A Public Service Announcement from Patches

HICCUPS: THE COMMON NEAR CATASTROPHE

Hiccups. We've all had them. Did you know that, if left untreated, hiccups can lead to a cracked rib? A snapped vertebrae? The rack and ruin of any social event? You better believe it!

An attack recently felled Patches and has prompted him to issue an alert. Stop hiccups before they stop you! You certainly don't want to end up on the TODAY SHOW like that poor girl, do you?

Patches, you ask, how can I stop hiccups? Goons and Crackpots throughout the centuries have offered bogus cures. How is it possible?? Luckily, Shwami's team of Medical Mystery Experts (highly skilled Quippy Scientists) has developed a sure-fire way to eradicate the dreaded hiccup. Just follow these simple instructions and you will never have to endure the physical pain or emotional trauma again!

1.Lie down on the floor flat on your back. (Just pretend you're Shwami. It'll be hateful!)
2.Extend your arms straight above your head. (Hallelujah! Praise Oprah!)
3.Inhale slowly while counting to ten. (Just pretend you're huffing Maximum Impact.)
4.Exhale slowly while counting to ten. (This same technique is effective for taking the Barrett Long dildo all the way to the base.)
5.Repeat. (You know, like a bar crawl.)

It's as easy as churning butter! All you've got to lose are those pesky hiccups! You're welcome :)

This has been a PSA from Patches.

TowelBoy's Editorial Response:

Our friends at dictionary.com define DRUNKARD as “a person who is frequently or habitually drunk”. TowelBoy would like to add “as indicated by slurred speech, difficulty maintaining balance, and 80 proof hiccups” to that definition. Call them what you will: drunkard, boozer, inebriate, lush, or dipsomaniac. No matter what the name, they almost always have hiccups. It is a common myth that Sally Cirrhosis ended up in traction from dancing the Electric Slide a little too hard at Debbie's Holiday Nosh. It was actually an intemperate attack of the hiccups that landed Sally in the Shadyside Hospital emergency room. You could follow these ridiculous steps and look like a doddering fool, or you could simply heed the advice of Sally's physical therapist:

Put down the Jose Cuervo, girl.

Club Pittsburgh's very own Ado Annie,
TowelBoy

Disco Inferno

TowelBoy is perpetually amused that there's never a dull moment at the Country Club. For those of you that have never been to Club Pittsburgh, our bathhouse has been dubbed the “Country Club” by the CP faithful. My boss asserts that a visit to CP is unlike any other bathhouse experience. We were recently trying to explain these differences to the designer who created our fabulous new site. (Nice, huh?) Basically, Club Pittsburgh is far more social than most other sex clubs. The first apparent difference is the music. While we do enjoy the hard house sounds occasionally, you'll find the musical selections sprinkled with the individual tastes of our staff members. This varies from Top 40 hits to acid jazz. Frequent guests of the Country Club can guess who's working by the music they're hearing. This is a great segue to another unique element – our staff. Club Pittsburgh employees tend to stick around. Most of our employees have been here for a handful of years, and they've developed a great rapport with our members. They know our members on a first-name basis, as well as what time of day they prefer to visit, what they're going to rent, and the type of products they like to purchase. In some respects, the attendants are often like bartenders, listening to people's troubles and offering candid advice. The Country Club also has events that encourage our members and guests to socialize. We've had ho-downs, foam parties, holiday celebrations, theme nights, and most recently, a house music dance party. The Winter House Party Dance gave revelers a perfect example of the Country Club rule: Expect the unexpected.

I could fill volumes with stories of hot & steamy episodes at the baths. And although those tales are titillating, my inside prospective keeps me privy to gossip and mishaps. Just about every queen I know enjoys nothing more than a dirty little secret. If you were at the dance party on Saturday, I'm sure you know that the fire alarm kept going crazy. What you missed is a comedy of errors behind the scenes.

The bells and whistles started around 3 AM. Literally. While members, guests, and staff were dancing their winter blues away, something odd was happening on the alarm control panel. I first heard the alarm during the “Liquor Miracle”, that special time when the bartenders close shop, the attendants pray to the Holy Boo, and the crowd migrates to the bathhouse. With a gaggle of handsome horny men pouring out of the elevator, the blaring siren of the fire alarm filled the building. What strikes me as odd is that the randy guys outside and the Winter House revelers inside were absolutely oblivious to what could have been a raging inferno. But I digress. I recognize the problem as a false alarm (it's a recurring problem, actually), and I call the alarm company to kill the alarm and stop two dozen beefy firemen from showing up in the lobby. The overly-cheerful operator informs me that the problem is in “Zone 2”, which is on our roof. I know the drill. In the past year alone, Zone 2 has gone completely ape-shit no less than three times. This time, the fog machine for the dance party is what finally pushed the sensor over the edge. No worries. We shut off the fog machine, open the windows, reset the alarm panel, and we're back in business.

For about thirty seconds.

Of course, the alarm goes off again. I call the alarm company, reset the alarm, assure everyone that we're not going to erupt into a ball of fire, and try to press forward with the party. And this cycle repeats itself every forty-five seconds. I actually think I may have carpal tunnel syndrome from resetting the keypad. The guys keep streaming in, unconcerned about the continuous warning of a smoky holocaust. The operator for the alarm company blatantly refuses to disarm Zone 2. Each time, she questions my conclusion that it's a false alarm. “Please check the area to make sure there's no fire.” Get real, Mary. This has been going on for an hour. We would have burned to the ground by now. I miss a call to the alarm company while dealing with our customers, and the fire department shows up in the lobby. Nobody with authority is dressed, so I'm having a hard time finding someone to go down and talk to the firemen. And of course, there's a bigger problem: the fire alarm disables the elevator. There are guys at the front door that can't get up to the club, and those checking out can't leave. Poor Richie got stuck escorting guests up and down the stairwell. After three hours of ringing bells, flashing lights, and more drama than sweeps month on Y&R, we solved the alarm problem. And as always, the party went on.

The problem is actually lint. Obviously, we wash & dry a lot of towels. After nearly seven years, the lint has managed to take over. There is lint covering our electronic equipment, climbing its way up the walls, getting stuck in the computers, and garnishing the duct work. We keep cleaning it, and it keeps multiplying. There are even times when my car gets covered with lint. (The dryer vents are above my parking space.) Poor Patches goes crazy perpetually cleaning the lint traps in the dryers. (Patches once made a butt plug out of the dryer lint. Seriously.) But even Patches' efforts at lint removal are futile; lint rules Club Pittsburgh. And apparently it gets into the alarm sensor in Zone 2. The lint in the sensor traps the remnants of the fog machine as they try to escape through the ventilation. Bells, whistles, disabled elevators, and rugged firemen ensue. And that ads a whole new level of excitement to the Winter House Party Dance.

Even though there wasn't an actual fire, our friends at Hot House kept the video lounge burning in February. The MGM of porn sent us a brand new batch of DVDs for our exclusive Hot House channel. (Channel 69, of course.) Some of the new movies include both titles in the VERBOTEN series, as well as the latest in TRUNKS. (#4 if you're counting.) There are also several PACK videos, in which one Hot House hunk is entertained by a pack of hotties. Brilliant director Steven Scarborough shot these movies as one continuous scene. There are a lot more hardcore titles, like MISTER FISTER, and a lot more of my Hot House husband, Mike Roberts. Be sure to stop in soon and check out Mike in his JOCKSTRAP.

I pilfered the photos above from the Hot House website. It's extremely cool and interactive. You can even join the Backroom, with exclusive video feeds not available on DVD. Check it out:

www.hothouse.com

Keeping the fire burning all winter long,
TowelBoy

Very Important Messages

TowelBoy has decided that it's time to introduce today's liberated gay stud to Miss Manners. I must start by saying that I really appreciate that you've chosen to make Club Pittsburgh the place where you can PLAY in every sense of the word. Everyone needs a place where they can release the worries of the world, and I'm glad the club is that place for you. I have thoroughly enjoyed being you shining beacon in an alcohol haze for the past six years. But I see no reason why we can't relax, push our inhibitions aside, and explore our fantasies and desires while still maintaining some social grace and dignity. I would like to add a little something to the dictionary definition of “stud”: A stud is a gentleman who is the epitome of class and style. And he is always courteous to everyone, setting an example even if someone is a rude asshole in return. Allow TowelBoy to dawn his most colorful headgear and channel Miss Manners to enlighten the masses. In other words, (in Peter Griffin's words, actually), here's what really grinds my gears...

Let's start with the telephone. It used to be that the trendiest logos to have on your pocket were CK or D&G. That has somehow been replaced by Verizon and T-Mobile. (That one's too easy, so I'm not going there.) I have never understood the gay fascination with the telephone. I'm sure that Alexander Graham Bell would be hononed to know that he's an iconoclast with the likes of Madonna and Cher, but I think even Mr. Bell would be amazed with homo telephone obsession. I once had a roommate declare war because of missed telephone calls. This was back in the days of dial-up internet, and he couldn't burn up the phone line while I was cruising for gentleman callers. He would start biting his nails when I even got close to the computer. Once, while I was checking my email at 2 AM, he blurted out that he was missing “very important messages” because I was tying up the phone line. Now, although I'll never know what these messages were, I'm positive they weren't issues of national security. By 2 AM, Condi is at least four hours into her beauty sleep regamine. And quite frankly, so is his mother. Who else could possibly be calling in the middle of the night? But I digress. Several years later, I am baffled that so many people need to make a call while checking into the bathhouse at 2 AM. You're supposed to be coming to the tubs to escape the world. I can't imagine any circumstance when talking to your best girlfriend from Wilmerding while buying poppers and lube is necessary, especially in the middle of the night. It is perfectly acceptable to make yourself unavailable – this bitch does it all the time. I do concede that the time of day and establishment are irrelevant. The bottom line: It is extremely rude and disrespectful to talk on the telephone when a salesperson or clerk is trying to provide you with service. This is equally true at the bathhouse, Wal-Mart, or Denny's. Not only is it insulting to the salesperson or clerk, it often makes the transaction impossible. The people in line behind Chatty Cathy get really pissed off, too. I can not tell you how often a long line on a busy night falls to a screeching halt because a telephone-clad customer can't complete his transaction. Our attendants have the right to refuse service until you hang up the phone. And for the record, texting is worse. Get our your ID, sign the waiver, pay the fee, lock your valuables, get your key...and then make your call. I promise that Condi will understand.

The next little bit of advice is one of the first things that we learn in Kindergarten. Frankly, I can't remember what happened on Y&R yesterday, let alone a lesson from a Catholic school nun 25 years ago. So here it is, drum roll please: Take Your Turn. Now, when I'm in pursuit of a gentelman caller, I tend to completely lose my wits. To describe my mindset as urgent is usually an understatement. But please remember that you're not the only guest at Club Pittsburgh. (That would suck, wouldn't it?) Everyone is equally anxious, and they deserve equal consideration. This means that sometimes you need to wait in line to check in and out, get access to your lock box, or get a clean towel. Jumping in front of another person won't get you faster service; it will just make TowelBoy bug-eyed. This happens all the time: Somebody jumps in front of a customer who's checking out to get a clean towel. Somebody pushes another guest out of the way to set his key on the counter. Or somebody pummels the check-in line because he really can't hold his bladder another second. (And I won't even mention what happens when Miss Mary LaLa gets cigarettes stuck in the vending machine.) Hmmm. My Grammy Millie always used to say that patience is a virtue. You're not going to chafe by keeping that towel for a spit second while Milton from “out of town” retrieves his items from the lock box. The key isn't so heavy that you can't keep it on your wrist until it's your turn at the window. And if you really can't refrain from urinating until the two minute check-in process is complete, I suggest you Google “June Allyson”. She got back into life, and you can, too!

Another issue is learning to move on when a gentleman who catches your eye doesn't share your interest. This even happens to yours truly more often than I care to admit. Several factors become an issue here, including hormones and ego. Usually, by the time I work up the courage to express my interest in someone, I'm so drunk on my own testosterone that I can't remember my middle name. It's hard for me to focus on what I'll do if he's not interested; the countless other options aren't exactly obvious in that moment. And then there's ego. In spite of myself, I feel somewhat offended when I get turned down. (Especially if he was rude about it.) Essentially, cruising in a bathhouse comes down to a simple chemical reaction. Either it happens or it doesn't. I have to remind myself that if someone isn't interested, if the chemical reaction doesn't happen...it's not a value judgment. He knows nothing about me beyond immediate physical attraction. He doesn't know that I'm funny, or witty, or responsible. He doesn't know that I'm kind-hearted and generous. He doesn't know that I got a perfect score on my SAT's. (I didn't – but he doesn't know that.) It's moments like these that I have to conjure the voice of Meredith Baxter in my head. Anybody who has seen Meredith Baxter in the Lifetime men-suck-tragedy of the week knows that NO MEANS NO. Sometimes Treat Williams has to accept ''NO'', and we do, too. In the same respect, Meredith is always a lady. (Albeit a drunken, raped, beaten, manic-depressive, paraplegic, cancer-stricken, bulimic, heroin-addicted lady in the way that only Lifetime can make her.) She always turns down a gentleman with class and style. The first time, anyway. If you're not interested, be polite about it. And if someone isn't interested in you, be a gentleman and move on. We're studs, after all – something better will come along.

Okay. I've got three biggies out of the way. I shall quit complaining and focus on the positive. How about that new website, huh? After almost seven months of planning, our new site went live on February 9. Please check out the updated tour, photo gallery, FAQ, events calendar, and parking section. You can now get customized directions to Club Pittsburgh courtesy of Google Maps. Just go to the Pittsburgh map in the DIRECTIONS section and click on the green marker above Club Pittsburgh. If you choose to join our online community, you will be emailed the latest updates, special offers and coupons...and breaking news. Notice BREAKING NEWS in the menu bar. Here's where you can find information on any closures, maintenance, or last-minute specials before visiting the club. This dynamic site can be updated instantly by our managers with having to be re-designed or republished. I promise the updates will be frequent. Have more questions? Check out our contact information and drop us a note.

I'm hearing rumors of a porn star performance coming soon. Perhaps this is a good time to check out BREAKING NEWS...

Bringing YOU Very Important Messages,
TowelBoy

Get NUKED

TowelBoy finds that old habits die harder than a drag queen at a farewell pageant. I have spent the past two decades obsessed with daytime soap operas. I find them almost as appealing as a horny businessman stud stuck in Pittsburgh on a lay-over to the Great State. I can easily rattle off major plot lines of all eight daytime dramas. Catch me after a few cups of Flavia, and I can name all of Erica Kane’s husbands in order. I can not walk past the television in the lounge at Club Pittsburgh between noon and Oprah, or there’s no chance that I’ll do any work. Having a bad day? It could be worse. Poor Victoria Newman (Y&R) was in a coma for four months because her father accidentally blew up a building over her head. Find yourself missing a long-lost significant other? Take solace is the tribulations of poor Angie Hubbard (AMC). While she has spent the last twenty years mourning the death of her beloved husband, Jesse, he’s been kept hidden by the government as a top-secret witness in a high-profile case. Feeling a little disoriented? Well, Mary, consider this: The long-suffering Vicki Davidson (OLTL) has been battling no less than six personalities for the last thirty years! Now the genius producers of As the World Turns have found a way to mix sultry drama with handsome, lovelorn, heterosexually-challenged teenagers. Are you ready to get Nuked?

Cutie Van Hansis has played teenage rebel Luke Snyder on the iconic sudser for the past three years. Hansis received tons of attention from the entertainment media when his 16 year-old character came out of the closet in 2006. Hansis is the epitome of attractive, with a nice build, floppy blonde hair, pouty lips, and soft brown eyes. Although in his mid-twenties, he’s very credible as a high school student daunted by his sexuality. Both CBS, the show’s media outlet for the past half century, and Proctor & Gamble, the company that owns the show, were extremely tentative when this story began two years ago. Both network and production company were afraid of a negative response from middle America. Pissed-off Kansans usually lead to pissed-off sponsers. Apparently the moral majority watches a lot of television and buys a lot of Tide. As it turns out, both CBS and P&G underestimated the discourse over gay issues in this country and the appeal of Van Hansis. Their trepidation was over-blown and unnecessary; Luke’s coming out was a huge hit with the show’s fans and beyond. America was so captivated by Luke’s story that the producers decided to give him a boyfriend. Last year, Jake Silbermann created the role of Noah Mayer. Noah first appeared as the boyfriend of Noah’s (female) best friend. It is a soap opera, however, and slowly Luke and Noah fell in love. The sweet story of two young men discovering themselves has been absolutely riveting. Hansis and Silvermann have become media darlings. (The photo above is from their appearance at the GLAAD Awards.) And the fans have gone wild! The show is gaining fans at a time when viewers are leaving daytime television faster than Chastity Bono can get from one end of the Ponderosa buffet to the other. Enthusiasts of this dynamic duo have affectionately dubbed them “Nuke”. (It’s a soap thing. Take two parts of a couple, like John and Marlena, combine their names, and you get “Jolena”. We soap queens do it all the time. Think “TomKat”, only not repulsive.) There are now Nuke fan events all over the county, and Nuke even has their own MySpace page.

I really appreciate that the show has been extremely realistic yet responsible about sexual issues. The ongoing dialogue about sex that these two characters are sharing has been both factual and blunt. (And unbelievably erotic for two o’clock in the afternoon.) Luke Snyder has completely skipped his slut phase and gone straight to STUD. TowelBoy is working really hard on reinventing himself as a stud. And even in my slut phase, I knew that sex comes with responsibility. The difference: I think a stud gets just as much satisfaction from being responsible to himself and his partners as he does from the sex itself.

I am continually amazed by discussions in the internet chat rooms about the correlation between Club Pittsburgh and STD’s. There is a huge misconception that bathhouses and sex clubs somehow cause diseases. This particular myth is both disturbing and dangerous. It is ridiculous to believe that a building or a business can somehow cause a disease. It’s all about personal choices. It’s possible to make bad choices with guy that you meet in a bar or online, and it’s equally possible to make good choices in a bathhouse. Allow me to be blunt: Just because he buys you dinner doesn’t mean it’s a good idea to let him cum in your ass. And meeting someone anonymously in the dark room of a bathhouse doesn’t mean that you can’t get off safely. Another chatter has perhaps my favorite profile headline: The only difference between STUD and STD is YOU. A stud has great sex because it brings him pleasure, not because it fills some empty void. A stud doesn’t pander to someone’s demands just to get laid. A stud respects himself and his partner. And a stud always makes good sexual choices, even if it means (temporarily) losing out on sex.

The most important thing to remember, whether you meet him in a bar, a bathhouse, or your cousin Ernie’s Bah Mitzvah, is that condoms are not negotiable. I’m willing to discuss time, place, activity and proclivity, but condoms are always required for fucking. This policy is equally applied to a tryst with that cute guy that lives on my block and a hot back-stage encounter with Justin Timberlake. Even if Justin says, “Baby, I’m clean.” (He stuck it in Britney. Please.) I can not tell you the number of arguments I’ve heard from potential gentleman callers when it comes to condoms. “I’m clean, I promise.” I get this one all the time. It’s possible for someone to be drop-dead gorgeous and a pathological liar, too. He wants sex, and sex tends to skew honesty. Ask Bill Clinton. “It’s not dangerous if I pull out before I cum.” That’s like saying pizza is healthy without the pepperoni. His little tool is producing its magic potion from the moment he’s aroused. In this case, the overture is just as dangerous as the big finale. “It’s not as dangerous for the top.” Be careful of the semantics (pun intended) on this one. Although it is more dangerous for the receptive partner, it’s still risky for the big stallion on top, too. Honestly, I have lost opportunities with many really hot guys because I will not fuck without a condom. I’m usually all hormonal when it happens, and it’s like ripping the crack right out of Whitney’s hands. Thankfully, though, I’ve never given in. And you know what? Something better always comes along. And he travels with condoms and lube. I spend a great deal of time unpacking condoms at Club Pittsburgh. Be a stud and use them.

While I’m on my soapbox, let me offer a little advice on internet hookups. Follow these tips if he’s coming to your house: Stash your valuables. Don’t leave your wallet, keys, credit cards, mail, or cash lying around your bedroom. Lock them somewhere safe in a room other than the one you plan to use to entertain. Don’t let your trick wander into any other room. (It is acceptable, of course, to let him use your bathroom. Just find a reason to linger in that general area.) If you have a friend or roommate in the house, make sure they can hear you if you get into trouble. If possible, convince your trick to talk to you on the telephone before he comes over. That way, the phone company has a record of your connection. (Ask recently convicted killer Donna Moonda why this is important. Actually, ask her how she got convicted.) Trust your instinct – break it off it you get a strange vibe. I know you’re horny, but you’ll get another chance. I promise. Here are some tips if you’re doing the traveling: Tell a friend or roommate where you are going. Give them the trick’s first name or screen name, as well as his neighborhood. Have him call you in advance. The phone trick works if you’re traveling, too. When you arrive, leave the slip of paper with his address and phone number on your car seat. Lock your wallet and any jewelry in the car. Take your phone inside in case of an emergency, and of course, take those condoms. Again, any bad vibe is a legitimate reason to back out. Signs of drugs or violence are great indicators of trouble. Don’t worry, you’re a stud – you’ll find someone else. And whether you’re inviting him over or traveling to his place, it’s always a good idea to agree in advance that either party can back out at any time. That means you need to respect him if he’s the one backing out. Don’t take it as a value judgment – it’s just hormones.

You do realize you could avoid that entire mess just by coming to Club Pittsburgh? No traveling, no inviting strangers in your house, and no ambiguity. If you connect with someone you like, awesome. If not, someone else is just down the hall. And we have plenty of condoms, too.

Perhaps someday CBS will have the balls to let Nuke discuss the perils of internet hookups and bareback fucking. That would be riveting daytime television. Until then, we’ll just have to enjoy the eye candy. One other cool thing about Van Hansis, the enchanting young actor that brings Luke to life: He’s a graduate of Carnegie-Mellon. Van spent four years studying his craft right here in Pittsburgh. Small world, huh?

Keeping your gay world turning,
TowelBoy