Ass You Like It


I’ve never interviewed a real Ass before. I mean, I’ve had my fair share of assholes (you know who you are), Jackasses ( Steve-O), and ass wipes (everyone else). But as for an actual Ass so famous it has its own blog, beauty routine, and fan base? Never.

The Ass in question belongs to a cocktail waiter at the newish gay bar Mr. Black, during the Friday-night soiree hosted by club kid trio Trinity ( Mackie, Aimee, and Drewpsie) and featuring resident DJ Sammy Jo, the Scissor Sisters‘ chosen spinner. The Ass’s owner is, like any superstar, a single-monikered man, Luke. Like the bar’s owner, his pal Stuart Armando, he’s Australian. The Ass was first exposed on a dare, and when someone asked to take a photo posing next to it, the blog Ass Shot (assshot.blogspot.com) was born. The blog quickly became a hit, with precious linkage from blogger Perez Hilton. People scramble to pose in the Ass’s presence; the Ass has hobnobbed with Lady Miss Kier (who came by on Friday), Alan Cumming, Jake Shears of the Scissor Sisters, and other East Village Ass fans Richie Rich, Joey Arias, and Amanda Lepore.

In the pictures, people make puke faces or smooch faces, or stick out their tongues. “And it’s always Asian chicks that do it,” Luke notes. Others bite it, kiss it, or lick it, but do not, Luke says, smack it: “It’s bad for the photos! It makes it red.” Also, do not spill beer on it, as one person did. This will get you thrown out.

So will being lewd. “If it gets too vile I can defend myself,” Luke says. “I might not have any clothes on, but . . . ” (Insert “he said ‘butt’ ” joke here.)

Strangely, there are people who have no idea he’s pantsless until he walks away; others get one drink at a time, just so they can cruise the Ass. “They’ll order from the cocktail waiter, so they watch me walk past,” he says. Ironically, he once worked at a cosmetic-surgery office in Australia but joked that even after all that work, “No one looks at my face anymore.”

That’s because the Ass’s beauty is unrivaled. Sometimes people refuse to put their faces next to the Ass and challenge its greatness by pitting their mere mortal asses against the Ass. A few Chelsea queens made this mistake a couple weeks ago. They lost. Assholes. A rugby player tried too. Ass: 1, Rugby: -5.

I know you’re curious. The Ass does indeed have a beauty routine. It is loofahed and buffed and trimmed. It is kept perfectly hairless and has a nice peachy sheen to it. To keep it smelling nice, the Ass is bathed in honey-scented body wash. No one likes a smelly arse. Luke also preps the Ass for its big night out with toning exercises. (Yes, this is a real column.) “I get on my hands and knees and I do butt lifts,” he says. “Two hundred per butt. When I get to work I do another hundred. The ass is perfect. I put a lot of care into it.”

Says boss Armando: “He’s gonna have to get it insured!”

Like any Hollywood celebrity, the Ass needs a little Photoshopping, mostly to take the clearly jealous Balls out of the picture. They are hidden, as is Wiener, behind a black apron. The rest of the outfit is completed with a white sleeveless shirt, a black vest, and a top hat. “I’m living a fantasy of what I thought New York was about,” Luke exclaims. “That’s a comment I get every time—’Oh my God! This is New York that we’ve not seen for 20 years.’ I think that’s the most rewarding.”


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