Join the Crew

TowelBoy is still completely worn out from getting his PRIDE on. That's perhaps the reason that I haven't written in ten days or so. (Or perhaps TowelBoy is extremely lazy; I've never been one to JUDGE, people. Unless you're a co-worker, a customer, or a drunkard. But I digress.) Every CP savant knows that the craziest time of the year at the tubs is the ten days between the winter solstice and the new year. Thanks to Pittsburgh's revamped PRIDE celebrations, mid-June is getting dangerously close to eclipsing jolly old Santa Claus. The night of Pride in the Street, in spite of unpleasant weather, was indisputably Club Pittsburgh's busiest night since New Year's Eve. (A special note to meteorologist Jeff Verszyla: What the fuck is going on? I would like a refund for both May and June. We're mere hours away from July and I'm wearing a hoodie. Please do better.) We were packed to capacity with prideful revelers, and there was excitement (and drama, of course) around every corner. Undoubtedly, the most exciting thing to happen to me during the PRIDE pageantry was my close encounter with a Pack Attack-er.

But it is me we're talking about, so of course it ended badly.

I'm about to tell you that I almost had a biblical experience with one of my biggest porn crushes. And you're thinking, “Hmmm....who could that be?”. Admittedly, I'm easily smitten. I've gone through the list of porn stars that I've drooled over in the past year alone, and apparently I've already laid claim (pun intended) to more husbands than Elizabeth Taylor. And much like Liz, I can't even remember their names right now. (Jeremy Hall. I remember that I definitely love Jeremy Hall. Email me sometime. Please. PLEASE.) Any-who, we have this Chi Chi La Rue video at CP called “The Big Dick Club”. I'm assuming from the title that you get the idea. (Young, attractive, and enormously endowed.) One of the Big Dick-ers is this tattooed cutie-patootie named Jason Crew. What I love about Jason is that he shares TowelBoy's unusually lanky body. Admittedly, and perhaps with good reason, there aren't a lot of guys in mainstream porn built like I am. Jason is lanky and hung, with a curious grin and bedroom eyes. I was delighted when a new Pack Attack video arrived with Jason as a featured performer. Much to the delight of the entire Pack, Jason's endowment is so large that he can penetrate himself. Pretty nifty, huh? After Pride in the Street, Club Pittsburgh was overtaken with studs from RentBoy.com. There were so many of them that we ran out of lockers. They ended up leaving their clothes and belongings in all sorts of exotic areas, including the office where I was slaving away. That's when I catch what I first believed to be a mirage in our office: big dicked pack attacker Jason Crew dropping his drawers!

I ask my boss if it is indeed Jason Crew. It is indeed! I confess my crush to my boss, who tells Jason. It turns into that Heather Locklear shampoo commercial where she tells two friends, then she tells two, friends, and so on... (Welcome to Club Pittsburgh, people.) A flattered Jason Crew approaches me with a hug. As much as I enjoyed a naked porn star wrapped around me, this just flipped poor TowelBoy's switch. I had a bathhouse full of calamity and my cognitive functions came to a screeching halt. Crack may be whack, but for me testosterone is really a very dangerous concoction. I continued to ''work'', however, counting the minutes until I could be out of my clothes and into conjugal chaos with Mr. Big Dick. (At that point, three hours and thirty-seven minutes, unfortunately.) I'm aware that my mind is no longer tuned to serving the gay masses with a clean towel and a smile. A half hour later, Jason makes a new offer: let's have sex right here, right now. I have fantasized about this moment a million times, just not “this moment”. (Thanks a lot,Alanis. Now I'm really glad I pirated “Flavors of Entanglement” from the internet instead of buying it. Now I can spend that money on my quivering ironic ass.) Sadly, I have no choice but to declare my professional mantra (I have a mortgage to pay, Sally.) and turn Jason down. For now.

I am technically a free agent at 7 AM on Sunday mornings. It is not unusual for me to race out of the office and into a towel. An increasingly tipsy woo-woo Jason continues to make his offer every ten minutes for the rest of my shift. I, of course, am so incredibly turned on that I seriously fear my own spontaneous combustion. (Oddly, my brain confuses horny and hungry, and I frequently experience them in tandem. Seriously. In the moment, the only thing equally appetizing to Jason Crew was that fucking Jenny Lemon Cake. If I didn't have as much sex as I do, I honestly believe I'd look like Chris Farley in a do-rag.) Any-who, the clock ticks on and the party winds down. The porn stars leave. The Rent Boys disappear. My boss goes home, and Patches takes a powder. I change the music from Thump-Thump Kribitz to Marjorie in the Morning. (Alanis, Enrique, Rob Thomas – my Sunday Morning Happy Place.) The vending machine is now completely empty, and I have what appears to be blueberry filling on my shirt. The next shift of employees show up, almost the entire gaggle of hungover hooligans leave...

And sexy Jason Crew remains.

6:37 AM he's sitting in the TV lounge. 6:46 AM he comes to the window for a new towel, and he makes his offer again. 6:54 AM my hands are shaking and I can't get my fucking credit card receipts to balance. 7:06 AM I decide there will be plenty of time for balancing after fellatio. At 7:10 AM, I rush out the office door with a towel in hand...and discover Jason standing at the check-out window dressed and ready to make a hasty retreat. He says he's just making a quick run to the hotel for some smokes and a Viagra. He'll be back in fifteen minutes, he promises. Keep balancing, he says.

Obviously, he never returned. Happy-Fucking-PRIDE, TowelBoy.

You can check out what I missed at:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UOlGwMyZAkc&feature=related

Now that PRIDE is over, we've focused our attention on some other pressing issues. I'd like to mention our complete frustration with maintaining the facility and equipment. We've gotten tons of complaints about various problems ranging from the endless repairs in the 5th floor shower room to the broken sink in the 4th floor bathroom. As I've mentioned before, our facilities and equipment have been used & abused 24/7 for the last seven years. There's never a ''down period'', the equipment never gets any rest, and there's never a good time to close an area for upkeep and repairs. Sometimes, while we're attempting to solve one problem, five new ones unexpectedly creep up on us. Example: Approaching PRIDE week, our wonderful maintenance guy and our manager were working diligently to make sure everything was in tip-top shape for the celebrations. This included special attention to the shower area, the sink, the water fountains, etc. Two days before the festivities officially began, a housekeeper noticed a leak in a hot water heater. The club's hot water comes from two large commercial tanks. We had one rupture earlier this year at a replacement cost of over $7000. Once a hot water tank is leaking, there are no repairs; the only option is to replace it. At this point, we are forced to choose – do we give our time and energy to completing the shower project, or do we replace the water heater? Obviously, it's a BATHHOUSE, and hot water is paramount to just about everything. So we spent our resources replacing the water heater. We frequently have to make these ''priority'' choices. Unfortunately, the customers don't see what has been repaired, only what remains broken. Another issue is that a lot of the hardware (shower heads, hot tub equipment, etc.) was either designed especially for us, or its commercial availability is limited. That is the issue with the 5th floor showers. The shower heads are unique to us, and we're still waiting to receive them from the manufacturer. The situation with the bathroom sink is similar – we're waiting for a special washer to arrive. Speaking of washer, can you imagine how many loads of towels our washers and dryers launder each day? Those machines are the hardest working whores in Pittsburgh! Obviously, they require a lot of maintenance and repairs. I know it's frustrating to see something broken and nobody is repairing it. Frequently, though, we're using our resources to repair a more urgent problem that you can't see. (You like clean towels, don't ya?) We're working overtime on the showers and the sink, and hopefully they'll be ready for you to enjoy soon.

They do not let TowelBoy do maintenance. I would be more than willing, but after that table saw accident in college, our insurance company forbids it.

So I have turned my post-PRIDE efforts to recycling. I am turning Club Pittsburgh into the epitome of GREEN. Obviously, we produce a big gay mountain of trash every week. Plastic bottles from cleaning products, detergents, & bleach...tons of cardboard boxes from things ranging from Guide magazines to Jungle Juice...and lots of cans & bottles from the vending machine. Manufacturers put a nifty number on plastics to indicate if they can be recycled. The city of Pittsburgh recycles 1 through 5. I am very serious about this, and I've been scavenging around the club looking for things to recycle. Someone left one of those Rascal Douche kits in room 312, but I guess Mary douched the number right off, because I couldn't find a number on the douche or any of its attachments. I unfortunately had to put it in the trash. (If this was yours, Sally, could you please find greener method of cleaning your cavern?) I've including the GREEN theme in my personal life too. I traded my gas-guzzling Malibu for a fuel-efficient Cobalt, and I'm buying lube in the industrial size to reduce packaging. TowelBoy hopes to become the Queen of Green. (I had that title once, actually, but I'd like to give a shout-out to UPMC-Southside for...oh, well, this is TMI...) I hope you'll join us in our efforts by recycling your cans and bottles while your in the club.

Last time, I promised you some good stories about calling 911. (Fry-With-Pam, are you out there?) I'm still thinking of ways of titillating you with tales of debauchery without getting sued. My guess is I'll have it figured out by Thursday, unless All My Children is really good this week. Let's talk then...

Go Green!
TowelBoy

A Size SMART ASS

TowelBoy is very concerned about Valerie Bertinelli. You remember Valerie – she played perky Barbara Cooper on the 70's sitcom “One Day at a Time”. She also married Eddie Van Halen and spawned Mozart or Chopin or whatever in the hell that kid's name is. (Wolfgang “Wolfie” Van Halen. Forgive your mother, child. She was on drugs.) Anyway, poor Valerie has been sucked into the Jenny Craig cult just like Queen Latifa. While clipping the cat's toenails and watching Planet Green this morning, I sat frozen in horror as Valerie declared she's a “Size Satisfied” and raced some other Stepford Dieter to the top of the summit for a Jenny Craig lemon cake. I would perhaps race Shwami to the top of a summit for some Boy Butter BoyAgra, but who in the hell wants lemon cake? Especially diet lemon cake. I'd rather eat Courtney Love's discarded Today Sponge. (When TowelBoy makes a reference not in your lexicon, google it. You'll get a little chuckle.) Although I don't understand how entertainment royalty like Queen Latifa got sucked into the calorie cult, it makes a little more sense with Valerie. Valerie recently published her lurid memoirs, full of shocking surprises. Her book, “Losing It”, is several hundred pages and has no amusing illustrations, so I'll do a one-sentence summary as a public service: Valerie is a bit of loose cannon sexually and she enjoys a little nose candy every now and then. Obviously, that bitch Jenny Craig (who is she, anyway??) stole Valerie's soul while she was high and horny. I'm sure she'll be a ''Size Scientology” faster than we all can say “TomKat”. The bad news: I think we lost perky Barbara Cooper forever. The good news: maybe when her programming wears off she'll write another book. Perhaps she can help me pen my own memoirs. If I wrote a book about my experience at Club Pittsburgh, it would be divided into three sections:

Section One: I laughed so hard I just lost control of my...
Section Two: Hello. Allegheny County 911? It's (Not Derrick, bitch!) at Club Pittsburgh...
Section Three: Even though I work here, I swear you're the first person I've...

I often think of myself as Lindsay Lohan in the movie “Mean Girls”, only less drunk/stoned/syphilitic. I will admit that I'm not laughing with our customers...I'm laughing at them. Countless Queens in Calamity over the past seven years have left me with the tingle of sore ribs that comes from a good laugh. Also, my co-workers can weave a tale so hysterical that even Condi would feel a tickle in her funny bone. Let's take a look at when I've laughed so hard I lost control of my, well...

For some reason, funny things seem to happen in the elevator. Patches uses the elevator as a liquored-up litmus test. If a customer can't operate the elevator, they're just too tipsy woo-woo to enter. Thanks to Verizon connecting the world one idiot at a time, we'll occasionally get a drunkard who calls upstairs to tell us the elevator isn't working. Push the button, Mary. Sometimes, they make it in the elevator but don't hit the button to come to the 4th floor. I guess they're hoping the Holy Boo or their Betty Ford Gardian Angel will deliver them safely to the front desk. If this is you: We're watching in the camera. And we're laughing hysterically. Inevitably, some gets on the PA system to tell Miss Mary LaLa to hit the 4 button. If the elevator is going woo-woo, it will deliver some unsuspecting costumer to the basement. A confused Alanis never realizes that he's steps away from a lifetime supply of poppers, butt plugs, and Frito-Lay products. I've had countless customers drop keys, money, and driver's licenses down the small gap between the lobby floor and the elevator. This typically requires a 3 AM phone call to a disgruntled elevator repair man. We once had one of our more colorful customers lose continence on the ride up. The elevator door opens, and the poor dear is standing there drenched like Carol Channing during the “Hello Dolly” curtain call. (True story: during the last Broadway revival of “Hello Dolly”, the famous diva was having a huge problem with bladder control. During intermission, some poor stagehand would have to come out on stage and mop up the dribble. Someone needs to get back into life (or at least Act II) with Depend.) Anyway, as we were trying to appease the drenched customer in the elevator, he kept screaming, “But I only have one kidney!!”. Apparently, the poor dear soaks himself quite often. A bit of free advice from TowelBoy: if you have half the kidneys, don't drink twice as much liquor. We once threw some inebriate out only to discover him causing some disturbance in the elevator. We get the elevator back to the 4th floor, the door opens, and this man is squatting in the corner pleasuring himself with an enormous pink dildo. Obviously, this queen got Helen Finger. And finally, a quirky customer with a notorious case of mysophobia was trapped in the elevator for almost two hours after a power outage. If I thought Tom Bergeron were remotely amusing, I'd submit the security footage to that never-ending “Funniest Videos” show.

People often ask our housekeeping staff if they ever find anything amusing when they're cleaning private rooms. (People are just fixated wit prosthetic limbs. We haven't found one. Yet.) We have, however, found enough trashy lingerie to start a special Goodwill for hookers and trollops. Bras, teddies, lacy panties, garters, etc. Patches and I once found a pair of lacy panties inside the housekeeping supply bag. When we shook the underwear, a joint rolled out. Of course, I went through the history file to see who rented the room. I have forever dubbed this customer “Miss Lacy Stoner”. I also made up this fun limerick for jumping rope:

Lacy Stoner needs a donor...
Roll a doobie and you will own her...
How many puffs will she take?
1, 2, 3, 4, (Keep jumping, queen.)

Sometimes we find really expensive underwear left behind in rooms, lockers, and the laundry basket. (How does one forget to put his underwear back on?) I have an entire dresser drawer full of hoochie pants recovered from Club Pittsburgh. Boxers, tighty-whities, boxer-briefs, mesh – you name it, I've pilfered it. I can wear anything stain-free between sizes 28 & 32. I tend to save nicer big-boy gutchies for a co-worker with more...umm...junk in the trunk. For years, my favorite pair of underwear was a pair of black Calvin trunks I retrieved from the laundry basket. The pouch of these suckers was so stretched from the previous owner's enormous member that I had to wash them at least a dozen times before they'd even make contact with my genitals. I would wear them to entertain extra-special gentleman callers. I loved my sexy panties. A washer malfunction a few weeks ago tore them to shreds, unfortunately. My new favorite is a pair of mesh briefs the same color as my car that we recovered when when we bounced a sexy drunkard from room 313. I think they're from Wal-Mart, but they're “package enhancing” nonetheless. We find tons & tons of sex toys. Our trash man has been treated to numerous dildos, butt plugs, nipple clamps, and douching devices over the years. (I do throw those away, people. Except this one time, we left a gently-used douche ball sitting on the desk, and Tony accidentally used it as a cooling device. But I digress.) Almost every day, the housekeeper finds the same person's socks in the 4th floor bathroom trash can. What's my favorite left-behind item? Dentures. It is amazing how many teeth we find lingering in rooms. Poor Richie once stepped on a pair lying on the floor next to the sling in the dark room. (I've heard of getting your brains fucked out, but your TEETH...?) Inspired by the Pet Rock, I once kept a pair of discarded dentures in a bowl full of water and named them Mister Clackers. That lasted all of two days until my boss saw Mister Clackers sitting on his desk and promptly put him in the dumpster. Oh well, at least I still have my cat.

As amusing as some of our more colorful customers are, they don't even come close to some of the strange birds on Club Pittsburgh's payroll. (For the record, I totally include myself in this.) I spend the first hour or so of work each day drinking coffee and listening to some of the shocking/hysterical/asinine stories and rumors floating around about my co-workers. The Club Pittsburgh Employee Rule: the more we talk about you, the more we love you. We're all up in each other's “Biz'ness”. (It's when we stop talking about a co-worker that he should really be concerned. At that point, he's dead to us.) After nearly seven years, our wacky personalities have caught on with our customers. There are certain things that most people that pass through our doors know to be facts: Dave is the pretty one, Walter is the wise one, Shawn is the hateful one, Damian is a psychotic bitch who torments everyone, etc. But how well do you know CP employees? See if you can match the employee to the appropriate factoid, all of which is 100% true...

-Which CP'er left his job for the fast-paced world of load procurement?
-Which CP'er used to sell hair pieces and is a true demon with a sewing machine?
-Which CP'er calls his bedroom the ''aluminum fortress'' because he's covered all the windows with aluminum foil?
-Which CP'er have we dubbed “Forever Lovely”?
-Which CP'er takes a week off each summer to traipse around Pittsburgh dressed like a wolf?
-Which CP'er has a weakness for $20 hillbilly hustler boys?
-Which CP'er claims that his sphincter muscle is strong enough to rip a condom off of an erect penis and sling it across the room?
-Which CP'er travels in tandem with the Campus Lady?
-Which CP'er is a “versatile power top”?
-Which CP'er had a tumultuous relationship with the Lying Bastard from Hunker? And our Miss Tina? And that crazy Meth Head who keeps calling here? And Squeakers? And...well, you get the point.
-Which CP'er left his shaggin' wagon parked in Mulberry Way until Mayor Tutweiler towed it away?
-Which CP'er is idolized by the rest of the pack?
And finally...
-Which CP'er may be the first person ever to die from Obsessive Compulsive Disorder?

See – this group is a riot! Is it any wonder that it burns when I pee? (That IS from laughing so hard, right?) Right now we're all aflutter over the big PRIDE celebrations. Tonight is the SPLASH event in Mt. Washington. Our queen drove in from Baltimore for the party. Saturday night will most likely be the biggest night of the year for us. THE party after Pride in the Street is at Club Pittsburgh. Last year, we sold out and had to turn guys away. We're making special accommodations this year – we're letting everyone in. The more the Mary-er! Diesel Washington will perform @ 2 AM. We've also found out that TowelBoy-OBSESSION Damien Crosse will be coming with him. (See the photo above.) Be polite, be patient, and you won't be disappointed. This is definitely the place to be if you want to have a great story on Sunday morning. Oh, and don't drive yourself crazy wondering if we're laughing at you.

Of course we are.

Next time: Chapter 2 – The 911 Diaries!
TowelBoy

PRIDE Is Really Movin' Now!

TowelBoy does enjoy a nice Pack Attack. My heroes at Hot House have concocted this wonderful porn series where one of their big-named stars entertains a whole pack of hung & handsome gentleman callers. We feature Pack Attack 1, 2 & 3 on our exclusive Hot House channel. So here's the description on the back cover of Pack Attack 1, starring the recently departed (crack is seriously whack, people) Kent North:

“Pack Attack 1 stars Hot House exclusive Kent North, the greediest pig bottom on the planet. He demanded we find the five biggest cocks in the business to try and tame his hungry hole. Do they succeed...?”

Hmmm. I'm not exactly an expert on hungry holes, but I was anything but tamed by the Pack Attacks. They actually unleash a hormonal tidal wave that makes me care even less that Miss Mary LaLa got his damn car towed for parking on Penn Avenue during restricted hours. (Read the sign on the meter, Mary.) I just want a pack attack of my own. Honestly, if I go completely ape-shit and they haul my bony ass off to the Western Psychiatric Institute (conveniently located within walking distance of the Pitt men's dorms), please do not send flowers. I'm not interested in a Whitman's Sampler or a pharmacy cocktail. Bring me a nice pack attack. Round up Jeremy Hall, Jason Ridge, Jackson Wild*, and those two cute boys from that soap opera and send them to my room. I'll already be wearing a straight jacket, which could be kinky. This evening, while enjoying Pack Attack #1 for the ba-zillionth time, I noticed one of the attackers was porn-stud-turned-popstar Fredrick Ford. Seeing the dashing Mr. Ford in that movie fills me with a certain hope rarely experienced by middle-management, “workin' for the man” mortals. You see, Fredrick Ford is one of this year's musical entertainers at Pride in the Street. (More on that later.) I will have access to him. Or I will know people that will have access to him. If this man can get himself in a Pack Attack, surely he can do it for me. With a little help from my boss, American Idol contestant Kimberly Locke, and the all-powerful Sparkerella, I could be getting pack attacked by the 4th of July. Please keep your fingers crossed, and I'll keep my legs crossed.

If you believe that, I have some beautiful beach-front property in Carrick that you may be interested in...

One of my porn husbands that I've never seen in a Pack Attack is the dashing Jackson Wild. I discovered Jackson on the cover of Just Us Boys magazine in January. Inside, he was hawking this thing called the Flesh Jack. The Flesh Jack sort of looks like a flashlight with a synthetic orifice in place of the light bulb. You squirt some ID Glide down the latex va-jay-jay, insert your turgid member, move the Flesh Light up and down, and wait for orgasmic bliss. Or so Jackson says. (Actually, I entertained a gentleman caller several years ago who had one of these. It felt cool, but the poor dear mistakenly thought the Flesh Jack would be a suitable substitute for his mouth. Afterwards, I had this overwhelming urge to put it in the dishwasher.) Obviously, I went completely woo-woo for the cute cover boy with the funky masturbation flashlight. TowelBoy does enjoy meticulous dental hygiene combined with cosmetic orthodontics, and Jackson Wild has the most delectable set of choppers I've ever seen. And his eyes aren't too shabby either. After months of obsessing and google-ing, I found this clip of Mr. Wild demonstrating the masturbator. He has this really alluring voice that is sexually hypnotic. He totally had me at ''hello''. And as I'm watching this clip, literally stuck to my desk chair, I'm cursing the gods of Hot House for never having this man pack attacked. This became even more baffling when I recently discovered that Jackson is a Hot House ''exclusive''. (Please keep Alanis in your cell phone for these ironic emergencies.)

Jackson: this is your formal invitation to be in MY pack attack. Just go to Mapquest, type in “Western Psychiatric Institute”, and follow the caterwauling until you find my room.

When I'm not obsessing over Jackson Wild, Fredrick Ford, or getting Pack Attacked, I'm fretting over an obviously troubled Queen. (And this time it's not Esta La Mierda!) I'm talking, of course, about Queen Latifah. I have enjoyed this Queen for many years. I felt the pain of a single sister making her way in the big city through all six seasons of “Living Single”. I'm all about U-N-I-T-Y, and I don't like being called a bitch either. We even share a birthday! (3/18, if you're sending presents) But what the hell is up with the Queen in these Jenny Craig commercials? Jenny Craig is a weight loss program, right? The whole point is to lose your big ba-donka-donk and regain your dignity. Yet in a half dozen commercials, the Queen never even suggests that she lost any weight. She yammers about the health benefits of reducing body mass without ever revealing the magic number. She's a “Size ACTIVE”. For the love of Corky, what does that mean? I once had birthday-gal Esta La Mierda locked in the Club Pittsburgh bathroom because she was a Size DRUNK. Perhaps I should have alerted Nutri-System. (And I suspect our Queen lost more weight in that bathroom than Queen Latifah has on Jenny Craig. But I digress.) I would be happy if the Queen would at least tell America that she lost five pounds. (Which is going to be a tough sell in that orange polyester jumpsuit.) I may not believe it, but at least I can process it. The last straw for me was her walking on that treadmill so slowly that I thought she was going to fall off. And as the camera moves in on her, she says “I'm really moving now!” Umm, yeah – and the other Queen is really sober now. Frankly, I'm just not buying it from either Queen.

Queen Latifah may not be moving much at all, but Club Pittsburgh is hurling towards a very busy PRIDE week. 2007 was the first year for Splash and Pride in the Street, and nobody knew what to expect. Splash, the pool party/fundraiser at the Manse on the Mountain, was a smashing success. My brush with Splash occurred when I received an emergency request to deliver poppers, big girl condoms, and the portable sling to the Mountain. The weather was great, the house breath-taking, and everyone looked like they were having a lot of fun . The party offered revelers great music, delicious food, hot boys, and of course…plenty of free cocktails. Later in the evening, when everyone was really tipsy-woo, some saggy-titted gal (a real woman!) stripped of f her blouse and scared all the gays boys in the hot tub. Does it get more fun than that? (And my condom caddy came back empty. Draw your own conclusions.) I hear this year’s Splash will blow last year’s shindig out of the water. Three days after Splash ‘07, the Pride in the Street dance party was an extraordinary event that none of us ever could have imagined. 5000 revelers crowded Liberty Avenue to show Pittsburgh the meaning of PRIDE. That night was also the only time in nearly seven years of business that I’ve had to turn people away from Club Pittsburgh. Every room and locker in the joint was occupied. For nearly three hours, I watched in the security monitor as scantily-clad, inebriated homosexuals stormed around my car like a pack of angry banshees because I wouldn’t let them in. (A note to one particular mouthy queen that refused to exit and kept calling me “Derrick”: TowelBoy does not forget. When all hell is breaking loose after PITS this year, I’ll be ready for you, bitch.) In the middle of all this excitement, porn star EXTRAORDINAIRE Barrett Long was performing in the gym, and the club was overtaken by cute Rent Boys (RentBoys.com) in hoochie pants. The Rent Boys will be back for Splash this year, and Kimberly Locke, Fredrick Ford, and Frank DeCaro will entertain the masses as Pride in the Street. After PITS, Titan exclusive Diesel Washington will be working something massive in a late-night performance at the club. If you want to attend the festivities, Club Pittsburgh is vending tickets for five great events:

Splash! Pool Party -- $60
Pride in the Street (general admission) -- $15
PrideFest Beer Garden -- $15
Bar Crawl -- $15
Soak! River Cruise -- $20

For information on these events, please visit:
www.PittsburghPrideSpace.com

Even if you don’t get a change to attend the events, at least stop down at the club to see Diesel Washington. We will undoubtedly be packed for his performance. And you can watch TowelBoy show the aforementioned queen the door for a second year in a row. Derrick loves you, girl.

Our price changes took effect on Monday. Thanks for taking it in stride. Almost everyone has been extremely supportive of these changes – we’ve only had a few complaints. (from the usual suspects, of course) You can check out all of the new prices in the BREAKING NEWS section of the website. Don’t forget about FUNCH, our reward for your loyal support: We’re discounting lockers to $10 between 2 PM and 6 PM on weekdays. It’s a full six-hour rental! So far, FUNCH response has been great.

Hopefully, we’ll see YOU during PRIDE…

Definitely not DERRICK,
TowelBoy