By Amy Silverman
By Olivia LaVecchia
By Monica Alonzo and Stephen Lemons
By Chris Parker
By Michael Lacey
By Weston Phippen
"I got a DUI -- for drugs, not liquor, mind you," he smirks, as Tonya rolls her eyes at him. "So I go to jail. On my way out, I'm sitting in the exit area, and I'm talking to this guy who was one of the bartenders who worked here at Jugheads. I said, 'You know, I wanna throw a party!' And he said, 'Come on down.' The rest is history."
"We cater to every group that's outcasted by every other club," chimes in Chuck D. "We get people in suits, people in rags. They're all treated the same."
Chuck D explains that he was one of those outcasts at one time, until Sid took him under his wing.
"He was the best guy in the world to work for," claims Chuck D. "It's like he gave me a home and family to come to every day. I'm one of those millions of people who don't have a family to go home to, and Sid made sure that I did. He always took care of me."
There have been other fund raisers held for Jugheads and the Copelands, and there will be at least one more on July 8 for Sid's B-day. As far as the future goes, both Chuck D and Tonya share that Jugheads is looking to build a patio on the patch of land in front of the club, which faces McDowell Road, as the venue is now too small to accommodate many of the acts they host there.
Our little group breaks up, and the Jettster and I dip back into the debauchery under way. The usual suspects are in the hizz-ay, up to no good, as usual: Satanic Angie, offering up her juicy glutes for any and all to smack; amorous Abel in an aqua-blue Afro wig, red hot pants, and green tights; and top Sadisco wench "Ditch," who in the face resembles a young Jodie Foster, done up in glitter, posing on this bed set up against one wall, still laced up in roller blades. DJ Blonde Noize is also present, along with DJ ///she///. The latter is soon on the decks, making the dance floor bump like that Fuse network TV show Pants-off Dance-off.
The J-unit and I knock back several more Jäger bombers, which in turn cause the Jettster to head for the loo to, uh, powder her nose. The club's smoke machine is too much for me, so I step outside to the alfresco living room the Sadiscoites have constructed. There I spy Club Hell's DJ Nfin8, puffin' on one of the hookahs provided by that water-pipe catering service The Den. Personally, though, I'd rather not suck on a hookah unless I know where she's been . . .
Nearby the hookahs, there's this fine dime with raven tresses by the name of Carrie, and soon we're talking. Seems Carrie's a fairly regular Sadisco-goer, but I've never spotted her before, and believe me, I would've remembered.
"So you're a big fan of the club?" I inquire.
"Oh, yeah, it's like live-action Pink Flamingos," she says, grinning mischievously.
"As long as we don't have to nosh any turds like Divine did in that flick," I tell her. "A little bird has already told me that the July 15 Sadisco will be a John Waters tribute. Makes you wonder what the hors d'oeuvres will look like. So are you a student?"
She nods her head. "I go to MCC," she responds. "I'm studying art. I want to teach art someday."
"Who's your favorite artist?" I query.
"Renoir's pretty good," she says. "It's pretty funny, you know, when Impressionism first came out, it was considered ghastly. They wouldn't let women go to the exhibitions if they were pregnant, and stuff like that. Now you look at it and go, Who could hate that?'"
"These days, they put it on coffee mugs," I agree. "Gets harder and harder to offend people as the centuries pass. Though believe me, I'm doing my best."
I duck back inside to search for the Jettster, who's prolly holding court with other bi-lovin' femmes in the ladies' room. At the bar, I run into this couple in cowboy hats, two artists, this luv-ly lil' filly Josiane Childers, a painter by trade, and this bearded hombre Justin Earl West, who looks like he just stepped out of HBO's Deadwood. West is a steel sculptor locally, and a former roommate of Toby's, who helped Sadisco get started. He, too, credits Sid for allowing Sadisco to flourish.
"Sid was the one man who hooked us up and gave us a place to be," explains West. "He was an awesome human being. I never met somebody who was so accepting of freaks. That's what was cool about Sid -- he let you be a freak, without him being prejudiced toward anyone. And really, that's what Sadisco is all about."