It's the piece of candy stuck to the carpet
Last Tuesday night me and a friend got drunk and decided, we're gonna go to New Orleans. I booked a room and viola. I'm going to N.O.
I couldn't have picked a worse time considering I'm in the thick of the semester. I needed a damn break though. I'm not sure I got the kind I needed but good lord it was entertaining.
Middle aged people are the world's worst dancers. I'd rather watch babies teeter around a playpen than watch a 53 year old woman try to dance to the blues. I need to start a school.
I got to drink Turbodog on tap and eat alligator which are some of the first things I head for there so I at least fulfilled that goal.
I debated heavily taking off my RAMMER JAMMER shirt considering I was heading into hostile LSU territory and of course the answer seemed obvious after we lost but I'm not some chump of a fan so I kept it on. My shirt was my scarlet A for sure but really proved it's worth when I decided to ride a mechanical bull. The possibility that I just wasn't paying attention is a good one but it seemed as though more and more people wearing purple and yellow started pouring in as I was getting ready to ride this bull. All at a moment I see "Bama Bleaux" shirts and as I climb on the "MC" points out my sinful attire and requests I receive proper punishment. I rode that mo fo for well over a minute giving them all the finger the whole time.
After all this it's time for a stop at Rick's Cabaret. Oh Rick's. I thought, go in, drink about 2-3 beers put some money in some thongs and head to the casino OR some gay dance extravaganza, I was really torn. Well, at some point the guy I'm with says, "you wanna go sit in the VIP room now that those other people left?" I answer with a question which is, "geezus christ what do they want for it?" Answer, to buy a bottle of champagne. We're talking about a place where beers are $9 a pop. Champagne. I don't even want to ask. So I don't, but I caught wind later and it was ridiculous. It was also the beginning of PURE ridiculous. I had a good time talking to our waitress who was quite possibly one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen. Not being a scandalous gross stripper helped a lot. I would have been content sitting there talking to her for the duration of that champagne but then the champagne disappears and girls start pulling me into a back room for dances. I really really really hate this.
1. Being in a strip club makes me feel skeezy anyway but hell, she decided to get up there and take it off and I like naked girls so whatever, I'm not a regular or anything.
2. Joking around with the girl for the 10 seconds it takes to come get the bills is fine. Having to actually pretend you want them all over you is different.
3. I don't feel comfortable with the act of paying a stranger to touch me.
4. I hate fake boobs.
5. This woman isn't even hotter than me. I don't aim to get felt up by people uglier than me. Who does that?
With those 5 mental tidbits of mine in mind...I eventually hear something about coke and I know the night is about to take a sharper turn. You wanna buy drugs on this trip that's cool but when a stripper is selling that means her next move is to get you somewhere to do it all with her. Yeah. Shit was bought and I found myself in the upstairs of a strip club with a bag of coke, two strippers in their late 30's with too much surgeries to count. I explained to the woman assigned to me that I wasn't going to be taking any advantage of her talents, skills, services or anything else. Instead I sat there and talked to her almost the whole time. We talked about music, we both love Young Jeezy so we started quoting lyrics. Her husband is in jail so we discussed worker's release and the conditions of the Louisiana prison system. Soon all the substances started kicking in with everyone and I stop giving a shit that she has fake boobs because she's making me laugh and IS hot aside from the boob part. Apparently when strippers have already taken all their clothes off they like to take yours off and wear them instead. I wish they were better but I have some pictures of this stripper wearing a RAMMER JAMMER t-shirt and my glasses. That and even strippers are amused by nipple tattoos. Yes, it was requested I take my shirt off. Geezus.
$3,000 later we left. I went to a gay bar to find women that didn't have to be paid to talk to me. No luck. Either lesbians turn in late or they weren't were I was looking. It was only 6a.m. I mean gahdamn! But yeah, go all expense paid trips to N.O. even if 6 of the 17 hours we were there were spent in Rick's. I also just realized I spent more time in a strip club than I have been sleeping each night. I have a paper due tomorrow and a math test tomorrow night. I'm almost done with the paper and I can't get into this math for shit.
END ALREADY SEMESTER!
I couldn't have picked a worse time considering I'm in the thick of the semester. I needed a damn break though. I'm not sure I got the kind I needed but good lord it was entertaining.
Middle aged people are the world's worst dancers. I'd rather watch babies teeter around a playpen than watch a 53 year old woman try to dance to the blues. I need to start a school.
I got to drink Turbodog on tap and eat alligator which are some of the first things I head for there so I at least fulfilled that goal.
I debated heavily taking off my RAMMER JAMMER shirt considering I was heading into hostile LSU territory and of course the answer seemed obvious after we lost but I'm not some chump of a fan so I kept it on. My shirt was my scarlet A for sure but really proved it's worth when I decided to ride a mechanical bull. The possibility that I just wasn't paying attention is a good one but it seemed as though more and more people wearing purple and yellow started pouring in as I was getting ready to ride this bull. All at a moment I see "Bama Bleaux" shirts and as I climb on the "MC" points out my sinful attire and requests I receive proper punishment. I rode that mo fo for well over a minute giving them all the finger the whole time.
After all this it's time for a stop at Rick's Cabaret. Oh Rick's. I thought, go in, drink about 2-3 beers put some money in some thongs and head to the casino OR some gay dance extravaganza, I was really torn. Well, at some point the guy I'm with says, "you wanna go sit in the VIP room now that those other people left?" I answer with a question which is, "geezus christ what do they want for it?" Answer, to buy a bottle of champagne. We're talking about a place where beers are $9 a pop. Champagne. I don't even want to ask. So I don't, but I caught wind later and it was ridiculous. It was also the beginning of PURE ridiculous. I had a good time talking to our waitress who was quite possibly one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen. Not being a scandalous gross stripper helped a lot. I would have been content sitting there talking to her for the duration of that champagne but then the champagne disappears and girls start pulling me into a back room for dances. I really really really hate this.
1. Being in a strip club makes me feel skeezy anyway but hell, she decided to get up there and take it off and I like naked girls so whatever, I'm not a regular or anything.
2. Joking around with the girl for the 10 seconds it takes to come get the bills is fine. Having to actually pretend you want them all over you is different.
3. I don't feel comfortable with the act of paying a stranger to touch me.
4. I hate fake boobs.
5. This woman isn't even hotter than me. I don't aim to get felt up by people uglier than me. Who does that?
With those 5 mental tidbits of mine in mind...I eventually hear something about coke and I know the night is about to take a sharper turn. You wanna buy drugs on this trip that's cool but when a stripper is selling that means her next move is to get you somewhere to do it all with her. Yeah. Shit was bought and I found myself in the upstairs of a strip club with a bag of coke, two strippers in their late 30's with too much surgeries to count. I explained to the woman assigned to me that I wasn't going to be taking any advantage of her talents, skills, services or anything else. Instead I sat there and talked to her almost the whole time. We talked about music, we both love Young Jeezy so we started quoting lyrics. Her husband is in jail so we discussed worker's release and the conditions of the Louisiana prison system. Soon all the substances started kicking in with everyone and I stop giving a shit that she has fake boobs because she's making me laugh and IS hot aside from the boob part. Apparently when strippers have already taken all their clothes off they like to take yours off and wear them instead. I wish they were better but I have some pictures of this stripper wearing a RAMMER JAMMER t-shirt and my glasses. That and even strippers are amused by nipple tattoos. Yes, it was requested I take my shirt off. Geezus.
$3,000 later we left. I went to a gay bar to find women that didn't have to be paid to talk to me. No luck. Either lesbians turn in late or they weren't were I was looking. It was only 6a.m. I mean gahdamn! But yeah, go all expense paid trips to N.O. even if 6 of the 17 hours we were there were spent in Rick's. I also just realized I spent more time in a strip club than I have been sleeping each night. I have a paper due tomorrow and a math test tomorrow night. I'm almost done with the paper and I can't get into this math for shit.
END ALREADY SEMESTER!