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BY PETER SOLIS NERY
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Nightclubbing in 21st Century Iloilo
THERE is no denying I’m getting old for clubbing in the Iloilo scene. I’m 47, and while the cosmopolitan disco houses and bars welcome older, moneyed patrons who actually drink, I feel that’s not really the case here in Iloilo. But I refuse to be refused, or to go gently into the good night, so I went to spend some money and enjoyed Oktoberfest last Saturday.
I wanted a dance place so I was told I had only two options in Smallville. I don’t know SV much so I brought my youngish pack of two girls and my road manager, who also manages the road as my designated driver when I drink. I remembered I had hot times with a twink in one of these places last May so we went to the spot that had imported a DJ from Manila or something. There was a P100 entrance fee, which I promptly paid because, well, I wanted to be able to stay, and make a point that money is no issue.
We arrived 9:30-ish, and of course, only the ugly ones where there first. I mean, if you think I’m ugly, you can just imagine the people who were there. We positioned ourselves by the entrance, and by the air-conditioning unit, too; and trust me, it really looked like only people uglier than I go to this place. Either they are dwarfs, or voluptuous girls like Shrek’s Princess Fiona, or ugly gay people of the parlorista kind. The eyebrows! The eyebrows!
Heavens, I’m a gay rights and human rights activist, but I wouldn’t mind if these people get killed for being ugly! I mean, is it right to be ugly? Are they even human? What rights?
I knew I needed my happy drink to get through the night, so I went to the bar and had my cocktails ordered – something with amaretto, peach schnapps, cranberry and pineapple juice, and lots of maraschino cherries for the get-the-cherry-and-kiss-me game I always play with the boys in the bar. The freaking bartender wanted to charge me double for amaretto and for the schnapps. Of course, I freaked out; but when I realized he was only charging me P175 (compared to the traditional cocktail price of P95), I dared him to charge me double. He relented after mixing my drinks. He said he’s only gonna charge me P150 per drink. I told him, “Good! You’re gonna get P50 every time you mix my drink.”
That thing about generosity doesn’t come naturally for me, but I was trying to impress the ugly moneyed parlorista who was hogging the bar and nursing a beer, and the cute guy who was eavesdropping at my conversation with the bartender. He was really cute, only one of the less than a dozen I declared to be a male beauty that night. Well, this cute guy smiled at me and so we grinded a little bit by the bar while I was waiting for my drink. I offered him one of the cherries, he bit it off my teeth, but wouldn’t kiss. So that was that. I mean, if you wanna get into my pants, you gotta kiss!
Happy with several glasses of my signature drink, I started to enjoy the vibe of the place, but was really pissed me off was the proliferation of employees of the sponsoring beer company. In some slutty uniform, they go around the tables asking patrons how many buckets of their beverage have been consumed. You give the right answer, and you get an ugly t-shirt. Then, you have to pose for their cameras so it could serve as their documentation.
I wanted to tell the girl who approached me, “Are you blind? Can’t you see we don’t even drink your beer? Beer is for losers and cheapskates! Real divas have their signature cocktails.” But I remember something nice, “If you don’t have anything good to say, keep your mouth shut. Just write about it later, perhaps in your column, where every word counts, or at least, gets paid.”
By 11:30-ish, I was totally inebriated and in the party mood. The crowd has grown like five times, and one can hardly get through without touching asses, dicks and boobs. I was grinding with everybody in striking distance, and those who stroked back got most of the fun that night. There was not one percent beauty in there, just 75 percent prostitutes and one-beer wonders. But I was intoxicated, and just wanted my body contact sport.
I was pretty amazed at how girl pigs have the gall to dance on top of the chairs though. I mean, I’m 5’4” and 125 lbs; and these two girls were about 300 lbs each. There’s a floor they can dance on, there’s even a band stage/ledge in front, but they chose to stand and pitilessly dance on their pitiful chairs. I mean, they’re pretty graceful for pigs, but who would want to see all those bulky fats juggled around? Sure they got gigantic boobs, but big bumpers on fat girls are like abs on thin men…pretty unnecessary.
What killed me though was the DJ leading the crowd to chant the sponsoring beer company’s initials before midnight. Hello, they didn’t even offer free beer! And to get the freaking ugly promo t-shirt, you have to answer their stupid survey. So I wanted to walkout, but my eye was caught by a super-dooper cute guy, a twink, the barely legal type, who came with either his mother or mama-san.
Of course, I followed the cute guy to the toilet. I mean, my bladder was just as full. We ended up exchanging numbers, but I don’t think I’m gonna call. What would Santa say? If he calls me though, I might pick up the phone. Or not!/PN
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