I'd heard rumors that there was an exclusive night club at the top floor of the Gaylord. In my mind, I imagined the scene there as some kind of debauched bacchanal with dudes in Brooks Brothers suits making out and femi-cons snorting morning-after...
The Conservative Political Action Conference is an annual event where prominent right-wingers get together and plot ways to start new wars and keep your wieners out of other dudes' buttholes. It's a fantastic time, especially during the after-hours because there is often free booze, and all the Republicans are looking to let loose.
This year's CPAC was at the Gaylord, a convention center that sits right on the Potomac River in Maryland and has a hotel and restaurants and a park inside of it. The Gaylord is a strange place. It is kind of like Disneyland or one of those fake model neighborhoods that are built for nuclear test sites.
Hanging out at CPAC for the past three days has made me realize the GOP is in a weird place right now with a bunch of different factions going at one anothers' throats. I'm not so into the old-school Willie Horton, dog-whistling side or the hyperreligious Bible thumpers. I do, however, find the Libertarian movement that is happening among the younger Republicans pretty compelling, if only because they are into legalizing dope. Considering that, I figured they were the best crowd to hang with on a night out. So on Friday—after a long day of hearing about God, guns, and gays—I followed a few of the cool young liberty dudes into this big-ass dance hall inside the convention center.
The first thing I noticed when I stepped into the spot was that the people had shit all over their faces. It was pretty peculiar, but at least it wasn't blackface. I stopped this guy to figure out what the hell was going on. But he was pretty short on words because he was playing like a zombie, which is mad annoying when you are trying to ask a question. Then he started waving this weird black clicker thing in my face. I guess it's some kind of speed-networking device. He wanted his thing to touch mine, but I didn't have one. Sorry, dude.
These people were jumping up and down in front of a TV screen. You could tell that a lot of couples were hooking up, so I just figured this was some kind of peculiar, conservative mating dance.
Then the DJ dropped "Thriller," and all the kids went ape shit. They got together and started doing the dance from the music video. Watching these college Republicans get down was like being trapped in a particularly corny episode of Glee. The guy in the front, however, had some moves. He was just like Mike, except not as white and (hopefully) not into little kids.
Inspired by the excitement of the dancing Republicans, I decided to join in the fun and get my face did. The lady who hooked me up had really soft hands, and the paint kind of felt like lotion. The whole process was eerily soothing.
Artistically, I'm not sure what she was going for. I look like a circus clown who just muff-dived into a heavy-flow flesh taco.
However, my buddy here looks pretty good. I'd hate to see him coming down an alleyway on a late night.
I'd heard rumors that there was an exclusive night club on the top floor of the Gaylord. In my mind, I imagined the scene there as some kind of debauched bacchanal with dudes in Brooks Brothers suits making out and femi-cons snorting morning-after pills. The zombie party was starting to get a little stiff, so I got with another gang of young Republicans and went on a mission to find the secret boom-boom room.
The kids I was with were super nice and really intent on going hard. We were running through the halls of the hotel, in and out of storage and utility areas, and up and down creepy stairwells. Unfortunately, we weren't having much luck locating the spot. I was beginning to think that maybe it didn't exist.
We got so desperate, we seriously considered climbing though the air-conditioning ducts on some Mission Impossible-type shit. Good thing we didn't. Being a brown-skinned dude creeping through the ducts during a Republican convention is a quick way to get mistaken for a terrorist by some Jack Bauer wannabe. I know that Republicans stay strapped, and I'm not trying to go out like Trayvon.
Huzzah. We located the gilded hallway, which led to a posh elevator with some Roald Dahl swag.
And up we went—impatiently waiting to see our nation's conservative leaders getting crazy.
It was a pretty fancy spot, like something out of an old Puff Daddy video. It made me long for a shiny suit.
But in the end, I lost my group, which was kind of a bummer. And unfortunately there were no homo neocons tonguing or girls doing bumps of birth control. There was just the couple above doing some kind of Kid 'n Play routine. My dreams were crushed. But I did have a good time hanging with some of the younger conservative folks. They were all super nice and welcoming and gracious people who know how to have a good time. Hopefully, someone will invite me to the secret prophylactic-laden Republican orgy next year.
More stuff from Wilbert on CPAC: