Someone I once knew was such a font of disturbing/raunchy/totally fucked shit like this that watching Gay Bar is like streaming his consciousness live. He's not around to see such magnificent realisation of his personal conceptual wonderland, but it always comforts me to know that there are others out there with minds like rotary clothes lines whirring in a force 10 gale and hung with strings of sausages and blow up dolls and eight kinds of tinsel. Despite being one of the most perversely heterosexual men on the planet, he was a gay bar superstar and just accepted it placidly, back when such things were still genuinely risqué and even quite hazardous. I loved that about him.
Pouring out a forty to ill-starr'd gerbils everywhere.
And ahhh, High Voltage- the gift that keeps on giving.
Can't look away; don't know why; would pay good money to be able to.
Pouring out a forty to ill-starr'd gerbils everywhere.
And ahhh, High Voltage- the gift that keeps on giving.
Can't look away; don't know why; would pay good money to be able to.
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