The continuing adventures of our efamed linguist....
In which Daddy Lou learns some new vocabulary, and discovers more about the deeper significance of his own identity:
Spent some quality time with jaspamaster and a few dozen other assorted colleagues, many of whom I had not seen in some time. I was exceedingly glad to be in a venue where all is permitted, and nothing is refused. Made a gaggle of new friends and handed out multiple copies of the purple people eater cards. At one point, since people kept bringing fabulous foodstuffs for public consumption, one of the attendees brandished a tupperware full of a magnificently tasty chip dip which she proudly described as being made with half-fat this, and fat free that, etc. etc. etc. In relaying some of the details of the recipe to another one of the array of either current or former pro-dommes at the party, clearly taken aback that something so healthful might also be so yummy, she said: "Well, if it's gonna be like that..." and grabbed another handful of chips. To which I intoned "Well, if it's gonna be that kinda party..." and I didn't even get to the mashed potatoes before she almost hit her head on the table doubling over in hysterics. For the record, I've never seen that reaction to that line before. This is also quite possibly the first and only time I've ever seen someone spanked with a prosthetic limb... I also noted to Philth, during our daily volley of text messages, that I will likely never make it as one of those overly-strict-super-duper-über domly types, simply because I spend far too much time laughing at and telling jokes when I'm in these things...
*le sigh*
I in fact blame Midori. Some years ago, I attended a presentation of hers on percussion play, and in the midst of her demo, she begins telling a joke about a penguin driving through the desert that blew a seal... and the poor people on the street outside of Purple Passion must've been able to hear me. Since then I've never been the same. This is also detrimental when I'm working the door at the bar and, for example, an early twenty-something-ish blonde comes bouncing up in front of me, with friends, and continues to bounce(quite literally) as she frantically searches for her ID, and I begin bouncing along with her, then suddenly stop and let them all know that 'that's why they call me the bouncer'...which is received with much forehead slapping and groans as I bare my teeth.
I still can't figure out whether or not this is a bad habit. All manner of commentary is appreciated.
Oh! and I managed to get my hat back from Kim last night after leaving the party. That little minx, why I outta...