The lamest thing

So I promised I would tell you about the coolest thing and the lamest thing I saw at this years Folsom Street Fair. You all seemed to enjoy the tale of the coolest thing, but what about the lamest thing? Well that, hands down, would have to be the guy we all called “Lord Orloff”

The fair was just about done for the day when he came up to the booth. By now the cops had started shooing folks off the streets so he was not hard to miss, heck even in a full crowd he would be easy to spot. You see, he was wearing a full length Victorian style jacket, top hat, and a velvet demi-cape. I should point out here that the locals have a saying, “Folsom takes place on either the hottest day of the year or the coldest”. This was one of the hot years and we were all sweating in our jeans and short sleeves and here this guy is dressed like he just walked off the Baker St.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I love costumes. Part of the fun of Folsom is the costumes and the spectacle, but rather than a reviler enjoying the opportunity to show off his cool outfit this guy was serious. He was maybe in his early twenties, white, and his skin had that pallid look of someone who either spent too much time playing World of Warcraft or behind a register at Hot Topic. Oh and yes, he was visibly sweating.


As he walked up to the booth we all noticed that he had this little steel ball in his right hand. About the size of a golf ball and looking suspiciously a bit like one of those Asian stress balls you see at the cheap import store, he was twirling the orb in his fingers. Zeroing in on Griffin (we will all later agree that it was his pirate like long hair that did it) he approached and greeted him, still twirling the orb, in a strangely slurred tone. “Greetings” twirl twirl twirl
“Um, Hi”, responded Griffin, a bit wary from a long day.
“I am," twirl twirl twirl "Lord Orloff,” His attempt at a sinister smile reveals that his slurred speech is due to the garishly large set of prosthetic vampire fangs he was wearing.
“Griffin, pleased to meet you”, Always a pleasant and nice chap our Griffin, he extends a friendly hand to the man.
“Yes," twirl twirl twirl "here, let me transfer my energy" twirl twirl twirl He proceeds to shift the spinning ball from his right to left hand, with out missing a twirl.
“I am "twirl twirl twirl" the leader of my coven,” He over pronounces the word so it sounds a bit more like “cooooveeen”
“Really? That’s nice” says Griffin, never breaking his trademark smile.
“Yes, "twirl twirl twirl "I am from Salem." twirl twirl twirl
After shaking Griffin’s outstretched hand, he looks from side to side taking assessment of our booth and proceeds to declare, “I see you are into bondage twirl twirl twirl how quaint, I used to do that but now I fear my path is a twirl twirl twirl much darker one.”
Unphased, Griffin keeps his smile meanwhile the rest of us are fighting to keep from busting out in hysterical fits of laughter, “That’s nice, well we are closed now so if you don’t mind I gotta start tearing this booth down. Nice to meet you”
“Yes" twirl twirl twirl "it was, wasn’t it? "twirl twirl twirl
Transferring his “energy” back to his right hand, he turned and walked off into the afternoon sun.

What is it with some people? Sure, everyone has a right to enjoy their own kink. Sure, I happen to enjoy things that others find objectionable but it’s self important idiots like this who help perpetuate the negative stereotypes that kinky folks are a bunch of devil worshiping fucktards! It is frustrating enough being a member of a sub culture that already enjoys more than it’s fair share of misconceptions. Every time there is an episode of CSI where somebody dies from something vaguely SM related I’m on the phone reassuring my mom that “no, I don’t do that sort of thing… yes, I practice safe and sane play…” (For the record my mom has come a long, long way in coming to terms with my lifestyle choice. While we she disagrees with parts of it, we have a healthy relationship where we can talk about such things. So kudos to you mom). So this white boy from the suburbs whose “coven” is probably located somewhere on Live Journal and whose members are all living in their parent’s basements just drive me nuts. Lord Orloff’s real name is probably “Brian” and somewhere his dad has a photo of him at age 8, dressed in his pee-wee football uniform.


Ok, enough ranting for one day. The moral of the story, enjoy your kink. Embrace your inner pervert and flog it soundly, however never take yourself so serious that you forget that this is supposed to be fun.