Portland is filled with fuddy-duddies.

For those that missed the article in Saturday's edition of The Oregonian, the Safari Showclub* on 30th and Powell arranged an event billed "Bikes, Babes and Brawls." It was expected to draw up to 6,000 people to a fenced-lot outside of the club for a day-to-evening frenzy of no-holds-barred cage matches, heavy metal bands, flying motorcycles and scantily-clad women covered in soap bubbles. News of the event, which was reportedly aimed at "outlaw biker gangs," put PPD and everyone within a two-miles radius on edge. Every on-duty officer in the city was put on-call in case the event dissolved into a melee.

Now how could I miss something like this? A practically guaranteed, NC-17 biker riot in the heart of calm, placid, oh-so liberal Portland? With camera in tow, I drove out to the Safari Showclub, expecting my vehicle to be swarmed by leather-clad maniacs with tire irons. Instead, here's what I found:

All together now, BOR-ING!

Yeah, this should come as no surprise. Fearing they would immediately lose their liquor license and be run out of town by locals bearing pitchforks and torches on Sunday morning, the organizers canned the event. All-day Saturday, workers dissembled the steel-cage as dancers like "Asia Voo" lamented the purchase of $650 worth of motorcycle socks.

After even suggesting an event like this in Portland, the Safari Showclub's days are inevitably numbered. If there's anything the OLCC doesn't approve of, it's rampant hedonism.

Supposedly, the club itself has an elaborate tropical theme and a 4,000-gallon piranha tank on display. If you don't mind a no-doubt excessive cover charge, nipples and bouncers with little patience for anyone not covered in body hair or flaunting rolls of cash, you may want to plan a visit in the near future. For daring to take these pictures I was nearly chased off the property by a guy that looked like Butterbean. This place evidentally has a zero tolerance policy for scrawny bloggers.

OK, fine, I should be counting my blessing since I wasn't curb-stomped.

* Not to be confused with the indomitable lounge in Estacada.