Posts Tagged ‘stripper’

Pretty little greed machine
Stiletto heeled heart stomper
pole spinner
with an ass that danced across a thousand laps
she smells like bubble gum and cash
no tip no strip
tastes like vodka and valium
fold those dollars
next up on the main stage we got…
she used to go by sunshine
3 years back seems like nine
I Remember she had the word
Redemption tattooed down her spine
skull and bones on her pasties
lust in her eyes
and passion dripping from her lips..
no tip no strip
“dolla dolla bill yall”
greedy eyed grindin
no cuntry for old men
as the same song begins
remains the same
outcome out came
no champagne in the sex room
Means no BOOM BOOM for you
for one whole song she’s your lover
minute your wallets empty
its on to another
only thing she left you with
is bright blue balls
snail trail on your thigh
and fucking glitter in your eye

There comes a time in a mans life when he decides to give up his bachelor life and commit himself to a loving devoted life to the girl of his dreams. Fortunately this day is nowhere in sight for me, but for my friend Kevin that day has come. So as tradition goes, before tying that knot and clasping that 130 lb ball and chain to his ankle the groom is allowed one last night of testosterone fueled chaos, anarchy, and debauchery with the men in his life. The following is the tale of Mr. Kevin Smiths Bachelor party of doom.
It was some time in the early evening on Saturday my comrade and savage drunkard Pelletier came and coerced me off  my property with the promise of  free booze, food and loose women. How could I pass such an offer up? It was un-American and felt it my civil duty to send Kevo off to the married life in true Jones fashion.  It’s a short drive up the Coast to Kevo’s residence from mine. By the time Pelletier and I arrive the savage band of lunatics at Kev’s are already headed deep into the back of beyond.
The scent of roasting flesh  on the grill and the foul tongue of man talk fill the air. A few members of the party are at least six sheets to the wind already and darkness has yet fall. I see Billy is the farthest gone into the back of beyond at this point. He’s just biting cans of beer open, chewing on the aluminum and pouring the contents into his gullet. Sly seems to be rocketing through time at ten times the pace of the actual space time continuum. This is definitely my type of party.
I find Doctor C staggering around the party with a bottle of rum hooked up to an intravenous drip. I question him on if this a safe procedure and he assures me he’s a man of medicine and this is exactly what the doctor prescribed.
After a few hours of drunken mayhem and the destruction of Pelletier’s shiny shirt at the hands of the Savage Mr. Bill, it’s decided perhaps we need some entertainment. I phone my contact for just situations. His name is Octavio,  he’s a one eyed midget El Salvadorian gorilla pimp with a clubbed foot and a taste for mescal, fire arms, sodomy, and cock fighting. Just the type of guy you need to know when your need of entertainment for such an event.  After a few moments of negotiations and Kevo agreeing to allowing Octavio  to have cock fighting matches in Kevo’s yard tonight and the entertainment is on its way.
In the mean time we decide to occupy our selves with games of bean bag toss or corn holing as it’s known in the mid west.  Once Octavio and his band of Russian strippers arrive, I’ve come up with a splendid idea to put a new twist on the game we’re playing. It’s going to be a combination of skill luck and kagel veracity.  We each pick one of Octavio’s flock to be our launcher so to speak. We then lay them flat on their backs and load their boxes with ping pong balls. A quick push on their belly with the combined force of a nice squeeze of their kagel muscles and we’re in business and we’ve invented a new sport. Kagel Corn hole.
Everything is going smoothly until the cock fighting matches get out of hand and Octavio shoots a Guatemalan’s piggy toe off in a dispute. The Police and EMT’s are quickly on the scene. A few greased palms and back room BJ’s for the officers and we’re allowed to continue the party provided the cock fighting stops and we allow the rest of the Salisbury PD to attend the festivities.
The rest of the evening is a complete and total blur filled with copious amounts of booze and acts of debauchery  still illegal in at least 46 states of the union. Which I honestly can not remember. I remember  being woken up in a pool of booze, vomit, and g-strings some time early the next morning by a very hung over and un pleasant Mr. Pelletier who needed to attend a double header little league game that day. All and all it was great time and the hang over of the century I had yesterday was well worth the fun I had the night before……..