Ask Bob

So, I'm stuck in New Jersey now, and a few new things have come to light. I was relaxing at a bar tonight, an "Irish" style pub, but there's nothing Irish about it. They decided to try to close the night and run out the Indians and Japanese, amongst other nationalities, by playing a country song at last call. Did they ever fuck it up with a guy like me. They played David Allen Coe's "If that ain't country", fucking hell, that's one of my favorite songs. And to top the night off, the black chick next to me, which I spent as few minutes hitting on and gettting shot down, turned out to be a pedifilific school teacher who only answered to fake ID carrying "down" New Jersey style kids, none of which were "troubled" in any way, it was just a get laid thing. Fuck this town.

So there I am, dealing with this bullshit, singing along with the song, "and I've met Johnny Cash, if that ain't country, I'll kiss your ass", when it sadly occurs to me, I'm the only one thinking straight in the bar tonight. And to be honest with you, I'd rather be playing pool anyways...but there's no halls around, much less experienced shooters, so fuck it.

I'm left now reminding myself of somewhere else I'd like to be, but the picture ain't exactly pretty. The following story is of a titty bar experience during a stay I had in Boston, and even though I'm not feeling particularily funny tonight that never stopped me from bending your ear before. If it matters, I'm fucking wasted, so here it goes.

The fucking Democrats and politicians had all finally fled back to their own planet after the Democratic Convention...that left just me and Boston. And what did I do to celebrate? The titty bar. Unfortunately, I had to go to the lower class joint, you know, where the whores have scabs and the bartenter's from Pakistan, but hey, it's a titty bar none the less. The bad news, no smoking, and the alley I stepped out into every 10 minutes, well, that's another fucking story. The good news, this town does totally nude...but sometimes that's not exactly a good thing.

Fuck I'm telling you, I'll be really into a chick, good pole action, nice moves, etc...then she takes off the G-string and it looks like a fucking Clydesdale has had her way with her since birth. I swear to god some of these chicks...no, won't go there, but honestly, I wouldn't have any of them, I'm afraid I'd get sucked in. Seriously...if you've ever lost your car keys or something of that nature, don't hesitate to look in a Boston stripper...hell, even if you've lost your fucking car for that matter.

But, there was this one cutie I liked, she must've been only 25, and had glasses on...kind of going for that "girl next door" feel, then I realized, she probably really did live next door, so I eventually left, but not after throwing a few bucks on the stage. Hell, that was the best part.

The stage was seperated from us by the bar, which was actually a cool layout, but the only way to tip was to lean over the bar by about 4 feet waving a buck, so eventually I just sat there and wadded my ones and threw them at the girls, had I been drunk enough I'd have made little paper airplanes. I think I made more money in the garbage can than on the stage, but fuck it, what was the difference?

I really liked it when the girls would start at the top of the stairs...they had to come down a short flight of stairs to get to the stage from the "dressing" room...and sometimes, this cracked me up, sometimes they were so wasted they'd fall down the stairs. The funny part was when, after tumbling down the stairs, they'd try to play it off by crawling around all seductive on their hands and knees. Here's these pretty little whores, making this great "look at me, wanna fuck" entrance at the top of the stairs, then they'd tumble down like a slinky to the bottom, and stand up with that look like "did anyone notice?" as they tried to recover. Now that's some funny shit.

If I ever own a titty bar, I'm going to make the stairs be 3 stories high, and give the guys marbles to throw on the stage, which will be greased with oil...I'll call the place "The Stoogettes", and I'll make millions at $5 per marble. Fans and chicken feathers will cost extra, though.

Have a good night,

Brian