Too complex...too easy to screw up. I mean, ANY code that could conceivably be used at a club that expects you to be able to differentiate "Robin's Egg Blue?!?" And especially when you get down to the bottom, there...what, if you wear a tumbleweed on your left buttcheek, does it mean you're into 'Rodeo Sex?'
It's gotta be a gag. And no comments about the BDSM scene, scarves, and gags, now! Never take the easy ones--of course, if I'd listened to THAT advice, I'd still be single, so take it for what it's worth.
Seriously, though...having come from a Theatre background, I have (O, the HORROR!) some gay friends. I was a tad bit wary when they invited me to go clubbing with them one night, but they assured me that they would put out the word that I was NOT 'in the market.' Since I trusted these guys enough to change clothes in the same dressing room, I figured that it wouldn't be a problem, so I went. Well, before we even left, they stood me up in my living room and looked me over, head to toe. Then, there was a twenty-minute period of, "You probably don't want to wear that, that way," and "Aside from your HORRIBLE fashion sense, if you wear THAT, you're asking to be hit on!"
Suffice to say, I finally just wandered back and put on the most nondescript jeans and t-shirt I owned, some boots, and absolutely nothing in the way of accessories, beyond my belt. No watches, no earrings, no camel-skin mudflaps...nothing. You'd think I'd be pretty safe, wouldn't you? Wrong.
Remember the belt? D'OH! Black leather belt, with a Celtic knotwork pattern engraved into it. Silver buckle. Fairly standard stuff, I thought. So I'm sitting at the bar with this really sweet bi-girl, when this chap slides into the booth beside me. Really close. Uncomfortably close. The next thing I know, he puts his arm around me, and says (I swear to the Gods, I'm not making this up), "Nice belt...have you got any Irish in you?" And I, being partly stunned, partly terrified, and mostly just not even thinking 'that way,' stammer, "No."
To which (WAIT FOR IT) he trots out a line that *I'D* slap *MYSELF* if I ever used..."Would you like some?" Luckily, about that time, my two gay friends show up, and discreetly grab this guy, under the pretense of hitting the dance floor. Never saw him again, but when I asked about it, later that night, it seems that a new signal was out on the carrier waves that they hadn't been aware of. Black leather belt meant available bisexual male. Knotwork meant into bondage. Silver buckle meant top. I was like, "What...did they go through my closet, when they needed new code signals? I mean...that's pretty specific!" Needless to say, I explained that, although the experience had been charming, I was going to be sticking to my customary hangouts from then on...like elementary schools, mental wards, and mortuaries. None of that sick stuff for THIS little black duck!!!