The Comfy Corner

Now, before I start the complaining portion of this blog, I must admit that Mr. Perfect was indeed just that. I could shield myself from the rain if I stood under his pecs and I could have probably balanced a full compliment of fine china on his shoulders without fear of breakage. And the other two go-go boys were not shabby either. It definitely did not hurt having some eye candy around while you were dancing, but (now is when I get to complain) I always imagined go-go boys doing a little more than just... standing there. Mr. Perfect did not feel the need to be bothered by anyone. He was just standing there in his underwear watching the game and waiting for someone to give him a dollar. He was like a homeless man, except instead of a sign he had muscles, and instead of a cup he had underwear. He was legitimately bored. I figured he would at least dance a bit, try to work for his tips, maybe bring some people on the dance floor to get things going ya know? But no, he did none of those things. He was completely in another place. He was more of a no-go boy that a go-go boy (thank you, thank you very much).

One of the other go-go boys was much better. He was dancing up a storm. Bringing people on stage. He even lifted my boyfriend! If he wasn't painfully straight I might have punched him in the face! So there you have it folks; living proof that there is indeed an art in go-go boying. An art that Mr. Perfect could work to perfect. You can't just stand there. You gotta give me a little zing, a little oom pah pah, a little pizazz! I don't care how many muscles you have, I will always be loath to give a tip to a no-go boy. Stay comfy y'all.