hellbilly

Well I got my sister's truck fixed by cutting the Gordian knot and having my friend fix it at his garage. Sometimes the wise thing is to back off and let the professionals handle. At least when you're dealing with the fuel system.
So since I've been off the air for a couple days here's a treat for you kids; another story. This one's forcatiedid who need's some laughs to beat the crappy weather we're having on the east coast.
Here it goes:
The year was 1996. I was a young lad of 22. Some other stuff must have happened that year, but obviously of such a mundane nature I done forgot it. Anyway. It was also the year of my friend Chris' 21st birday. So, of course, being guys my friend Tim and I took him out for a night of drinking and carousing. The only downside was that his birthday fell on a Sunday. Now being guys of limited opportunity, and limited imaginations we naturally hit the strip clubs. Now for the unaware who think connecticut is a state ful of millionares, and people of class let me disabuse of this notion. It's really not. Well not the part I'm from, and for a little state we sure have our share of nudie bars. And they run the gamut from Gold Clubs to biker bars. But in 1996 they were a little bit more on the seamy side.
I digress. So we headed out. Chris whose birthday this was asn't the biggest fan of strip clubs. An ironic feeling since he had spent the winter bouncing at one. The mystique had worn off for me as well since I bartended at the same place, and worked the door that same winter. But a night out is a night out, and we weren't loaded down with many options.
We went up one side of the Berlin Turnpike and down the other. As to be expected things were pretty mellow since it was after all Sunday. Chris didn't really drink too much, and I had to drive, but Tim had a good time. Perhaps too good a time as we soon found out. the last place we hit was shithole dive up on Queen Street. the only good thing I'll say about it was that we were low on funds, well chris and I were, and we had just worked there so we could bum free drinks.
Now when we walked in I knew we were in trouble. The place was mostly empty it didn't look like anyone was dancing, and if I was gonna drink at a bar just to drink at a bar it wasn't gonna be this place. So just when I thought this evening is gonna end on a down note, I felt someone tap my shoulder and say my name. At that moment I knew the night had been saved. There was only one dancer I knew who sometimes worked on Sundays there, and she happened to be a friend of mine. Now I had an evening offree drinks and good conversation since she was good friends with Chris and I. I turned to say hi and the words dies in my throat as I saw this girl who looked familiar, but I couldn't quite place. She was pleasently pretty, and wearing a bit flannel shirt. then I remebered that it was this girl who'd been trying to get a job there in the winter, but no one would hire here, because she irritated the hell out of evereone she talked too, and according to my friend who worked there she couldn't dance to save her life. Her act basically consisted of having the clientele pour baby oil all over her while she fondled herself. I only remembered this because my friend said that after this girl worked a trial night all the other dancers were continually slipping on puddles of baby oil left on the stage.
I realized we'd have to be a hasty retreat. I gathered my flock. Well Chris was already backing towards the door, but Tim...Tim was already bellied up to the bar, drink in hand. This is where the night went down in flames.
Tim took his seat by the stage, Chris got a drink and headed for the pool tables and I was left to trump up some excuse.

" Um hi, yeah nice to see you too. Uh listen Chris and I have a running pool tournoment going on and we have to finish it. I'll see you in a little bit."

Exuent Bill to the pool tables.

It takes a while to burn though $15 at 50 cents a game, but somehow we managed. through this long time killing period we witnessed from afar, thankfully, Tim dumping pints of baby oil on this girl. We hoped for a change up, another dancer on the stage, but she was it. It' not that she wasn't really pretty, or that her body wasn't that great. Both of these facts were true, but a girl can overcome this by the force of her personality and still be sexy. This girl by force of her personality was not. At all.
We ran out of quarters. We were forced to take a seat on either side of Tim to beg for change. He wouldn't give us any said he was saving it. He told the girl it was Chris' birthday. She looked like she wanted us to tip her. We told her truthfully we were broke. She bought me and Chris a beer anyway. My beer bottle was covered in baby oil. I damn near dropped it. Now we had to sit there and be polite.
It was a living hell. Well maybe not that bad, but scarring nonetheless. Tim would hose this girl down with baby oil. Then she'd rub it all over her chest. A note at this time about the girl's breasts. Until Chris and I had sat down we hadn't seen her topless from the front. When we did, well...Tim had drank a lot, but to this day I think he might have actually drank himself blind. And stupid. Well more stupid. Anyway the girls breasts started where they were supposed to in the middle of the chest, and hung down to below her navel, and where very narrow. It was the strangest thing. When she would fondle them with the baby oil they'd kind of slop over her arms and go wherever they had a mind to. It was very disconcerting. At any moment I expected her to stop thrust her chest and see her breasts tied into a shape like a ballon animal, and hear her say, " See it's a giraffe."
Chris and I never knew there was so much baby oil in the world, or that time could move so slow. Finally when enough time did elapse and time fisinshed his drink we made our exit. Well Chris and I did. Time went to the bathroom. We waited outside, and he came out. No one thought anymore of it until driving home down the highway I felt this peircing sting on the back of my neck. I hollared and clapped my hand to the back of my neck. Chris yelped and rubbed the back of his head. A flourescent pick thing ricoceted off the winshield and landed in my lap. It looked like the rbber band from a lobster claw, but studded and hot pink. I knew what it was. A few months before when I was bartending at the bar I went into the men's room and with four bucks in quarters emptied the condom vending machine of cockrings. Since it was a slow night I would shoot them like elastic bands at people I knew. Dancers on the stage, customers, Chris, prettty much whoever. An errant shot however, almost took out Tim's eye. This apparently was his pay back.
Tim, who gets really giddy when he's drunk, gleefully fired cock ring after cockring at the back of our heads. We couldn't just stop the car and drag him out because he's a much bigger guy than me or Chris. so we hoped he run out. When he did we wished he'd found more because he began punching us in the back of the head. We were almost home, but this was really becoming quite intolerable. Finally Chris signaled me to whip the steering wheel back and forth. We quietly buckled up and I Tim was in mid bounce I threw the steering wheel right, left and left again. With each sharp swerve tim would bounce to each side of the car. Finally on the last swerve he shot across the back seat. There was a big thump, and then silence. Blessed silence for 3 minutes. We pulled into his drive way and opened the door. There was Tim head on the floor legs on the seat, big old egg above his left eye.
He focused an eye on me.

" Take me to the hospital."

" Get out."

" Im serious, I'm really hurt."

" I'm serious too. Out."

We dragged him out of the car and dumped him in his driveway. We let him crawl to his back porch then we took mercy on him and dragged him into the house, and left.
The moral of the story is don't expect mercy from the people you've tormented with cockrings, because you ain't gonna get it.