“Mostly I like to just pull their hair while I jerk off on them,” I replied.
“What?” She stopped gyrating on my lap for a second and looked back over her shoulder at me.
“I said doggie-style.”
“Oh, ok. I like to be on top,” she said in an attempt to make conversation, assuming I cared anything about her likes and dislikes. A lot of people make that mistake.
I was on my fourth couch dance of the day and so far, I’d only been flashed one crotch and zero boobs. Maybe the dancers should be commended for adhering so closely to the state of New York’s guidelines for strip bars. Still, it was better than being at the office, where I was supposed to be. And I guess I could do without seeing crotches. Let’s call it the eggplant parmigiana factor, which is an epidemic among exotic dancers, believe it or not. However, I’m not here to discuss overused female genitalia. Actually, I don’t know what I’m here to discuss.
While we’re on the subject (sort of), does someone want to explain the whole bar concept to me? Why would I get in the car and drive out to someplace for the privilege of paying five times as much for something that I could’ve bought at a liquor store and drank in my backyard? $2 dollars for Pabst? That’s slightly less than a 30 pack costs. Not that I’m much of a drinker, but I just want to point this out to you people filing into The Artful Dodger Bar every weekend. Granted, bars are rife with cheap skanks, but I can pick those up at the Laundromat, and they’re usually just as drunk there. Speaking of Laundromats, what a great invention those places are. I just discovered that they existed about two weeks ago and have been going there every few days to steal women’s unwashed underwear that I can then take home and sell on E-Bay to pasty men that didn’t have any friends when they were kids.
When I have children of my own, I’m going to take the little farts to bars and utilize the patrons to help create my kids’ unbreakable self-esteem. You see, self-esteem will be the reason they can have social interaction with people without standing around intoxicated at a place that smells like pee, so it’s an important quality to develop. I saw a diner placemat ad for a nursery school that stated that they “build self-esteem through creative learning.” What the hell is that supposed to mean? Finger-painting is going to improve my son’s self-opinion? No the best way to do that is to show him a few dozen guys who don’t see their families because they’re too busy making love to Miller Lite.
“Son,” I’ll say to him, “Son, you see that woman over there? See the desperation in her eyes? She’s about to go home with the man who can tell her the best lie about what he does for a living. And see that guy over there? He can’t get life insurance on himself for his kids because he can’t stop drinking long enough to pass the physical. And that guy over there? He owns the bar and charges the rest of these slobs an 85% markup for vodka that they top off with water every night. One of these people is better off than the other two.” And in twenty seconds he’ll learn more than three years of algebra can teach him. (Note: In the event the aforementioned child is a girl, replace the word “son” with silence, and replace the rest of the paragraph with me buying her something pink and frilly).
The point is, if you have children, make sure you spend time with them and take an active role in their lives. Since kids don’t learn anything in school besides how to catch the flu every winter, parents have to teach their kids anything they don’t want them to learn on the playground from that fat kid that snorts Kool-Aid mix. With that in mind, remember to talk to your kids about how to corral poontang, exploit weaker people, cheat the IRS, deal cards from the bottom of the deck without being noticed, and how to make sure a hooker isn’t actually a cop. Also, don’t forget to teach them correct forgery technique, the proper way to talk down to stupid people, and for the really promising youngster, how to inflate corporate earnings reports by including unpaid stock dividends in gross profits.
Above all, maybe the most important things kids should know to get them through life is that hard work doesn’t really get you anywhere, everybody wants something from you, and if you’re careful, the cops are too stupid and/or lazy to ever catch you. Also, don’t forget to hug your children often…if you want to turn them into sissies.
And speaking of sissies, is there any stronger evidence that a man is a card carrying limp-wristed pansy than if he rides around on one of those neon green and yellow Suzuki motorcycles? Originally, I thought the best evidence of this is if a man had sex with another man. Now, I’m pretty sure that these Suzuki riding guys are at the top of the list. Why? Because it’s a major financial commitment. You’ve got to make a down payment, get on a payment plan, they’re going to check your credit, maybe give you an interest rate in the teens. You’ll probably end up paying thousands over the already high list price if you get a loan to pay for it. All for the privilege of looking like a homo. By the way, what’s the difference between a Harley and a vacuum cleaner? On a vacuum, the dirtbag is on the inside.
Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, the stripper. So we got to the end of my song and a half — which is always the rap song of the week, and then “Sweet Home Alabama” for some reason — and I handed her a fifty.
“Is that a tip?” She asked me, hopefully.
”No. It’s the smallest bill I have. I’ll just need thirty bucks now.”
That’s another thing my kids are going to have to know someday. Always get change