Swingers

So the end of October will represent 2 years of me djing. I've seen some funny shit it that time, that I'll update you with as time allows. One of the stranger ones was being asked to DJ sex-party night at Calgary Adult Playground, a swingers club in the industrial area. I considered it because whenever I go to Nelson B.C. to DJ, it stikes me as odd that all the girls are in swinger-type relationships, and they're ALL smoking hot. Why would it be different here in Calgary, right? Perfect opportuity came olong to scope this joint: A Friday-night customer appreciation type affair where all members are clothed and behaving (Saturdays were the REAL party-time). So I go with a friend (as if I'm going alone...) and to my dismay, there are NO 6ft tall smokeshows, NO fake tatas, NO bukake babes...nothing. Instead, a bunch of old ladies and miserable looking dudes who like looked like your friends' parents. That's when I made up mind not to do it despite the fact that the money was decent. Who wants to look at a bunch of blotchy dad-dick getting thrown around between a bunch of droopy mom-tits? Not me...not more than once, at least. Besides, I don't think they'd would have taken me after I tried to look at their top-secret rolodex of member's names anyway. It's just as well 'cause I'll never understand swingers. I don't see what the thrill is in watching your wife get drilled, and then standing there jerking off, being all, "Yeah! Get her! Fuck her! Spit in her hair!!". I suppose, one Saturday, curiosity will get the best of me, and I'll go see what all the fuss is about. I'll try to keep an open mind, but to be honest, I'll probably spend most of the night stressing about how to get that mysterious tofu-lookin' stain outta my goddamn suede socks. I'm totally a 90's kind of guy, but there's nothing that appeals to me about having to tip-toe around some anonymous local newsanchor and his glued-on mustache disguise, while he's penetrating Sig Gutsche's belly button, and getting peed on by someone who looks suspiciously like Jann Arden. In fact, was that Jann Arden? It could have been, but a gentleman doesn't piss and tell. I guess what I'm trying to say is, they walk among us and anyone who looks like one of your friends parents (and isn't) is most likely a swinger. Just so you know.



This is what I would have played at the swinger parties:


Cyber People - Void Vision

Jesse, Ricky, call me...

Tell your friends dickheads, the internet's value just went down by half. I'll spare you the customary "Here I am, world. I finally broke down and started a blog"-bullshit, because I've been wanting to do this for ages. Here's the thing that put me over:


I don't much care for hockey anymore, but I overheard people; Canucks fans no less (arguably some of the worst people on earth), complaining about how bad this new Vancouver jersey is. I couldn't disagree more. I love them. I'm going to get one. I'm going to wear one. Wanna know why? Because they look EXACTLY like some shit out of this game:



Who never played this 8bit banger? With these guys:




Of course you played it, unless you were like me and not allowed to play video games. Or a girl. At any rate, I found a way and seeing those jerseys brought back some serious memories. One in particular stands out. I remember one time when I was a kid I was over at Jesse Rocatov's place durning Xmas break with Ricky Spincaster and we were playing Blades of Steel. It was only a 2-player game, and there were 3 of us, meaning obviously one of us had to sit out. This game in particular, it was Ricky Spincaster who was a real antsy, edgy motherfucker, couldn't sit still. We were *supposed* to be keeping it down because Grandma Rocatov was upstairs resting and her health was pretty shitty. So the first period intermission rolls around and we go to the kitchen to get some raspberry ginger ale, and Ricky Spincaster has a fuckin' coniption fit when Jesse Rocatov didn't have any bendy straws, which was no good cause Grandma Rocatov was upstairs sleeping and I was scared to all shit of that old bitch. So we tell Ricky Spincaster about "shut the fuck up and drink your raspberry ginger ale.", but he won't stop bitching about the straw situation until about halfway through the 2nd period. We didn't notice that he'd kinda disappeared for a bit and when he came back, the complaining had stopped. We were stoked...for all of about 2 minutes, until Grandma Rocatov came FLYING down the fuckin' stairs screaming like an angry, senile banshee...because Ricky Spincaster has used one of her (used?!?) catheter tubes as a bendy straw.

Here's some pictures from last week's Hai Karate while you process that deranged fuckin' shit.










Dj Mel from Texas fuckin destroyed the place. Pics by Scott Lazerfangz. Go look at his page.

I guess I'll leave you with a song to cleanse your palate. I realize that if I were half as smart as any of you, I'd have left some hockey-related song, Gary Glitter or something, but I'm not, so here's one I wish they played at hockey games:


Surface - Falling in Love