At the back of the hill

Warning: If you stay here long enough you will gain weight! Grazing here strongly suggests that you are either omnivorous, or a glutton. And you might like cheese-doodles.
BTW: I'm presently searching for another person who likes cheese-doodles.
Please form a caseophilic line to the right. Thank you.

Thursday, September 25, 2014

NO POCKETS TO SPEAK OF

Last Sunday the annual Folsom Street Fair was held. I know a number of people who went, though not to show off their lovely nakedness, indecorous piercings, or adorable horse-head and nipple-clamp ensembles.
Not all pink is rosy, some of it is tissue damage.

They went to enjoy the ambiance, I've been told.

Which, when you think about it, makes a drag-bondage nudity and whipping festival in San Francisco the vacation equivalent of Disney World.
With shorter or no waits for even the most popular rides!

"You know honey, let's forego Florida this year and instead visit San Francisco; it will be fun for the entire family!"

Given a choice between 'Walt's Wild Water Wonder World', and 'Wet Wanda Whips And Whips And Whips And Whips Her Dogs William, Bob, and Bruce', I know which one I would choose. And there's no wait!

You always wanted to know about whelts, now you can!

Just so you know, this display is interactive.

Good for college credit.


DRESSED FOR SUCCESS

One year I went. I was there in an educational role, handing out flyers and informative brochures to people who had no pockets.

Three highlights of the event stand out, and made it all worthwhile.

One: The Human Urinal was shut down by fair organizers and the health department before it even had a chance to 'swing into action'.
He was set up for business next to us.

Two: Mexican hamburger stand workers with glazed eyes, undoubtedly wondering why they ever came to this country.
I gave each of them some literature.

Three: "Mom, there's a man there dressed like a native American", uttered by a shy bookish fourteen year old girl.
Said in a tone of innocent wonder.


Let me repeat that last one.


"Mom, there's a man there dressed like a native American"


So we all looked. Indeed, he was dressed like a native American.

An obscenely naked native American.

Feathers at one end, moccasins at the other.

And nary a stitch to cover the lubricant in between.


I had a great time, and that burger was pretty darned good, despite the terror in the Mexican cook's face. I dumped a ton of Sriracha hotsauce all over it, and enjoyed a fabulous lunch.
It was delicious; just the right touch of smoke and char, with a juiciness that was to die for. I should've taken a businesscard -- I was one of the few people at the fair with pockets -- but I was in a hurry to get back to the booth, where my colleague was wiping his mind clean with whiskey.
We had flyers, pamphlets, brochures, and other educational stuff.
I didn't want him going rigid and into mental lockdown.
It would have been counterproductive.

"Mom, there's a man there dressed like a native American"

Just hold that thought for a moment. Feathers, footwear, and body oil.
Clean shaven all over, and very lightly tanned.

Plus a piercing on a very private part.

Très individualistique!



Far be it from me to criticize someone else's clothing choices.

Especially when there's so little of it.




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