Breasts, DJs, Breasts, Hot Chicks, House, Trance and Breasts

Club Rubber hits the road

We finished our drinks (we never were able to get a buzz; are they piping oxygen in there like the casinos do?) so we could go out on the patio. We were looking for exing people to rub on, and it didn't take long. Austin was a 22-year-old hair-rocker Orange Coast College student whose mom was busy on the dance floor. He had given her half a tab for her first time. He was having a lot of fun. And as we talked about Poison and Guns 'N Roses, we rubbed his hands and were nice to him. It was our good deed for the day. Well, that and proper tipping. We were actually sorry when 2 o'clock came.

For six and a half years of Saturday nights, Rubber clogged nearby parking lots (stupid tow trucks!); burst tender ear drums with metallic, unearthly beats; wobbled about on six-inch stripper shoes; and successfully fended off lawsuits filed by girls who ate it while wearing six-inch stripper shoes. So long, Club Rubber. See you in Miami.

CommieGirl99@hotmail.com.

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