I don't think it would be a leap of faith for you to assume that I frequent tit joints. I love those gotdamn dens of sin…they cock my fuckin’ trigger! There’s something about a woman who will strut her stuff with a missing limb and C-section scars that just gets me going! But I am always on the lookout for something special…you know, the “pièce de résistance” if you will (with emphasis on the “piece”). Well, my friends, I’m happy to report that I think I finally found it.
I took a trip out to Tuscon a while back for the bi-annual National Conference for Washateria Assistant Managers. They typically unveil the newest washers and dryers with a lot of extra bullshit that my clientele would have no use for or, at the very least, appreciate. I only need three settings on my washers:
2. Fuckin’ Filthy
3. Clothes with Blood & Shit on Them
Anyway, I am cruising the strip around 3am and I spot this little place off on a side street. It's called The Small Box and it has a neon sign shaped like a gift box, with two tiny stilettos sticking out and a giant bow on top. Obviously this was some kinda tit joint and, from the looks of it, a really classy one at that. Just my style!
So I whip the PT Cruiser rental into the parking lot and proceed to check this motherfucker out. But, being 3am and all, it was already closed for the night. Unfuckinreal! I was hoping to get a middle-of-the-night blow or hand job before I headed back to the Desert Sands Motel.
Just as I was about to hit up 7-11 for some baby oil and a Plumpers fuck mag, a group of at least 7 female midgets rounds the corner from the back. I thought I crashed that sweet PT Cruiser, died, and went to Heaven! From the looks of things, they were dancers in this club that the Gods had led me to! Before I could strike up a conversation, the ladies were all hustled into a handicap van and whisked away to the magical land from which they came. I ran up to the door to check the hours of operation, jotted them down on my official Speed Queen notepad (I earned it by watching some twat give a demonstration on different spin cycles) and I sped away.
The place was set to open at 10am on the dot the next day. All I needed to do now was juggle my seminar on clothes folding tables and my trip to the exhibit hall to pick up my “Washaterias Make Change Happen” t-shirt. Needless to say, I woke up super early that morning. I couldn't contain my excitement. I was like a white trash kid who was about to take his first fuckin’ trip to Six Flags! I was geeked up baby!!!
At 9:30, I enter the seminar and I immediately fake a seizure. I tell the guys that I just have to lie down for a bit and that I’ll definitely be back for the afternoon session, "Blood Spills and You."
I sneak out the back of the motel and am on my way. I pull in right at 10am and I hustle straight to the front entrance. It was "Legs & Eggs" Thursday at this precious little midget tit bar. I was so excited that I thought I might bust a nut right there just walking through the door.
I was the first dude in, which landed me a prime time seat right up front. I pulled my moist one dollar bills out of my pocket and piled them up high on the table in front of me. The first dancer came out to . Hell yeah!!! The DJ said her name was "Itty Bitty" and good God was she ever! She had a fake foot but, fuckin A, she could work that pole like nobody’s business! This vertically-challenged little sweetheart was such a pro that, when her prosthetic fell off and flopped onto my pile of dollar bills, she didn’t even skip a beat. She crawled on all fours and picked that little foot up with her mouth and kept right on rockin’!
There were a couple more dancers. They were okay, nothing spectacular. Same old shit in a smaller package for the most part. But the fourth one was what I had come for. When I heard "SHOT THROUGH THE HEART!! AND YOU’RE TO BLAME!" start blaring over the loud speaker, I knew right then I was going to go through my dollar bills faster than my ex-old lady through a bottle of Vicodin!
"Sweet ‘N Low" came struttin' out and I fell in love! (Well, if only for the rest of the afternoon). She looked like a short version of and her titties were just as big. She had a big ole 80's bush happening and, to cap it all off, taped to the side of her hip was an insulin pump! If I’ve ever encountered a more pure vision of beauty, I don’t recall.
As I suspected, my pile of dollar bills disappeared in no time flat, then I made my move on this tiny dancer. I had to have her! I motioned for her to come out and see me after she got off stage. She walked over to me as fast as those little stubs could carry her. I introduced myself and asked her if she wanted a drink. She said that her sugar was low, so I ordered her an orange juice and a cookie.
I talked her up for a while and I finally decided to bust a move and invite her to our Washateria Assistant Managers' Mixer later that night at the motel. Can you believe that little munchkin had the nerve to turn ME down!?! Apparently she was about to start her period and had a diabetic pump adjustment scheduled for that afternoon. I was disappointed because I wanted the chance to become even more of legend by strolling off in that motherfuckin mixer with a midget stripper on my arm (or leg, more than likely) .
She felt really bad, though, and invited me to the V.I.P. Room for a free "dance." To this day, it's the only time I've gotten head from somebody who wasn't sitting, kneeling or laying down. Not to mention, taking an insulin shot while she did it.
She told me the next time I was in town to stop by and see her. You can bet your ass I'll be there! I'm looking forward to dipping my stick into that hot little packet of Sweet 'N Low.