Wonkette Drinkie Thingie, Rudy's Bar, NYC

Everyone knows that Wonkette is the single best source of news about political idiots, snowbilly grifters, and buttsecks jokes. They have also twice linked to this here blog because SeeTimBlog is the single best source of news about angry teabagger illiterates and how best to talk to your gay baby about awful breeders. So I was thrilled when I saw that editrix Rebecca Schoenkopf--who is in the midst of a little RNC- and DNC-inspired jaunt along the east coast, during which she's taken in Tampa, Charlotte, Philly, and maybe some other places who cares--was going to be stopping by Rudy's Bar in Hell's Kitchen here in NYC in order to meet her public and buy us pitchers of beer.

I tried to rope in a friend or two to accompany me but got no takers (thanks, NYC Facebook friends, I'm unfriending ALL OF YOU), so I had to show up by myself. I got a beer and made my way to the back yard space where the shindig was happening. On the far wall a giant screen was showing the game. (Which game? The baseball game. Which baseball game? The one that was last night.) I stood on my own for a while pretending to watch this "the game" and trying to see if there was anyone who looked semi-approachable that I might beg to talk to me. Then I saw Rebecca talking to some folks in the center of the space. I figured if I was just going to walk up and interrupt someone's conversation it might as well be hers.



So I stepped down and squeezed into her general area. Then I just stood there watching the folks around her talking, waiting for my moment to strike. In the mean time I introduced myself to a tall gentleman next to me and asked him if he was with Wonkette.

"Blowjobz1258," he said.

"I don't know what that is," I replied. Then I realized: he was introducing himself by his Wonkette commenter moniker.

"Are you on Wonkette?" he asked incredulously.

"Oh, no, I mean, I read it religiously, but I don't comment."

He was done with me by this point, pretty much, getting on his phone and pretending to text as he stepped away. I turned around and there was a tiny man standing behind me who had just come down the stairs. He looked up at me and said hello. I shook his hand and introduced myself.

"Hi Tim, I'm Zaltar," he said with an indeterminable accent.

"Zaltar? That's your name? Your real name?"

"Yes," he said. "Zaltar. It's Turkish." (I think he said Turkish, he may have said Klingon.)

"Wow, you do realize that's pretty much the best name ever, right?"

"Yes, I do."



At that moment, I saw Rebecca turn away from the older gentleman she'd been talking to for a few minutes. Here was my chance. Her eyes met mine, she smiled, and I introduced myself. She was nice! I told her that I'm SURE she doesn't remember but that she linked to this blog a while back when I tried to start a meme based on John Derbyshire's hilariously racist riff on The Talk that black parents have to have with their sons about living in a white world, which we all learned about in the wake of the Trayvon Martin shooting. (Mine was the gay version of The Talk. The meme did not take, sad face.) She said she remembered, that it was the first post of the morning and that she remembers just being really lazy and block quoting me and then linking to my post. I thanked her for doing it and told her that was just fine because click-through are click-throughs, amiright?



There was a guy standing next to her holding what looked like a Jack on the rocks and who looked about twelve years old. Since I'd already made it with Rebecca I thought I'd go ahead and throw caution to the wind and insert myself into his life, too.

"Hi I'm Tim, what's your name?"

"Jack."

"Jack. Jack Stuff?!"

"Stuef, but yeah."

That's right, it was Jack Stuef, my favorite ever Wonkette writer, dearly departed. I showered him with flattery, because I'm such a starf*cker.

"I was devastated when you left," I told him.

"Uh, really?" he said. He was not buying my schtick at all.

"Yeah. Well, okay, I might be overstating it. I was incredibly sad for days and thought I might never be able to read the Internet again."

Soon after this he excused himself to get another drink and get as far away from me as the venue would allow. Oh look, there's blurry Rebecca (my camera phone had had a few drinks by this point).



I then moved on to take over someone else's life and found two young folks off to the side who had friendly yet sarcastic faces that I felt really drawn to. They were Mwaanza and Lillie and they were both born in 1990, isn't that weird? I didn't realize people could be born after the eighties, but whatever. Here's a great picture of them.



We talked about what irritates us about everything for the rest of the night, the end.

In conclusion, this place had free hot dogs. Free hot dogs! Communism is delicious.

UPDATE:

A hawt photo of yours truly is posted over at Wonkette, feast on it below and check out other nonblurry photos here.