I haven’t really gone over much about how things really operate at the slutty little social club we frequent yet after having first hand experience, have I? Let me try to sum it up before I sling a story with a warning attached to it at your face, on the off chance you ever get lucky enough to be invited to a similar (or the same) establishment.

I usually describe Club D to the curious and new as Slutty Cheers. Where nobody can remember your name, but everyone’s pretty friendly & welcoming for the most part. The people who show up every weekend, to every event they can, are usually the people who are taking care of the ones who forget their manners or imbibed more than they should have.

And both of those things have a tendency to happen when you unleash small amounts of the general public every weekend into the Dionysus-esque wonderland that is the club.

In the short time we’ve been there, most people seem to hold their own pretty well and get a ride home before they get past the point of no return, but every once in awhile you’ll get to enjoy the spectacle of a grown adult making an absolute ass out of themselves. And sometimes those walking shit shows even become regulars.

The owner has a saying that I like to utilize in my interactions with the club & life in general.

“Everyone’s got at least one good shit show in them.”

Being the unrepentant agent of unrest that I am, I tend to let people show me their shit show, exactly once, before I decide whether or not they’re worth having around long term. Most people I pull in are, but not everyone passes the test.

If you’re entire existence is a shit show & you find yourself wondering why the fuck the friends you’ve made are annoyed with you come Sunday morning, you’re not my people. You’re an asshole.

It’s a pretty well known human fact that alcohol and other substances make excellent social lubricant, but that can easily overfill & spill onto everyone else in a more-Slimer-less-Astroglide type of way if you’re not careful and don’t pace yourself. Most newcomers learn their lesson quickly, myself included, but sometimes not before making themselves out to be total dipshits who shouldn’t have the privilege of indulging if they can’t hold their head above the wave of tequila they poured themselves.

I’m not calling anyone out by name, in fact there are some regulars who shit shows are so beloved by all there are bingo cards dedicated to them (note: the key is to be entertaining), but I will leave you with the fateful tale of one Mr. Porky Pig.

It was a freezing winter night, not too long ago. It had been a pretty average if not calm vibe at the club. Nothing too out of the usual.

I was doing my now-normal late night prowl that consisted of wandering around the most active areas and seeing what fun there was to have. You’d be surprised once you make friends how easily you get pulled into interesting situations. On this particular night, I ended up being called into the dungeon after wander down to take a peek by two women who looked mildly panicked. Alarm bells started going off in my head as they described why they looked so startled.

You see, the dungeon is right across from the men’s bathroom. Which is kept separate from the women’s because, as I’m sure you guessed it from the vibe of this entry so far, dude’s can be creeps given even the smallest chance.

A guy with a t-shirt & no pants had come down, used the bathroom then popped out the door to start beating his meat to the sights and sounds of the dungeons and the two lovely ladies telling me their tale of woe we’re not pleased with him breaking one of the easiest to follow rules of the club: no unescorted men in the basement. As I’m sure anyone with enough emotional intelligence to fully comprehend consent can figure out, it’s a big no-go. It’s obviously gonna make some people uncomfortable if you’re just standing there with a blank, blackout stare on your face, cranking your freshly pissed out of yank.

Consent is key even if you’re not touching anyone else.

“Why not just have the door closed, Fonda?” you may be asking yourself.

Again, for the safety of everyone involved who wants to use the dungeon. Security often does walk-bys to make sure everything is consensual, it’s just easier for him to do his job if the door remains open. It’s also easier, like demonstrated in this situation, for people to call attention to unwanted behavior when it occurs.

In my opinion, you should be able to tell full grown adults not to do X, Y, Z in an effort to maintain the general security & good vibe around your establishment & expect them to listen and obey. It’s really not that hard, but I guess ole Porky Pig had missed that memo.

I stand dumbfounded & listen to what the ladies had to say & making sure to ask them where they’d seen him take off to after they scolded him for his gross display of incompetence.

“I don’t know, he went upstairs and walked right towards the playrooms.”

Okay, easy enough to find a pantless dude stumbling around up there. The club was almost completely cleared out by this point in the evening and I figured I could ask the playroom attendant if any of the doors were closed.

I barreled up the stairs with a vicious determination. I took a sharp turn towards the playrooms and instantly noticed all the doors were open. The beds were empty of anything that resembled their descriptions of Porky Pig.

The next most obvious place to search was the gloryhole. It didn’t look like anyone was standing behind the curtain, but I thought I may as well check. I peeked around the thick black curtains to see not a single soul. Thinking with some sort of tipsy, pervert logic, I thought to peer through the cockholes & saw the hairy figure of a very, very drunk Porky Pig slumped over on the floor like a fleshy, half-spilled bowl of oatmeal.

“For fuck sakes.” I whispered to myself as I took off, rounding the corner to enter the side he was sprawled out in. I popped my head in and saw a squat, bigger dude with trashed hair & no pants fitting the description of the guy the dungeon ladies had given me sitting with his arms splayed out in front of him, sorta conscious. He looked up enough for me to see any semblance of a human consciousness that existed when he got here fled hours ago.

I suddenly realized, even in my own hazy state, that I should not be the adult to handle this situation. Porky outweighed me by a good 100lbs & if he didn’t like me instructing him to get up & get himself together he could easily bowl my drunken ass over.

I gave my best plane stewardess smile to the toddler-minded adult staring up at me & slowly backed out of the curtains to the dance floor. I then proceeded to speed walk my happy ass back to the table to find a more stable, taller adult to take on the problem that was sitting, bare assed on the gloryhole floor.

I found Joe first who jumped into action with Han quickly following suit when they realized our main security guy had already taken off for the night. Pretty standard protocol, it was almost 4 am. Almost everyone except a small group of people & Mr. G were left. They let everyone who needed to know what was going on & headed towards the gloryhole where Mr. Pig sat & wobbled.

The next thing I saw was Porky Pig in all his pantless glory, running down the narrow walkway between the bar & the seating area, straight to the giant bean bag that sits in the room next to the bar. He plopped his ass down & in child-like defiance refused to be moved.

Unfortunately for this guy, Joe has a lot of repressed rage & a keen eye for when he can get away with exerting it. While Joe was picking him up by the arm and escorting him to the front so as not to disturb anyone else still left in the club to present the night’s shit show to the owner, I watched on with semi-worried curiosity. I’d seen people have sloppy nights, but this was a new level of fuckery I hadn’t witnessed before. I was riding a mixture of entertained & ready to claw the fuckers eyes out if he hit any of my people.

Between the effort it took for Joe to get him to the front of the building and away from the other patrons & Han offering to take over the burden of getting him somewhere for the evening safely (mostly for the sake of other people on the road) from there, it was clear this guy was gonna be embarrassed as fuck in the morning, if he recalled any of his antics at all.

We left shortly after, watching Han & Leia struggle to stop the idiot from climbing into his cock-extension of a truck as we drove out of the parking lot.

I was filled in later just how out of control the night got from there. Needless to say, he was rightfully ashamed of his actions the next day & he was lucky that the people at Club D aren’t heartless bastards.

Any other group of people I’ve ever fallen in with would have left him to his own devices after taking his keys, but Han & Leia made sure he had a warm, safe place to lay his shitty little head for the night. Even after he tried to fight them, not something I would advise in the case of either person.

This entry is here for two reasons. It’s an entertaining story & to serve as a warning. A horror story if you will about how easily it is to act like a dipshit when you find yourself with too much alcohol and freedom. And in the hopes that if you’re ever in a similar situation, with access to such a fun, adult establishment, you won’t fuck it up for yourself.

I know it’s hard to adjust to a scene like that when you’re coming in with only the half-assed lessons the real world has given you, but more alcohol than what you can normally drink or more drugs than you can usually handle is not going to make it a better time. For you or anyone else around.

Moderation, my pervs. Moderation is key.