SomethingSoWrong
Funniness Negates Wrongness
Monday, July 07, 2003
Whore: "So, he says your from Tyler..."
Cletus: "Uhh...no..."
Whore: "So he lied?"
Cletus: "Perhaps..."
Whore: "Looking for some company tonight?"
Cletus: "I prefer my company to not be infested with Chlamydia..."

I had to get rid of her. Since Wilbur hadn't tipped her, she was trying to press me hard for a tip. And if there was going to be any hard pressing of tips, it was going to be by me, and I wasn't in the mood for open sores on Cletus' (Rifleman's) rifle. I had to think fast. I decided to feign a cell phone call. Great thing about vibrate becoming so popular on phones these days...makes it easy to fake a call.

Whore, indicating Wilbur: "Is this his first time at a strip club?"
Cletus: "Yep---ooops, gotta go...phone call"

The whore hung around for a moment as I retrieved my Nokia from my pocket.

Cletus, to no one, as he's faking a call: "Hey, what's up?" pause "Not much here. Watching the dirties at this whorish titty bar...yeah....there's this one hovering over me that thinks she's going to get some dosh outta me...not likely..."

The whore wandered off, no doubt offended by me calling her a dirty. That's the problem with most titty bar workers...they take themselves too seriously and think too highly of themselves. "I'm only doing it for the money to make ends meet during this difficult time in my life" or "I'm not a whore, I'm a dancer" or "I only have to work three nights a week and I make as much as someone working 6 nights a week at 7-11." I'm sorry, but I seriously doubt that someone working at 7-11 is double-penetrated on a regular basis. Face it, if you work at a titty bar, your a dirty whore, selling your body for sex...basically, it's prostitution. You are a sexual plaything and nothing more.

A big black bitch came to the raised dance platform near us and as she got ready to surmount the stage, she tried to come onto Lou-Lou, beckoning our red-headed beauty to join her for some dirty dancing. Lou-Lou laughed and politely begged her off, but the negro ho wouldn't hear of it. She tried mightily to get our friend out of her chair and into the her embrace. Lou-Lou politely, yet firmly, declined her bold, dyke-ish advances, even though it prevented us from seeing any hot lesbian action that night.

The night began to wind down. A guy out celebrating his birthday was pulled onto the stage where he was pummeled by various dancers' breasts. For some weird reason, which worries me in a way, I couldn't help but notice that this guy was up on the stage with a raging hard-on. Why the hell would I notice that? Please, God, don't let it be some kind of latent homosexual desire or something like that. Personally, i think it would be someone disconcerting or embarrassing to be on a stage with wood. It didn't seem to bother this guy. Maybe he grew up with wood all the time and never had a Trapper Keeper in middle school to hide it behind, so he's used to it being out there for all to witness.

What was the deal with the Trapper Keeper? It was, obviously, some kind of super binder, with a nifty Velcro-secured flap that, I suppose, was to "trap" your papers in there. In middle school, I always got one, but you had to be sure that you went shopping for your new school supplies early enough, other wise you'd be stuck getting the Trapper Keeper with the kittens on it. Or the Care Bears. Inevitably, within a few weeks of school starting, I'd have that thing so stuffed with papers that the flap wouldn't quite reach far enough to mate the two halves of the Velcro strip. A few weeks after that, the plastic binder rings, no match for the metal featured in normal binders, would break and the papers would be at the mercy of each other to stay secure. Eventually, the cheap laminated cardboard that the Trapper Keeper was constructed of would begin to disintegrate, leaving you with a pile of cardboard and plastic that you were forced to tote around until you could get your mom to buy you a replacement. And, since the Trapper Keeper was mostly seasonal, only being availed during the late summer as school was getting ready to start, your mom was usually forced to replace it with a plain binder like the poor kids got at the beginning of the school year. Except that the ones that they got for 99 cents at Wal-Mart were still going strong while your $5.69 Trapper Keeper had bit the dust. You were no longer unique. You're only hope to remedy this lack of individuality was to use paint markers to decorate your new plain binder. And when it comes to paint markers, there's only one way to make letters, and that's to put large dots--highlighted with a blob of a different color paint marker--at the intersection of the lines of each letter. This is standard operating procedure--a illuminating tradition passed down through the generations, be it through cheesy homemade birthday gifts using clear plastic boxes from the Container Store filled with candy or various hand-decorated Christmas decorations sold at thousands of annual fund-raising bazaars around the country.

We fled the titty bar and retired back to Casa de Cletus. There were drinks to be had. As I'd had a particularly hellish week at work and had spent Wednesday night at the office until 3:30 AM, I retired to bed while everyone else drank, played games and had what sounded like a grand old time.


Stay tuned for more White Trash Adventures!