Now you may wonder: what differentiates a gay BBQ from its counterpart, the str8 BBQ? Well, for one, no sports is playing on TV. Secondly, never ending penis jokes about the food. After we had a couple màrgàrîtàs and finished contemplating what would happen if the house went sliding down the hill, we went for food. Chris was evidentally doing something suggestive with his potatoes that caused someone to comment. He didn't really, but the very nature of them being in your plate is suggestive at a gay BBQ (e.g., "those are some hot potatoes you have there"). At any rate, you should watch him butter his corn. Ok, I'm done.
It was ridiculously cold that you'd swear it was winter. But there I was in shorts and short sleeves defiantly showing Mother Nature that this is the official start of summer and showing her who's boss. Shivering, we proceeded down to visit the screening room again in search of our friend Dean who'd invited us. We didn't find Dean, but we did find that the screening room had now been turned into the porno room (oh, another attribute unique to the gay BBQ).
In support of our troops, today's feature had a military theme. The hottie towel-clad private came out and eventually ended up sitting in front of his superior (well perhaps in rank) then finally on all fours in front of his sergeant. We did a little "Mystery Science Theater" to the porn when the officer, in one swift motion, yanked the towel from the private making a loud cracking noise. "HAZAH!" The crowd in the screening room applauded the artful maneuver.
This is when things were about to go horribly wrong.
Continuing to MST3K the porn (and still standing outside the doorway), the camera angle changed to show the private's plumbing, whereupon the superior officer (again, in rank only), hawked a loogie on his bunghole that would make both Beavis and Bart Simpson blush. Chris and I simultaneously made a loud "Eww!" and looked away. This would be repeated once more. It was then we decided it was time to make our leave.
I also had a big surprise at the party. Justin So-Bad-Ass made a rare appearance! Ever since Justin got married and moved to Weho and out of Westwood (much to the joy of the UCPD, I would imagine), he's been MIA. But there he was, brandishing his business card, "Attorney at Law". With memories of his colorful stories of his altercations with Westwood parking enforcement still fresh in my mind, I carefully placed his card in my wallet.
Good time fun. And now, it's on to Memorial Weekend Party #2....