Monday, June 23, 2008

Meals on wheels? That reeks. Too old to rock and roll...

OK, no more serious stuff. Hate bringing people down.

As promised, the wheelchair story for my good friend Virtual Val:

This was a trip to Vegas that turned out to be one of my best ever -- big score on the ponies, a nice run at poker...Was wandering around with a big stack of cash, which of course led the crew to a night at OG's on Uncle Freddy. (The Czech chick story came from that, but we'll save that for another time).

It turned into an all-nighter of drinking and just having a blast with my old horse buddies. I had a flight out at 6:45 a.m. Vegas time, so after OGs, we found a bar at the MGM and proceeded to keep going until 4ish. By the time I grabbed my bag and stumbled downstairs to catch a cab at 5:30, I was pretty foggy.

At 5:30 in the morning, every *pay per view (*Freddy slang for prostitute, courtesy of my Man Jeffrey) is coming off the streets. It looked like an invasion of leather, wigs and STDs. I was trying to be careful not to touch anything on the way out.

Then I saw a girl in a wheelchair. Tight leather tube top. Rose tattoo above her left breast. Tongue hanging out of the left side of her mouth. She was being pushed by a scrawny, underdressed pay per view with big red leather boots.

In my fog, it took me a few minutes. I wasn't sure at first.

Seconds later, a clean looking man in his 50s wearing a golf shirt approached the duo. And I started to get it, especially when the three of them headed for the elevators together.

The girl in the wheelchair was a pay per view.

All I could think was get me out of there before God saw it and blew the whole city all to hell.

I don't know who was worse -- the girl selling her or the guy buying her.

All I knew is it gave a new meaning to Meals on Wheels.

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Memo to older women: STOP SWIMMING IN PERFUME!

Nothing is worse than getting on an elevator and choking to death. This morning, on the way in, an older woman was 40 feet ahead of me walking into the building, and I was choking from the stench. FORTY FREAKING FEET AWAY!

I actually waited two minutes for the elevator so I wouldn't have to ride up with her. It didn't matter. I still rode up with her remnants.

I like a little perfume. I HATE bathing in it. (Same goes for you cologne guys, by the way).

Here's a hint: Try taking a bath instead. Please. If you have to use that much perfume, you have serious issues. Stop choking me to death. You people suck.

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I will be seeing Shinedown for the EIGHTH time tonight. Best band in the world, by far my favorite new group. Looking forward to hearing a lot of the new songs.

However, this might finally be the time when I am the oldest guy at the concert.

I hate that. It's pathetic. I used to take older friends with me to concerts just so I wouldn't be the oldest. Tonight might be the end of the run. If it is, I will retire from concerts forever.

Stay tuned.

1 comment:

Patricia D'Licia said...

I am glad to see your commitment to Christian rock hasn't faltered, despite your hell bound ways.