filthgeek

bless attention starved drunken strippers. this weekend i found myself the object of one such woman's plan to piss her boyfriend off in a milwaukee meat market. now, understand that im not one to frequent these kinds of bars..but sometimes you just have to follow the party youre with. you know the kind of bar im talking about, with guys who still believe the myth that you can bring a girl home from the bar and fuck her... and the girls who have husbands and boyfriends that dont like to dance. so there i am wearing a pair of jeans and a skatalites tshirt, surrounded by 100 dollar buttondown designer shirts and an endless sea of khakis, intermingled with skirts and tanktops that have an uncanny ability to make a young man like myself forget how to speak coherently. i step up to the bar, spend my last 5 bux on a tiny, watered-down rum and coke and watch the scene. 15 mins go by and ive finally lost amusement in watching guy after guy try and dance with a group of girls only to walk back to the rest of the guys standing on the side of the dance floor. a fight breaks out...i get excited...ah, but no luck, the bouncers break it up. then my attention shifts to the beer girl (shes wearing a bikini) as i try to keep on nursing my cup of rum and coke flavored ice when all of a sudden some girl saddles up next to me bitching about a couple of "fags". apparently her date was paying more attention to another guy than her, and i happened to be the next closest guy. huzzah for proximity! i was betrothed to a stripper within 2 minutes of meeting her. but of course, not being one to take a person who frequents a meat market too seriously, i let her cling to me and played it up in front of my friends. a little more time goes by, but im suddenly less bored with a free stripper in my arms, and the "fag" boyfriend notices his girl rubbin on some other dude. he comes over and im introduced as "lyle" (my fiance doesnt believe in the importance of correct names) but he seemed chill. they start talking for a bit, so i light my last cigarette, motion to my friends, and we head out the door. the moral of the story is: if youre in the right place at the right time, even you can touch a strippers boob without paying her a dollar.