Tub Time


I went to the tubs in Berkeley last night, an unfortunate decision. Nobody cute, sucky music and a stalker. Over the many, many years I’ve spent wandering aimlessly around sex clubs, the frequent “Oh god why am I here?” nights have always brought to mind two little tunes. The first is the great disco classic Lovin is Really My Game with its brilliant opening line “I can’t catch no man hangin’ round at the discotech” because there are sometimes when the fish just aren’t biting. So to speak. Sing it with me now. There is no night so grim that thinking of that ditty doesn’t lift my spirits. I’ll post it later.

The other is from some long dead, third string cartoon called Tudor Turtle. It had a wizard who would chant in every episode “Drizzle drazzle drozzle drome– Time for this one to head home!” in an odd mittle European accent. I have often repeated that to myself hoping I would pay attention and leave, but it almost never works. I may be an old tramp, but I’m an optimistic one.

About mrpeenee

A former bon vivant and terror of a number of New Orleans bars in the mad, gay 1980s, I'm now quietly retired and widowed in San Francisco. I have a crooked nose due to an unfortunate Frisbee accident.

8 responses »

  1. Well, I’ve hear that some kinky things go on in bath houses, but, I say, chanting in a “mittle European” accent “Drizzle drazzle drozzle drome…” is just about the kinkiest thing I’ve ever heard.Hot.


  2. You know I have to say, too…I might be more inclined to visit one of these dens of iniquity if they werent so damned iniquitous here in Seattle. I’ve never heard anything good about the three we have. Perhaps someday I’ll discover a glamorous bathouse and whore it up. Until then, I’ll have sex with strangers the old fashioned way. Buy them a drink.


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