**flashback to 2006 as the young champ hits his favorite “pre-game before the club” spot.“**
(in this case, “we” is the champ, my man, his sister, two of his female cousins…and his estranged baby-momma. quite an eclectic group. if eclectic pre-gaming groupings were “purple lips” we’d be “alex f*cking rodriquez“)
we make it to “arts”¹, easily the best pseudo-legal spot north of the mason-dixon line to down cheap booze while dodging gunfire and skank spit.
its always a joy when women do the packed bar “put my arms in the air to make myself as “skinny” as possible while walking past and rubbing my boobs against his chest while i stare him dead in the eye like my boobs arent playing racquetball with his chest” maneuver. its actually one of my top six favorite maneuvers in any context.
a woman at the bar, with a somewhat intriguing princess leia thing going on with her hair, turns around, looks at me, then presses her nose to my chest and takes a sniff. puzzled and slightly frightened, i continue drinking my vitamin water™ and rum. a few moments later, she does the exact same thing, which is basically my cue to put my hand on her mid-back/rib area and whisper in her ear:
“what the hell are you doing?”
princess leia, who easily had the deepest whisper of any woman ive ever met: (seriously, her whisper was a mixture of alicia keys, garfield, and God): “somebody smells good as hell”
the champ, honing in on the kill: “it’s probably me”
princess leia, sniffing again: “nah…its not”
we decide to leave
***the ladies wanted to go to “aces and deuces”, a dirtier, pricier, and scarier version of arts, which is basically like saying “no thanks stacey dash, keep your money. i dont want to sleep with you. do me a favor, though…introduce me to courtney love. also, if you could, let her know that i hate condoms.“***
princess leia, who i bagged 10 minutes earlier, gets up from the bar stool to give me a hug, and i immediately regret my number procuring decision. honestly, in the history of mankind, has anybody ever gone from a “definite 8, possible 8.5” to a “definite 3, possible tranny” just by standing up???? in less than five seconds she went from a “nice bag” to “glen rice in drag”. maybe i should have paid more attention to the fact that her hands were bigger than my feet.
i’d continue with the story, but i’d probably face some sort of legal ramifications.
anyway, people of vsb.com…its time to share. what are some of your funniest, craziest, zaniest, club-related chronicles? don’t be scurred and sh*t.
¹it was a giant controversy in the hoods of the burgh several years ago when “nats” changed its name to “arts”. apparently “arts” made it sound “too white”. i live in a stupid f*cking city