my buttpaste brings all the boyz to the yard

It all started with a routine trip to Target in Columbia Heights. It was there that The Law collapsed in laughter and threw a packet of what would ultimately, but unknowingly to me at the time, serve as a makeshift love potion at a Brooklyn bar. And of course, I'm talking about travel sized packages of Butt Paste. Boudreaux's Butt Paste, to be exact!


There's nothing better than marketing a product under the name "Butt Paste." Who wouldn't buy it?! With that kind of instant name cache and our homosexual friend's birthday coming up, we really had no choice but to dole out 99 pennies and buy him a trio of these tiny Butt Paste packets. (Clearly, we're expert gift givers.)

And so I set out, Butt Paste in hand, to Williamsburg, Brooklyn, a place known for attracting hipsters, Hasidic Jews and hipster Hasidic Jews, to give my and The Law's main gay his birthday Butt Paste.

Regrettably, I forgot about the gift for hours after disembarking from the worst bus ride of all time (ahem, Megabus mega sucks!). Luckily, though, at some point I remembered I had three packets of Butt Paste burning a hole in the bowels (LOL!) of my bag. And so began a Butt Paste love story.

Minutes after the Butt Paste saw the dim light of the K&M bar, a ridiculously attractive man sauntered into the bar, brushed past me, my gay and my vodka soda and ordered a drink. I looked at my G, mouth agape, and bar-whispered to him, "Holy sh*t. Did you see him?"

And then I stared at this beautiful man. Creepy, indeed.

After he got his beer, he turned around, smiled and went to the other end of the bar to sit with his friends. Again, I turned to my homo, who by now had strategically tucked the Butt Paste packets into his shirt pocket like a beautiful, yellow plastic, Butt-Pastey pocket square and said, "I should go give him some Butt Paste!"

Knowing that wasn't some perverted sexual metaphor, this most intuitive gay grabbed a packet, held it out and said, "Yes! Go!"

But I couldn't. Having lived in DC for over a year, I felt the move was risky. How would he react?
"He's going to think I'm nuts!" I told my homosexual. "He's going to be confused and not want to talk to me! He's going to freak out!"

After 30 minutes of debate about how the ridiculously attractive man might possibly react to receiving Butt Paste as well as several lingering moments of across-the-bar eye contact, my gay had had it. "Bitch, this isn't DC. People aren't all douchey and uptight. He clearly wants to talk to you. Just go give him the goddamn Butt Paste!"

And so I threw back the rest of my drink, slipped the Butt Paste packet into my back pocket and approached this ridiculously attractive man.

"Um. Hi."

He smiled. (Yes, it was gorgeous.)

"I saw you from across the bar and, well, I have this present that I think you should have."

At this point, it had crossed my mind to just slip the Butt Paste into his shirt pocket, but with thoughts of uptight DC in my head, I decided I needed to explain.

"So, I have this gift here. For you. And I don't want you to freak out. But I'm guessing you might not understand why I'm giving this to you. I mean, it's weird. But funny. And you won't expect it. That's for sure. And no one's probably given you this before. But it's funny. It's supposed to be funny. And I think you would think it's funny. Maybe. It might be the best gift ever. It's funny..."
At this point, his less attractive friend interrupted my retarded, paranoid spiel and said, "You're not going to tell him you have a penis are you?"

I laughed. The ridiculously attractive man laughed. His less attractive friend laughed. And that's when I remembered, New York City was different. People there can take a joke, tell a joke and, most importantly, aren't hypersensitive.

I smiled and said, "No, which is kind of unfortunate considering the gift build-up I just did. That would be much funnier." I reached into my back pocket. "Here."

He squinted, looked down at the packet and stammered, "Butt...Paste? Does that say Butt Paste? Did you just give me Butt Paste?"

"Uh-huh."

He chuckled, looked me in the eye and said, "This is the best gift ever. I'm Troy."

Butt Paste was a hit. A tall, shaggy-haired, well-dressed, adorable hit.

---

But would it be in DC? That is the ultimate question. I hesitated to write this post, actually, because I wanted to do an experiment, A Tale of Two Butt Pastes, if you will. I want to go to a bar armed with Butt Paste and give it to boys and note their reactions. Would the majority burst into tears? Punch me in the face? Put me on a terrorist watch list? The world will have to wait. I've been too lazy. And, also, going out in DC sucks. However, it's time I suck it up and get back on this scientific endeavor. I'll let fancy academic journals fight over who wants to publish this study. Bidding starts at $1 million. Science sells, right? Science! Bitch!

Cambridge, Mass., tries its hand at graffiti. Brilliant.