Tags
drugs, exotic dancers, meth mouth, methamphetamine, sex with leather, skanks, strippers, things which are not at all sexy, titty bars, women of easy virtue, you got a real purty mouth
By Smaktakula
It’s like being a kid in a great big candy store, only you have no money. That, and all the candy is made out of methamphetamine and soiled Kleenex.
Lola Possesses All The Carnal Charm Of A Fluid-Spattered Scrap Of Burlap That You Don’t Actually Get To Have Sex With.
Promethean Times 
More living proof that dudes don’t look at chicks from the neck up. Woof.
Well, they do sometimes! Wasn’t it you who has the sister who’s a butterface?
In all seriousness, though, I’m a “total package” man, which includes intelligence and personality. And boobs.
Yes, my sister is a butterface. Even after all the dental work she’s still pretty scary from the neck up.
Kudos to you for looking at more than boobs, although I would opine that for a majority of men what’s upstairs matters far, far less than the condition and appearance of the staircase.
I’m not a “total package” guy.
I’m a “see how much arsenic she can swallow before passing out” guy.
You young people and your instant gratification. In my day, arsenic poisoning was a lengthy affair. We didn’t rush into anything before making sure that this was a person we would like to see poisoned.
I’m thinking that if I was as good with the analogies as the two of you are (“butterface,” “total package,” “what’s upstairs, “staircase”), I could have been published years ago.
As for Tardie’s 26-teeth rule–very sound. I’m still trying to think of how to use the nearly edentulous guy I saw in Vegas leering at a young gymnast in the most vulgar of fashions in one of my blog posts. This guy and his tall-boy-drinking friend are just begging for blog time.
Wow–I feel like I’m back in school today. In the past twenty-four hours I’ve learned ‘chapeau’ (not, in fact, a French castle), the very awesome edentulous and over on Jennifer Worrell’s blog, got the proper pronunciation of derecho (I’ve been saying ‘Jericho’ for years). Awesome!
Yeah, you should definitely write about those dudes–you don’t talk nearly enough about wretched humanity, and you live in Ohio for pity’s sake! However, are you sure that memory is from Vegas? It’s just that you describe the man’s behavior as “vulgar,” and Las Vegas is not the place I think of when I think of boorish or unseemly behavior.
Now, when you say female gymnast, that can mean a couple different things. There’s the Mary Lou Retton types that are weird prepubescent pixies, and then there’s college gymnastics-populated by women who were good athletes, but had boobs & hips and couldn’t make the cut to the Olympic squad. Man, I used to watch that for hours.
These lovely lasses were Russian acrobats, performing for a family audience at a kid-friendly hotel. What these two doofuses were doing there was beyond me, but they kept….well, no…I won’t say any more. They really deserve their own post. But your point is well taken. They could have just as easily been from my state. In fact, maybe they were. Just making their annual trek to Vegas.
By the way, edentulous is one of my favorite words. When using it, it makes one sound more sophisticated than the content merits.
That’s a shame. Russians, used to a life of refined, erudite beauty, would no doubt be unaccustomed to such vulgar overtures. One can only hope that the blow was softened somewhat by their >0.1 BAC.
Yes, I’m sure Russian women have never had to fight off rude advances. They know only a life of riches as mail-order brides. And given my grandmother was Russian, I know all about these things…
I once knew a Russian mail order bride who got murdered. It’ll be a True-Ass tale someday. And if I sound a little blase about it, I am. She wasn’t a nice person (although to hear the papers talk about it, she walked on water). She didn’t deserve to get killed, but I could see it coming from a long way off, and she would have too if her head were in the right place.
I will definitely be on the lookout for that post.
I was thinking the same thing about your potential Olga-ogler post. I’d like to say you’ll see this story (for which I’ve long had a title, the term by which I’ve always referred to it–The Murder House) sooner rather than later, but I’m not sure about that. You see, it’s something I’ve wanted to write about FOREVER, along with my experiences as an enforced guest of Pierce County, Washington, as those are some of my life experiences which I think would be of most interest to the average reader. However, with one or two exceptions, I haven’t written about either. In the case of The Murder House (it’s the prosaic simplicity of the term that tickles me so) it’s because the story is so big–the murder (which occurred a couple months after I’d cut ties with these people) isn’t really even the thing (although if you want to read about it click here), but rather all the odd characters (three of whom are mentioned in the news article, if you count Anastasia, but who are only half the story) associated with that weird scene.
So are you talking just about professional strippers or all strippers? Because I just had that pole installed in my bedroom, I don’t want to go through the hassle of taking it down.
Strictly the pros, Madame W. Much like college athletics, amateur strippers do it for the love of it, and I can get behind that.
I’m betting the lack of money is why they didn’t do it for you.
As good as I am with comebacks, I’m left staring at the screen like a fighter that’s just taken a hard one to the nose but it hasn’t registered.
I am undone, SIr!
Hell, at least the ladies are working for a living!
You’ve got a point–and working pretty hard from the looks of it!
I’m sure the crack did nothing for her complexion.
Ha ha! No, but you get to a certain point and I think it no longer matters.
Dude that is one busted ass stripper. Thought they had an expiration date or something. “Best if used before November 1985”
It’s strange what comes over men in strip clubs. It’s like they lose the run of themselves altogether: case in point, a few years back I dodged off work for the afternoon to head to one such club with a group of all male friends (Why? The club served beer, and I didn’t have to type anything). The stripper was a total monster! Like a five foot tall piece of beef jerky, with two half grapefruits badly sewn on to where her chest would be, and ratty glued in bleached extensions. Looked like she fell off the side of a church. Anyway, she did her thing and the fellas were agog, they had this reverent glow in their eyes, the kind their girlfriends always wished they had when they looked at them. After, the naked brown gargoyle sat on my knee in her spandex lime-green bodysuit and pretended (badly) we had a girl-on-girl thing, and I’d say there wasn’t a limp crotch in the house. I think the equation goes: Willing to be half naked in your proximity + can do upside down splits while hanging upside down from a pole to the point where you can tell what she had for lunch – totally hideous = happy fellas.
I know that’s true, and I used to wonder if something was wrong with me for not liking those places. It’s not a moral thing, mind you–I just don’t get it. I GET prostitution–there’s an actual service involved. But I just don’t understand wasting good money to get teased by some leathery skank. Hell, I could stay home and do that–and the gal in my imagination doesn’t have track marks lining her arms & legs or a tramp-stamp that reads “Shady Lady.”
Lola Lorain, that’s a good stripper name…I’m sure she was just shakin’ her money~maker to pay the bills.
(or – maybe she would make better tip money if she changed her name to Layla Lorain)
Oh wow, I refused to believe she’s real until I saw this: http://www.thestranger.com/slog/archives/2010/08/10/lunchtime-quickie-meet-the-strippers-of-the-fox-hole-zanesvile-ohio&view=comments
Woooo!
Happiness, that was such a great find! My favorite part in the video was when the preacher said of the strippers “I REFUSE TO LOOK AWAY until they’re gone.”
Hahahaha, me too! And his hairsprayed hair is fun to look at side by side Lola’s. Hahahaha! Now I’m going to hell. 😦
Now I’m going to hell.
Yeah, because THIS is the thing that earned you that ticket…
I guess some people are better fit to working in an office. Or crack house.
I guess I’m more of the latter. Give me work under an open sky (for which working in a crack house often qualifies, depending on the shape of the roof).