Going Down

As previously mentioned, GLUE Weekend involves contests: Mr. Third Coast Gear, which is a fun bar title, and Mr. Third Coast Leather, which is a feeder to International Mr. Leather. We put a lot of work into assembling a well-known and well-respected judging panel for MTCL, and for the past two years, we’ve been very lucky to have Dirk Caber — star of numerous educational, adult-oriented, alternative lifestyle features — as one of our judges.

 “I’m dreamy but don’t act like I’m dreamy, which makes me like seventeen times dreamier.”

I don’t know how many porn stars you guys run around with, but Dirk is seriously one of the nicest, most genuine people I’ve ever met. He’s modest and intelligent and has an excellent sense of humor, and he’ll hug you just for the sake of hugging, and I am not in love with him so much as I want to be him when I grow up.

One of the big highlights of GLUE is the Officer’s Luncheon, where everyone straps themselves into their finest formal leather and consumes mass quantities of Southern breakfast foods during a keynote address. Dirk and I happened to leave our hotel rooms at the same time that morning, and we boarded the elevator together to head down to the ballroom off the lobby where the luncheon was being held. It was close to checkout time, so every few seconds we stopped at a different floor. And whenever the doors opened, unsuspecting hotel patrons would start to drag on their luggage, then stop and stare at the two men attempting to act casual while dressed like administrators from the management offices of the Death Star.

The elevator continued its descent, with Dirk and I chatting about the difficulties of lacing boots while wearing skintight pants, and everyone else pretending we weren’t weirding them the fuck out, when one of the other passengers turned to Dirk and asked, “Are you famous?”

Dirk shrugged as I choked on my own spit and admitted that yes, some people would call him famous.

“Are you in movies?” the guy asked.

Dirk replied that he did in fact make movies.

“I knew it!” another guy suddenly shouted. “You looked so familiar, but I couldn’t figure out why.”

The elevator thankfully reached the ground floor before I could finish chewing through my tongue, and at the luncheon, the other guests at our table were greatly entertained when we related the story to them. (We ultimately decided that if it happened again, we would explain that he was a regular on the original British version of The Office.) Amusement aside, though, I can’t help but wonder who the guys on the elevator actually thought Dirk was. I mean, he sort of resembles a young Xander Berkeley (if young Xander Berkeley worked out a lot), but otherwise, I feel like somebody needs to sit these dudes’ wives down and have a long come-to-Jesus.

Sticking to the Script

Every October, the Misfits put on a fundraising event called GLUE Weekend — three differently-sane days of contests, parties, auctions, and generalized debauchery. I usually spend most of GLUE running around like a crazy person and doing my best to minimize assorted gay leather crises, but I always take some time to write down any pause-worthy comments I overhear and then share them without context. With that in mind, it gives me great pleasure to announce the definitive 2017 list of…


“I need to order catsuits tonight.”

“I like him better when his mouth is preoccupied.”

“They’re being mean to my nipples.”

“Do we need to trade that cocktail for a bowl of milk?”

“We’re going to have amazing abs after holding our guts in for three days.”

“He said ‘deep in the throat of Texas,’ and I almost fainted.”

“Have fun fisting or whatever.”

“I know what you mean, but you’re not peeing in my shoe.”

“You need to put a silencer on that tongue.”

“Remember the time security burst into your room at Club Houston?”

“I can’t believe we did it right in front of the bratwurst stand.”

“So we were talking about broken penises…”

“I’m looking at your eyes, but I can still see your legs.”

“Rainbow Bronies! RAINBRONIES!!!”

“My knees are together. I’m off duty.”

“Those are gold… lamé… leather… pants.”

“Look! I can make my sporran jump!”

“Little queen, I know you jerk off to Buck Angel porn, so swallow my load.”

“It’s analog Scruff.”

“That’s like if your tastes and my tastes got drunk and had a baby.”

“Dude. You have boob sweat.”

“I’m having more fun this year. Probably because I stopped smoking pot and remember it.”

“I grew into my butt hair.”

“We’re all trying to be butch, but then Erasure comes on.”

“If I’m the one holding your hair, there is a problem.”

“Not even with Rick Perry’s dick.”

The Emperor’s New 2XL Pancho

Customer: [in the voice of Alaska Thunderfuck] “Hieeee.”

Me: [gritting teeth, smiling pleasantly] “Hello. What can I help you with today?”

Customer: “What size is that shirt?”

Me: “It’s a medium.”

Customer: “Oh.”

Me: “Would you like to try it on?”

Customer: “No. It’s too small.”

Me: “What size shirt do you normally wear?”

Customer: “Medium.”

Me: “…”

Customer: “I want something that fits loosely.”

Me: “Ah, I see. Well, I only have that particular shirt in medium, but I do have larges in these other styles.”

Customer: “But you only have this shirt in medium?”

Me: “That’s correct.”

Customer: “None larger?”

Me: “None larger.”

Customer: [tapping his lips thoughtfully] “Hmmm.”

Me: “You’re more than welcome to try it on.”

Customer: “No. Then I’d buy it.” [exits]

Good call on his part. I mean, I can’t have my customers spending money on clothing that fits — what would happen to all the downtrodden shoplifters out there who prefer irregulars? I’m pretty sure this guy is some kind of folk saint at the least, and I shall build a shrine in his honor out of nothing but smocks and parachute pants.