kidnapping suspect. The horrific creep and self-inflicted fashion victim attempted to kidnapp a young girl on Monday, Feb 13th, at Oakdale Ave and Keith St. The eight year old victim was walking to school at Carver Elementary, when the suspect grabbed her behind, put his hand over her mouth and told her that he liked to attack kids. She was able to wriggle out his clutches and make it to the safety of her nearby school.
The suspect is described as an African American male in his 30s, with a heavy build and distinctive short dreadlock style braids. He has a scar on his upper right cheek. He was wearing a blue shirt and blue jeans. He had a square-shaped earring in his left ear lobe. He was also wearing a handkerchief covering his lower face.
...
Anyone with information is urged to contact Inspector Vince Repetto of the Sexual Assault Detail at 415-553-9117 or 415-553-1361. Citizens may also contact the SFPD Anonymous Tip Line, 415-575-4444, or the text tip line, TIP411, referencing SFPD in the subject line.
Representatives of the local Juggalo community were not available for comment.
Will his albino cousin of silver screen fame appear next??
Erika tells us that 17th from Mission to Valencia is completely shut down because a nutter is making a scene and "yelling uncontrollably." Not only that, but there's four cop cars, an ambulance, a firetruck, and an army of gawkers helping make this a bona fide spectacle:
This, people, is why you should never read spiritual texts without a sober chaperon.
I've seen some creepy, stalkerish bathroom grafitti before, but this 1x1.5 ft message scralled in the men's stall at Dear Mom takes the cake.
Maybe someone took the question posed by the bar's exterior literally, and used the opportunity to express their feelings for their estranged mom? Say 'hi' to your mother for me.
Photo by Mary Bernsen, via Dear Mom's Facebook Page
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