Written By: Anthony Douglas Gere
Music Provided By: SEMusic
Artistry Selected By: Main Ad Centre
All Material is protected by law under the
licensing of mcwhorter management
marketing manufacturing 2005
Any unauthorized usage and or its likeness
is prohibited by law.
Music Provided By: SEMusic
Artistry Selected By: Main Ad Centre
All Material is protected by law under the
licensing of mcwhorter management
marketing manufacturing 2005
Any unauthorized usage and or its likeness
is prohibited by law.
If Just For A Moment Page 2
By Anthony Douglas Gere
The car, a convertible Porsche Boxster, and even though it was close to midnight
and the air was a bit chilly, they had the top down, music blaring and bouncing up
and down to some techno music that made me think a dildo was attached to their
seat, and they were about to orchestrate an orgasm with the music for me and the
world to see. But the bumper sticker on the back of her car read,” If you are gonna
ride my ass, at least pull my hair”. I thought that was really funny, because if we
know it or not, most of us while driving, do get a bit too close to the car in front of
us, when we are on the road or stopped at a light. Well especially if the person in
front is physically hot and you want to get their attention for whatever reason.
Anyway, it made me reflect back to my club hopping and working days. Well let
me re-phrase that, when I worked at nightclubs as the doorman and bouncer.
That’s how and what spawned this theory.
Now one thing I think many people see in me when they view my photo, see me
on the streets or interacting with many, is that I am a partier. I mean yeah, I have
an out going personality, will talk to a brick if it talks back, or even looks like it will.
But to tell you the truth, I’m a homebody type of man. I enjoy relaxing at home,
watching a movie, cooking meals and entertaining with people of my likeness.
You don’t have to have what I have, or even be or look like me, but I deeply enjoy
great conversation and recycling thoughts on everything from politics to pussy. I
simply enjoy interacting, and petty much look at the club scene as the
Step-father that raised you, but also molested you when no one was looking.
When I was first building my companies, I worked four separate jobs to pay for
my patents. I had quit my job in corporate America because the stress level
was high, too demanding and after work, you are simply too tired and drained
to concentrate on anything else, especially starting your own company. So
one of my jobs was working at this popular club to pay the bills. I was the
main door guy, the guy that you bribed to get in. The centerpiece behind the
velvet rope, and having a six foot five two hundred and thirty pound athletic
frame with an out going personality, it made me perfect for the job. I knew
everyone from cab drivers to socialites throughout the city. Athletes to drug
dealers, hotel managers to strippers and I guess if you had to pick a job to
have in this environment, this was the one to obtain. This was the job to
have, because it wasn’t about the paycheck, it was about the networking and
valuable connections in being able to write your own checks later on when
the club was closed. The guy that shook the hands with the celebrities and
knew everyone because the club I worked at was literally for nightlife, the
place to be. Six dance floors, three thousand people a night and open until
four in the morning five days a week all year around, yeah, Club DV8 was all of
that, and more. Anyway, in working in a place like that, with all sorts of cultures,
people, sexual preferences, types of music on each floor, races and more, you
get to see a lot of shit. If I had a dollar for every person I seen having sex on the
dance floor, in bathroom stalls, hidden corners, sitting on chairs and more, I
could have bought a Bentley a long time ago.
By Anthony Douglas Gere
The car, a convertible Porsche Boxster, and even though it was close to midnight
and the air was a bit chilly, they had the top down, music blaring and bouncing up
and down to some techno music that made me think a dildo was attached to their
seat, and they were about to orchestrate an orgasm with the music for me and the
world to see. But the bumper sticker on the back of her car read,” If you are gonna
ride my ass, at least pull my hair”. I thought that was really funny, because if we
know it or not, most of us while driving, do get a bit too close to the car in front of
us, when we are on the road or stopped at a light. Well especially if the person in
front is physically hot and you want to get their attention for whatever reason.
Anyway, it made me reflect back to my club hopping and working days. Well let
me re-phrase that, when I worked at nightclubs as the doorman and bouncer.
That’s how and what spawned this theory.
Now one thing I think many people see in me when they view my photo, see me
on the streets or interacting with many, is that I am a partier. I mean yeah, I have
an out going personality, will talk to a brick if it talks back, or even looks like it will.
But to tell you the truth, I’m a homebody type of man. I enjoy relaxing at home,
watching a movie, cooking meals and entertaining with people of my likeness.
You don’t have to have what I have, or even be or look like me, but I deeply enjoy
great conversation and recycling thoughts on everything from politics to pussy. I
simply enjoy interacting, and petty much look at the club scene as the
Step-father that raised you, but also molested you when no one was looking.
When I was first building my companies, I worked four separate jobs to pay for
my patents. I had quit my job in corporate America because the stress level
was high, too demanding and after work, you are simply too tired and drained
to concentrate on anything else, especially starting your own company. So
one of my jobs was working at this popular club to pay the bills. I was the
main door guy, the guy that you bribed to get in. The centerpiece behind the
velvet rope, and having a six foot five two hundred and thirty pound athletic
frame with an out going personality, it made me perfect for the job. I knew
everyone from cab drivers to socialites throughout the city. Athletes to drug
dealers, hotel managers to strippers and I guess if you had to pick a job to
have in this environment, this was the one to obtain. This was the job to
have, because it wasn’t about the paycheck, it was about the networking and
valuable connections in being able to write your own checks later on when
the club was closed. The guy that shook the hands with the celebrities and
knew everyone because the club I worked at was literally for nightlife, the
place to be. Six dance floors, three thousand people a night and open until
four in the morning five days a week all year around, yeah, Club DV8 was all of
that, and more. Anyway, in working in a place like that, with all sorts of cultures,
people, sexual preferences, types of music on each floor, races and more, you
get to see a lot of shit. If I had a dollar for every person I seen having sex on the
dance floor, in bathroom stalls, hidden corners, sitting on chairs and more, I
could have bought a Bentley a long time ago.