by: Anonymous
Strippers, like toilet paper, are a commodity: they’re cheap, readily available, and there’s always more. Strippers, however, are supposed to be sexy –unlike toilet paper. Also, the two should never be mixed or confused with one another. No matter how you look at it, toilet paper is unsexy; but it’s nice to have, as opposed to not, except in the following case.
Someone I used to work with told me of a place called “Sin City.” It was a BYOB establishment specializing in the nudity of paid performers: strippers. It was for this service that he once took a trip down to “Sin City.”
He was a surly Italian fellow. To paint a little background: he was short-haired and goateed, a heavy drinker with a nose for cocaine, and had a tendency to suffer road rage. Due to his raging temper (especially after nursing his fondness for Long Island Iced Teas), he was banned from most local bars. Another issue he had was touching the asses of women at the bars who, at this time (in 2005), were not yet accustomed to such “Jersey Shore” antics, and had quite a negative reaction to his fondness of their posteriors. To him, it didn’t matter. If there was an ass present after three Long Islands, it was touched, guaranteed. If you happened to be his ride and saw an ass approaching, you would know to head out and start the car.
So, since he wasn’t welcome at many bars, he found his way one night to “Sin City,” where an ass was waiting for him that no amount of Long Island Iced Tea could prompt him to touch.
You see, “Sin City” wasn’t one of those strip clubs like on TV where glitter-speckled models pranced around together under a strobe light. It was more like a florescent-lit whorehouse, or a jerk-off booth oddly placed in a run-down diner. The girls here weren’t so much dancers as they were trailer-dwelling, cracked-out ex-waitresses dancing to country music songs never before stripped to. The strippers that give other strippers a bad name esentially. And as he sat there slack- jawed, counting the missing teeth and trying to ignore the smell, I’d like to think he was realizing the kind of life he was living. He began voicing his displeasure, which was hilarious considering he was the only customer. This was probably the wrong thing to do…and then the main course arrived.
Out she came … apparently the nicest looking one of the bunch. In all likelihood, he probably cracked a drunken smile and hooted in some strange Italian fashion. She had a full set of teeth, a nice figure, and a little attitude – all of which made her a prime candidate for his smack happy hands.
It was like she was in on the joke. She positioned herself front and center, did a 180 to show her backside, and readily gave him his favorite piece of woman – that nice broad ass. As she bent over, and he prepared to deliver his signature blow to those cheeks, she suddenly pulled herself open, revealing a bright white wad of toilet paper that stood out like a horse turd in fresh snow. As he gagged in disbelief and began to cry on the inside, all of the other strippers had a nice laugh at his expense. That Angel Soft wad of cotton was anything but Charmin.
After that experience, he was a changed man. He became a devout Delilah listener, and eventually a born-again Christian. Who knows what happened after that…he was no longer worth talking to on a regular basis.
The End
