Mother F-ing Teresa

Just treat her right, and nobody gets hurt

Back in the girls' room, a different stripper was dancing to yet another Phil Collins song—this time "I Wish It Would Rain Down." Do they think we're dead? This one was dangling his participle (it hung down creepily in his participle pouch, and he wagged it a lot) all over the young ladies who had paid $5 for a "hot seat" where the young men would simulate sex with them. For my part, I think the "hot seat" would work a lot better if you just picked the girls up and slow-danced with them, maybe breathing on their necks, rather than humping their legs like jackrabbits. I'm weird like that.

On our way out, a rent-a-cop started a sentence as if he knew me, then cut himself off. "Sorry," he said. "At first glance, I thought you were a dancer."

I was curious. "Does that line usually work for you?"

"Sometimes," he replied. It may be the best new worst line ever; Mr. J's is recommended.

We stopped briefly at Tustin's The Fling for the stylings of Eddie Day, the Wizard of Rock & Roll. He's a girthful man, and he was squeezed behind the piano bar from whence he played approximately three riffs per song, letting the backing synth do most of the work for him. He has a fabulous mullet, and you should go see him. He's very friendly. We headed to Detroit for some soul; the night was Jam, with DJs from Papa Byrdand Good Foot. Papa Byrd and Good Foot can be counted upon for happy, fonky funk. Dismayingly, the reliable DJs were spinning shitty house and breaks. If soul DJs are spinning techno, there is now officially no escape. I cornered Chris. "What the fuck is this shit?" I asked, sweetly and tenderly, like Mother Teresa. "Didn't you see the flier?" he asked. There it was: funk/soul/house/disco/breaks. "No I didn't see the fucking flier," I snarled, as the little people scurried to do my bidding like I was Leona Helmsley, and by the time we put on our dancing shoes, "Ride the White Horse" was playing, and I was docile as a bunny. Just keep me happy, people, and nobody gets hurt.

Taste the shoe. CommieGirl99@hotmail.com.
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