ss1

Winning A Date With a Stripper? No...
2003-04-28 - 12:18 a.m.


before/after
strangely non-functional guestbook

And the rest of the week tailed off, forcibly, really, by my decision.  I have been too restless for my own good.

At the gym, on the radio, came a contest about winning a date with a stripper in the area.  This is slightly amusing.  Given that this is a small town area, the winner may have actually gone to high school with said stripper.  So much for exotica.

And a guy that has been a regular (I've mentioned him in the past), turns to me and another guy standing around, minding our own business, repetitively lifting heavy objects.

"I've got the way to win the contest."  he says.

"Oh?" says the musclehead near me.  He's a regular also, and has followed me around the gym, talking my ear off, nearly following me to the locker room at one point.

"What, a hundred dollar bill?  A benjamin?"  I say.  C'mon.  A date with a stripper isn't so hard to come by these days, what with the economy the way it is.

Not that I judge. 

"No, for the contest,"  the first muscelhead continues,"A story to tell them, to win the contest."

"Oh?" says the second musclehead.

"I think you'd probably get farther with a well placed benjamin."  I said, but nobody seemed to understand what I was saying.  Like I was speaking a foreign language or something.  Witty banter not spoken here.  Yo no tengo.  Both of them had probably paid for sex in the past.

I haven't.  Its a point of pride, I guess. A girl once told me I would never have to pay for sex.  She was right.

And then he launched into his tale of woe.  Three heart attacks, wife left him after the second, she had been cheating on him with a man seventeen years younger than her.  This after 27 years of marraige.  Sob story to win a radio contest:  win a date with a stripper.

Then the second musclehead launched into his story.  It started with, "I was skiing with my wife and kids, and her colon just shut down.  She almost died.  Coudn't eat, couldn't drink, couldn't poop..."

I kinda' left it all alone with the defecatory remark.  Its all too bad, and I wish there was no pain in the world.

However, I do feel one is futher ahead with a hundred dollar bill rather than trying to win a radio contest when one talks about getting a date with a stripper. 

Call it a hunch.

A hundred dollars, a bad attitude and an eight ball. 

Maybe some crank.

A sob story won't get you much more than a hand job, I suspect.  What are you thinkin' pal?


a template by wicked design

about comment designer archive archives newest diaryland

tml>