4 Hours at Kill! Boy! Kill!
By Maty Slick
There is hairspray in your mouth, glitter in your eye and a wind chill that makes you wish you still had your hymen for that little extra warmth.
Those were the only thoughts going through my head as I scampered down West 27th Street to Suzie Wong’s for the premiere of the new weekly party KILL! BOY! KILL! After a predictably glamorous encounter with Miss Thalia Almodovai at the door, I was whisked past the velvet rope. Inside, I could already tell this party would be worth the frigid journey.
I was immediately assaulted with grotesque and crude images of the deceased JonBenét Ramsey. Dozens of balloons and throbbing beats made me feel like I had entered a princess birthday party at Burning Man. I immediately bowed to The Switch Kids (Joshua Mayhew, Joel Mendenhall, Ajoshua Phabu and MikeE). The party was buzzing, but that isn’t hard to believe. Mini JonBenéts were sporadically placed, some missing limbs, some being used as cup holders. It was dirty and it was raw.
“Have I ever been turned on by a post-mortem JonBenét? Hell yes I have, and will until the day I die!” host Joshua Mayhew screamed at me over the thumping bass. “And I bet you all have too, mother fuckers!” The party was certainly living up to its PR, which advertised it as “twisted.”
“We want to honestly offer something different, especially for those with a dark sense of humor,” Mayhew said of the event.
“Joel and I have known each other for 20 years. We threw parties in San Fran,” said MikeE, an ever-present grin on his face. “The gay scene here is all muscle gays and Top 40. Where is the freak show? I want to bring that!”
The freaks were present at this party, that’s for sure. Hostess Tatiana Steele was clad over 50 yards of heavy-duty rope turned into a noose-like halter top, while Glammy nominee Demanda Dahling and her posse were drenched in make-up, netting and irony. “I got stoned and saw a picture of myself, that’s how this happened,” Demanda said.
As W. Jeremy (House of Skank) was throwing down some brutal womps and twerks, my eyes were continually drawn to the lavishly dressed Ajoshua Phabu. “It’s filthy and proper and exactly what the world needs right now,” Phabu said as he posed, giving nothing but utter face to the adoring onlookers.
“The hot factor and freak factor is so high! And I love it!” W. Jeremy shouted while effortlessly thumbing through his CDs, throwing down Duck Sauce’s “Barbra Streisand.”
My biggest praise for this party is that it is so much more than just a “lets drink till we puke” kind of shindig. There is a mission behind it. “We want people to be able to go out and express themselves,” said Mendenhall. “We want the kids in nightlife to say what is up! Bringing back NYC nightlife to what it was, the Limelight days, The Tunnel; that's what we are about.”
An art happening of sorts, the party featured performances by So You Think You Can Drag winner Honey Davenport, fellow contestant Destiny Devine, Nancy Nosecandy, Velossa Rapture, opera singer Courtney Mills (singing “Ave Maria”), as well as photographers, half naked boys and even a faux funeral for the deceased child beauty queen.
There was surprise after surprise and they didn’t stop there. “Next week, we are doing a Dexter theme,” said Mayhew. “We’re turning the place into one of Dexter’s ‘kill rooms.’ Blood splatter, bodies wrapped in plastic as well as cheaper drinks and coat check.” The party didn’t stop until the lights came up and the groans of reality began to creep back into the heads of all the creatures of the night.
Outside the club it was bitter cold, and my legs cramped as I walked through Chelsea at 4am. But it was worth it. Another party for the record book. Another venue for creativity and a “Fuck off! I’m fabulous” mentality. A complete win in my book.
