Gentleman's Club

So I find myself out of town on a Saturday night in a town of 300 in a gentleman's club. I'm used to big cities. On a Tuesday afternoon there can be be 50 people in one of these clubs. Now it's Saturday night, I'm expecting quite a crowd. To my surprise there's only 12 people here. It's gets better, it's all nude. You can't imagine the benefits of an all nude club. Local law prohibits the selling of booze in all nude clubs. I know, benefit? The benefit is that right next door (the doors are literally 3 ft apart) there's a bar. So, you drink a beer; then go next door to look at tits, ass, and pussy. Then flip flop. The greatest part is that the whores have to go next door to drink as well.

I go next door in an effort to continue my buzz and who sits next to me? A whore. Immediately I feel as though I'm being interviewed. Bro had warned me that women in small towns are only looking for one thing, husbands. This explains the interview process. I politely explain to the young lady wearing the barest of essentials that I live with family out of town and am damn near the poverty line at 15k/year. In my mind this should've been enough to turn the young clothes shedder away. I guess I must be that good, because I could barely believe what happened next. She started buying ME drinks. This was the first time that I ever had a whore buy me a drink in a titty bar.

Since luck is on my side I decide that I may as well see exactly how far I can push it. Whore agrees to complete honesty and says she doesn't mind if I say exactly what's on my mind. 5 minutes and 2 drinks after meeting her I offer her $20 to have sex with me in the parking lot. Well I guess this is not etiquette in small town USA because she is put back just a little by my comment. She suggests that we get to know each other a bit and see where the night takes us. Under normal circumstances this would be fine, but I had been drinking for 10+ hours now. I know that my conscious time is limited now. I decide to go for it. Here I am getting stinky fingers and an over the clothes hand job in a tiny bar in a tiny town. I would love to report the rest of the evening, but unfortunately we shut down the drinking bar and the last thing I remember is scantly clad whore ordering me one more double shot. After that the evening is a blur. Maybe in the future I will ask Brother what happened at the end of that evening, but for now he was not much in the chatty mood. He had his hands full with cleaning up. Someone (he claims it was me) puked in his new truck and peed on the couch that I was sleeping on.

Silverware

As previously mentioned I left my happy home to visit family out of town. Of course because I haven't seen family in almost 2 years we're going to spend as much time together as possible. The funny thing about spending so much time together is that you notice weird things that maybe had previously gone unnoticed.

So apparently Lacy (sister in law) has a weird thing about using silverware in a restaurant and drinking from the glasses without a straw. I guess she doesn't have faith in an undocumented worker's ability to sanitize these items properly.

Fast forward a couple of hours and a bunch of beer. After much drinking, dancing and karaoke my brother decides to show me to another establishment in town....ALL NUDE TITTY BAR! There are some good details here that I may come back to later, but for now I'd like to focus on Lacy's germ phobia.

We're at this 'gentleman's club' for all of 15 minutes before a member of the staff shows my brother and his pretty young bride to a 'couples room'. I later found out that the couples room was little more than a 10x10 room with dim lighting, a dingy couch, and a one way mirror (so bro doesn't have to take his eyes off of other naked women while banging wifey in the ass).

So in my professional opinion beer is the cure for phobias. Lace, who was leery of silverware in restaurant that is most likely visited by a health inspector at least once a year had no problems with biting a jizz stained sofa purchased from a garage sale while Papa packed her shit. Problem solved. Obviously she just needs to drink more.

Airplane

First things first. Lets be honest, there's something unnatural about human beings flying 35,000 feet in the air. Seriously, unless you're stoned there's no good reason to be that high off the ground. That being said, I have a weakness for women. My weakness prevents me from saying 'no' to women. Any women really. In this particular instance it was my sister in law. She requested that I fling myself from my end of the country to her's in a giant aluminum cigar tube referred to as an airplane. This is where I would generally refer to her as a dumb bitch, but given that she remained safely on the ground while I took my precious life in my hands it's clear that in fact I am the dumb bitch in this scenario. Please sit back and enjoy this fantastic journey into my mind from 35,000 ft above this beautiful Earth of mine.


Flying at 6 in the morning on a Wednesday seems like a fantastic idea. In fact, it was. There were all of 30 people on an airplane designed for at least 300. So far so good. Window seat. 2 open seats next to me. No one bother me what so ever. But of course given my luck this won't last long. Two middle age women decide that the seat right in front of me will be the best place for them stink, ramble mindlessly, and destroy peace and quiet is directly in front of me. It's okay, certainly the flight will be over before I know it, right?

I'm not sure if it was one or both of these fat slobs, but someone starts dropping ass like A-bombs on Hiroshima. This is by far the foulest odor I have ever tasted (yes, it was so bad I could taste it). WHY OH WHY WON'T THE MAGIC NIPPLE IN THE CEILING GIVE ME ANY MORE OF THE PRECIOUS OXYGEN THAT I NEED???

I did manage to fall asleep or pass out from greenhouse gasses being produced by cows in front of me. Whatever the cause I was blissfully dreaming of pussy in a strange place (the midwest). I'm awoken by the voice of god. Turns out that it was actually the pilot, not god. Common mistake I'm sure. "Just want to let everyone know that we're at 37,000 ft & everything is fine." What kind of fucking idiot wakes me up to tell me that everything is fine? This is the beginning of the end. Thoughts follow.

• fuck it! I have to smoke RIGHT NOW!
• Really, if cows can shit themselves what would the punishment be for me to smoke just one cigarette?
• I knew I should've gotten stoned.
• A was wrong. 5 is not too early to start drinking on a Wednesday morning.
• Is that retard on the other side of the isle seriously reading a newspaper article about plane crash from week before?
• I guess beer will have to do. Stewardess!
• You don't accept cash? I'm willing to give you $10 for a $4 beer. I think you can make an exception.
• Cash is apparently only good for all debts public & private IN the USA not ABOVE the USA.

At this point I was having what I can only assume was a panic attack. I've never had one before, but certainly that's what was going on here. I was looking longingly at the tiny window and thinking that I should start scratching at it like a dog that wants to come inside. Also, I decided that my skin was entirely too restrictive and that I should find a way out of it as well. Seriously. I could literally feel my soul trying to escape from this perfect specimen of man flesh that I am.

Now I decide regardless of consequences that I am going to smoke right here right now. Reaching for my life saving smokes I realize that the borrowed iPod in my pocket has a clock on it. I only have 15 minutes to go. I opt not to test airline security and just wait to smoke.

On the ground. Thankfully. Of course everyone's first question: How was your flight? I relive the experience for anyone that will listen. Luckily someone takes pity on me and gives me a Paxil for my return flight. I have never taken anything for anxiety before, but what the hell it can't be any worse than what I've already been through.

Return flight. I start getting anxious on the way to the airport. I guess the 6 or so beers weren't enough. I will take my happy pill as soon as I'm in the airport. I want to be sure that I give it time to work.

Returning flight is much more crowded. Oddly enough my anxiety is melting away though. Thought follow again:

• There's a lady sitting next to me. I wonder if she'll fart. Who cares? (Magic pill is amazing)
• Never in my life have I been so at ease. I may need to get some more of these.
• Lets test how well this works. Having thoughts like: Is that a bird cruising towards engine? Are the wings supposed to flex like that? Have I seen him on America's Most Wanted? All thoughts net the same response: Who cares!?!

Happy pill lasted almost entire flight. Next time I know to take two. IPOD was able to entertain me with unusual game involving a bouncing ball for last 30 minutes of journey. Finally on the ground safe and sound. I will NOT travel by plane again; at least not without the aid of modern medicine.