It’s kind of been decided that, yeah, I’m an awful person and that there is probably a special seat for me reserved in Hell; right next to Benito Mussolini and Richard Gere. Because I don’t believe in karma, or any of that patchouli-skirt-twirling-bullshit, when bad things happen to me, I just figure it’s because there are other terrible people like me out there.
The other day was my birthday, and after the Chuck E. Cheese extravaganza, we returned home and the night made its natural progression to the purchase of strippers. The two of them arrived late, and began gyrating eagerly for their four hundred dollars. As the remnants of vodka was dripping out of their vaginas onto my lap, I asked how they decided to do this for a living. The not-so-surprising, yet still alarming, response was “for their kid.” If that story is supposed to procure several presidents out of a client’s pocket, well, it works.
Anyway, after about 30 seconds of a lap dance, my friend stole the girls away and took them into his room for a $40 (USD) hand j. FORTY DOLLAR HAND JOB. Seriously, I know that there were four hands or whatever, but forty dollars? Is this standard? They weren’t even that cute! One looked like a cyborg real doll, and the other looked like she hadn’t started menstruating yet. $40? Really?
Here’s the point of the story, and where it all ties in to the introductory paragraph; which I am told is what is supposed to happen in a narrative: Those trifling whores stole my $150 perfume and my iPhone. To make matters even more awesome, my friend’s iPhone was sitting right next to mine, but his remained on the table, not pussy-packed out of the house.
When I recounted the story, and made it a point to say that I didn’t know, for a fact, that it was the strippers, everyone was always like, “It was DEFINITELY them,” as if there were absolutely no other options. Is this what a standard house-call from a stripper is like?
I suppose the moral is: keep people who are rich and also complete suckers around, so they can reimburse you for your loss in the event that something like this happens to you. Oh, and if karma does exist, it’s doing a pretty shitty job at getting back at me.