Suicide me, baby

The Suicide Girls did more than their part at Market Street on Monday

The lovely and talented Siren
Published: Tuesday, January 27, 2004 at 10:38 a.m.
Last Modified: Tuesday, January 27, 2004 at 10:38 a.m.

It's been nearly 12 hours since the Suicide Girls smothered each other in chocolate syrup and whipped cream, and my eyes are still bulging out of my head.

First things first.

A cordial tip of the cap is extended to Towers of Hanoi and Bloom for surprisingly interesting performances. I didn't think I'd be able to notice them playing, but they caught my ear slightly.

Now, on to the good stuff.

The massive line outside snaked around the corner for what seemed like miles - and hours. After filling the doors with what I'm sure was a crowd that would send the fire marshal into cardiac arrest, the doors were closed to newcomers, and we few with the foresight to get advance tickets slid inside.

After talking to some bulky door men, I discovered that both bands would be playing full sets before the flesh fest ever hit the stage. Yet, the dreary waiting process that I had expected was most auspiciously interrupted.

"So, have you seen us naked?" Violet inquired of me.

Standing right before my beady little eyes were a gorgeous pair. No, not boobs, you pervert. It was Violet and Siren, two of the lovely ladies of the evening. Well, okay, their boobs were nice too.

Now, I've quite the decent list of celebrity encounters, but none quite so interesting as this. I can walk up to Lars Fredriksen and Justin Sane just to have a conversation. Violet and Siren, on the other hand, presented me with the nagging notion that I have, in fact, seen both of them naked.

Even seeing them naked couldn't have prepared anyone for the on-stage activities both they and their SG friends performed.

It occurs to me that describing the show in detail will not only cause anyone to sound like a big, walking hard-on, but I will be unable to continue after drool meets electricity and my keyboard is promptly aflame in my lap. But I'll give it a shot anyway.

Only those directly in the front of the room, or perching on some part of the Market Street architecture managed to see the girls playing cops and robbers, doing a cheerleader dance or just directly stripping.

Each girl seemed to have hand-picked a custom nipple adornment, just to keep the show legal. Beyond Violet's white duct tape, I couldn't help being both entertained and amused by Tegan and Siren's red cross cover-ups.

I said I wouldn't go into detail, but, for those who's lives were not enhanced by being unable to see the most important part of the show, I've just got to talk about that food fight.

I've been told that an orgy is "nothing but limbs and genitals flying all over the place." Well, add chocolate syrup and whipped cream to that equation, and this is probably the closest I'll get to an orgy without changing my name to Ron Jeremy.

They poured it on each other, they licked it off each other, they rubbed it all each other, they danced and squirmed in it all. The earlier cheering and screaming slowed, because the entire crowd had not a thing to do but stare.

Did I mention that the crowd was mostly female? Ladies of Gainesville, you make me smile.

Shit, what do you want me to say? It was hot. Damn hot. So, if you were quite so unlucky to miss out on this show-above-all-shows, for breast's sake, buy advance tickets next time. Believe you me, life will be better because of it.

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