Prince Albert on a Faux Hawk

August 26, 2004

L.B. invited me to an anti-Bush comedy fundraiser at a club in the West Village last night, and even though I'm not usually a big fan of stand-up comedy, I decided to support the cause.

I stopped by L.B.’s apartment first, where she introduced me to a tall, skinny, fashionable young dude with a faux hawk hair-do and Paris Hilton sunglasses. He wore expensive jeans, Puma trainers, and a dress shirt unbuttoned to show off the heart-shaped tattoo on his chest. I assumed he was a friend of L.B.'s, but it turned out they they'd only just met a couple of hours earlier. He was new in town, having just moved to the city from Milwaukee, and was looking to join a writing group. L.B. happens to be putting one together, and they found each other on Craigslist.

"I just met him," L.B. told me.

"Me too," I said.

The guy's girlfriend is still in Milwaukee, but she's planning to join him in New York in a week or so.

"How long have you and your girlfriend been together?" L.B. asked.

"I don't like to call her my girlfriend," he said. "We're not into labeling things, y'know what I mean? We tell each other everything, but as soon as I call her my girlfriend, it sounds like someone I should be keeping secrets from."

"So what do you call her then?" I asked.

"That's the problem. I don't know."

"Significant other?" L.B. suggested.

"My special lady friend?” he said.

"Yes,” I said. “With a girlfriend you say: 'Shit, I can't tell my girlfriend about this!' But with a special lady friend, you say: 'I can't wait to tell my special lady friend about this!"

On the way to the comedy show, the Milwaukee fashion-plate told us about the book he wants to write. It was all about revenge, murder, alienation, and unsafe sex. His excited explanation of the convoluted plot went on and on as we walked to the bar, found a table, and got our drinks. And it continued until L.B. interrupted to say that she was going outside for a smoke.

"I'm ready for a cigarette too," he said.

L.B. asked if I wanted to come with them.

"Nah."

"Come on, dude," said the faux-hawk, "I'll tell you about the rest of my book."

By that time, I’d had my fill of sick and twisted scenes of torture and death, and I was having a hard time following along, so I said, "I should stay and hold our seats.”

After a few minutes, the two of them returned, and as soon as they sat down, the guy continued with his synopsis: "So anyway—"

I don't know if it could really be called a synopsis—it was more like "books-on-tape." The faux-hawk was telling us about a character with a Prince Albert piercing, when he stopped to mention that he actually has a Prince Albert piercing himself. Another guy in the bar overheard our conversation and asked about the piercing.

"Can I see it?" he said.

"Sure."

The next time the faux-hawk went to the bathroom, he invited the curious guy along. When they came back, the curious guy stopped at our table and said: "Oh my god, it's fucking huge. I mean, his dick is small, but the piercing is enormous."

When the faux-hawk sat down, the curious guy became even more curious and reached out to feel the faux-hawk's chest. "Are your nipples pierced?" he asked.

"No," giggled the faux-hawk, and pulled away from the curious guys’ roaming fingers.

"You're gay, right?" asked the curious guy.

"No."

"C'mon, really. You're gay, right?"

"No man. Seriously."

"Here," said the curious guy, sliding a glass across the table, "have another drink."

LB asked the faux-hawk if the Prince Albert piercing was a sexual thing, but he said that no, it was just decorative. "I mean, I had a one-night-stand with this one chick who said she could totally feel it," he told us. "But girls say a lot of things when they're having sex."