There are no bad owners, only bad dogs


If you like pina coladas, and getting caught in the rain...

Ok, so on Friday, the plan was to stay home and drink for cheap because we'd already gone out too many nights last week and we were po'. WorkSlut had sent out an e-mail asking about 20 people to go to a bar near work with her right after work, but all declined, so she sent out this really pathetic "No one will drink with me" e-mail that was all like "I'll just sit here by myself in the dark."

So I went to the liquor store, went home, changed into sloppy clothes, and walked the dogs. Then the greggers shows up and starts talking about going out. Well, I have the resolve of a crack whore, so I changed clothes and off we went. I called WorkSlut and told her where we'd be in case she was still feeling pathetic. So we started with the drinking in our new favorite bar and eventually WS shows up and tells us that some other friends of hers were coming. One of her requests was approved, but after careful consideration and a lengthy appeals process, the other was denied because she has some friends that are even more obnoxious and difficult to get along with than me. But her friend JJ was approved and showed up. She was actually fun, which was a fabulous change from the neediness of late. But then, she started wanting to go to another bar, right across the parking lot, because another guy, this cute guy, was there.

The obvious question: How do you know he's there? Were you already there?

No, she recognized his truck parked outside the bar.

The laws about stalking were gently and tactfully explained to her, but figuring that she was already well acquainted with the concept of adultery and the sanctity of marriage, we let that one go.

The plan was to stagger our drink orders so that no one was ever done at the same time so that we wouldn't have to go to the other bar because we were happy as pigs in shit where we were. But that plan works only to the point where you're just stinkin' drunk. (Side note: the bathrooms in the bar had chalkboards all over the walls, so I spent an inordinate amount of time in there, decorating with doodles. I also wrote an announcement about the pedophile across the street because I'm all about my civic duty.) (Other side note: the greggers did tell WS that she should get implants instead of having a baby. She's considering it.)

So we went to the other bar where the stalkee was mercifully gone. This other place is newly opened and it is a "British" pub. As I have become quite familiar with authentic British pubs, I gave them a few lessons on how to be British-er: Make all of your customers serve themselves at the bar; if you're going to serve them, don't be polite; and best of all, no tipping.

They were giving away free tasting-sized Guinness and Harp's, so more drinking ensued. At this point, WS decided that SHOTS would be a good idea, but shots plus 2BD = disaster. Which ensued, but much later. So she orders some crappy thing made with Red Bull and something gross, but I didn't realize how they were served (shot glass inside bigger glass) and I whacked myself in the scarred and misshapen Owen Wilson-esque beezer that I now sport with the shot glass.

Then, I don't know who suggested it first, but someone decided that a trip to a strip club was in order. I don't remember much resistance from anyone.

Note: I had never been into a titty bar before last night.

So by the time we got to the strip club, we were all quite hammered. I'm pretty sure I demanded a lap dance just for sociological research purposes. JJ asked what kind of stripper I wanted, so I conferred with WS and decided that dark hair and big boobs were required on this occasion. So WS and I sat there and watched a girl writhe around on a big black man's lap for about 10 minutes, and I kept asking greggers, "You always said they don't touch you but everyone's touching everyone." Turns out, he lied. Go figure!! He said that sometimes they'll bite your hard on through your pants during a lap dance!

So JJ comes back with a gorgeous girl with big fake boobs who surprised me by shoving me back into my chair because I didn't really know how you were supposed to sit. She put her boobs right into my face!! I had a nipple in each eye!! And boy, do those girls smell good. And talk about smooth... Then she reached into my shirt and fondled my boob and squeezed my nipple. Needless to say, I was agog. So then I made her give WS the same treatment, then WS and I asked her how she got so smooth and fragrant. Then other stuff happened, but at this point my memory is no longer linear. WS claims that we had 5 or 6 rounds of drinks in the hour and 15 minutes that we were there, but I really don't see how that's possible. A drink every 11 minutes and having your boob grabbed by a gorgeous naked woman (for all practical purposes)?? And by that time, the snowball effect had taken over, where you're not drinking anymore, but you're still getting drunker and drunker and... So the greggers gets a lap dance and makes me join him and he smacks the stripper's ass several times and then, and then,...

Pain, suffering, agony, throbbing (in a bad way) for about the next 24 hours. Oh, yes, the piper would be paid, with interest, the kind of interest only loan sharks and credit card companies are allowed to collect.

But an Easter miracle has occurred: The baby Jesus hatched out of a big easter egg and this morning, I feel human again.

WS, on the other hand, denied having had any fun and said she wasn't going back to a strip club ever again. Something tells me that someone had a little bit toooo much fun. I, on the other hand, went out and bought the biggest bottle of cocoa butter lotion I could find. I figure if I start moisturizing religiously now, I'll never be that smooth, ever, but I can still have that pina colada smell.

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