It's not the YMCA. It's not the Badlands. It's not even EQ3 on a Sunday afternoon. But, despite it's lack of flair and gay cachet, Jelly's is becoming the hottest new homo dance club in the city.
I went last Saturday with my boys and a bottle of Grey Goose between us. (Only the good stuff for us.) From the moment the bouncer patted me down with special attention, I knew I was in gay heaven. The dance floor was packed with hot guys, all cruising for attention, and dancing the forbidden dance. Wait. Was that the lambada? Okay, it was all about the salsa here. And I'm not talking condiments.
So, when your looking to break that Jackson that's been burning a hole in your pocket, but you still want some change left over to do laundry on Sunday. . . or if you just aren't sure how to burn off the excess blow you snarfed earlier in the day, head down to SOMA and take a ride on the Jellycoaster.
When I get back to my chillly hallroom, I'm much too tired to sleep.
I'm one of those lady teachers, a beautiful hostess you know;
One that the palace features, at exactly a dime a throw.
Ten cents a dance, that's what they pay me
Gosh how they weigh me down.
Ten cents a dance, pansies and rough guys, tough guys who tear my gown.
Seven to midnight I hear drums, loudly the saxophone blows,
Trumpets are tearing my ear-drums, customers crush my toes.
Sometimes I think, I've found my hero but it's a queer romance;
All that you need is a ticket,
Come on big boy, ten cents a dance.
Fighters and sailers and bow-legged tailors
can pay for their tickets & rent me
Butchers and barbers and rats from the harbour
are sweethearts my good luck has sent me
Though I've a chorus of elderly beaus, stockings are porous with holes at the toes,
I'm here till closing time
Dance and be merry it's only a dime.
Sometimes I think, I've found my hero
But it's a queer romance;
All that you need is a ticket.
Come on, come on big boy, ten cents a dance.