$2
So, my friend Jon and I are in New Orleans for a bachelor party. We found ourselves with a small group sitting at the stage of your basic Bourbon Street strip club with a wad of sweaty singles in our pockets. Lap dances cost $60. Now, I don't care what they will do, because I know what they won't do and that, as far as I'm concerned, makes it not worth $60.
After another lackluster stage show, our group decides to leave. As Jon and I walk away from the stage we glance back and notice two things:
First, there's absolutely nobody else sitting down. Anywhere. The place is basically deserted.
Second, the new stripper hitting the stage is very cute and is giving us a pouty, pleading look.
Like the men of stone we are, we told our group we'd catch up with them and quickly sat back down, placing a dollar in front of ourselves on the stage.
After taking our dollars and doing some pole tricks, she kneels down in front of Jon and asks the following question:
"You want me to slap you?"
Jon looked puzzled and - possibly desperate for any female contact - he sheepishly said "Yes."
He looked at me with a giddy grin on his face like he was getting away with something.
Before I knew what happened, the stripper slapped him clean across the face. Based on the sound, the force with which Jon's head snapped back and the look of shock and terror on his face, she'd hit him pretty hard. It was a solid slap. More like an open hand punch. She didn't just nick him with her fingers. She'd literally wiped the grin off his face. She then turned and pulled out the side of her thong, basically, instructing Jon to place a dollar there. As though she had done something to deserve it. With the look of a punished child, Jon placed the dollar in the thong.
She crawled over to me. "Your turn," she said.
I looked over at Jon. He had a very puzzled look on his face and was rubbing his cheek. 'What a moron,' I thought to myself. It was then that I heard the strangest thing. I heard the word "okay" said in my voice. I actually looked around us to see where it had come from. Nobody was there.
I looked back to Jon and he was holding his head in his hands and shaking it back and forth. Clearly, he wasn't going to be of any help. And to be completely honest, he rarely is.
I suddenly felt her left hand gently cupping my chin, slowly turning my head a bit to the right. I thought to myself that if this was going to happen - and by all accounts it was, as I was clearly in no position to stop it and Jon was at this point more dead than alive - then I was determined to take it better than he did. After all, this was a stripper. At 5'3" and maybe 118 pounds, this girl couldn't possibly hurt me. Besides, as someone who's been married for over 5 years, I'm certainly more familiar with taking punches from women than my fallen bachelor comrade.
It was then that I saw her right arm go back. It didn't look like she was preparing to slap. Her arm receeded like she was about hurl a discuss or skip a stone all the way across the Mississippi.
I heard the impact before I felt it. But not long before. Suddenly my chin was on my right shoulder. My ears starting ringing. Actually ringing. My face felt like it was on fire. I was sure I'd lost a filling and that my jaw might be broken. For a moment, I couldn't see.
I shook my head, blinked back what I feared would be first of many tears and turned back to face my assailant. Her hands were covering her mouth, as though she thought she may have done something wrong. Her eyes a little wide. She lowered her hands to reveal a huge smile. She was laughing. Then she turned and pulled out the side of her thong. Inviting me to place a dollar, where so many other dollars had gone to die.
'Not a fucking chance,' I thought. If anything, I should be allowed to punch her in the face for $1. There is no way in hell I'm giving this girl $1 for hitting me. Jon might be a sucker, but I for one am not. I then noticed my right arm extending toward her, dollar in hand. 'How could this be?' I thought. Was my right hand acting autonomously? Certainly, I wasn't in control of it. I wasn't the one telling it what to do. If I was it would either be in a fist and heading towards her face, or in a slightly looser fist and heading towards my cock.
Next thing I knew, my dollar disappeared - as so many other dollars before it - into the thong of this stripper. Nestled right next to Jon's dollar, the two singles hung there, as a symbol of perhaps the dumbest way to spend $2 in history.
I turned back to Jon. His face had emerged from his hands, but still sported a look of deep confusion. He clearly saw the same look on my face and just shook his head. "Were we just robbed?" he asked, massaging his jaw. We stood up to leave and as we did, we noticed a new stripper hitting the stage. Also cute, and also sporting that pouty pleading look. We turned and ran out the fuck out of there.
If there's a moral to this story, I don't know what it is. But if anybody asks if they can slap you - say no. And if you let them hit you, don't give them money for it. And if you do give them money, you should go right home and cut up all your credit and debit cards, put an "R" or an "L" on each of your shoes, and write the word "ME" on the top of your bathroom mirror with an arrow pointing down. Because you're just as dumb as we are, and we are not smart.
After another lackluster stage show, our group decides to leave. As Jon and I walk away from the stage we glance back and notice two things:
First, there's absolutely nobody else sitting down. Anywhere. The place is basically deserted.
Second, the new stripper hitting the stage is very cute and is giving us a pouty, pleading look.
Like the men of stone we are, we told our group we'd catch up with them and quickly sat back down, placing a dollar in front of ourselves on the stage.
After taking our dollars and doing some pole tricks, she kneels down in front of Jon and asks the following question:
"You want me to slap you?"
Jon looked puzzled and - possibly desperate for any female contact - he sheepishly said "Yes."
He looked at me with a giddy grin on his face like he was getting away with something.
Before I knew what happened, the stripper slapped him clean across the face. Based on the sound, the force with which Jon's head snapped back and the look of shock and terror on his face, she'd hit him pretty hard. It was a solid slap. More like an open hand punch. She didn't just nick him with her fingers. She'd literally wiped the grin off his face. She then turned and pulled out the side of her thong, basically, instructing Jon to place a dollar there. As though she had done something to deserve it. With the look of a punished child, Jon placed the dollar in the thong.
She crawled over to me. "Your turn," she said.
I looked over at Jon. He had a very puzzled look on his face and was rubbing his cheek. 'What a moron,' I thought to myself. It was then that I heard the strangest thing. I heard the word "okay" said in my voice. I actually looked around us to see where it had come from. Nobody was there.
I looked back to Jon and he was holding his head in his hands and shaking it back and forth. Clearly, he wasn't going to be of any help. And to be completely honest, he rarely is.
I suddenly felt her left hand gently cupping my chin, slowly turning my head a bit to the right. I thought to myself that if this was going to happen - and by all accounts it was, as I was clearly in no position to stop it and Jon was at this point more dead than alive - then I was determined to take it better than he did. After all, this was a stripper. At 5'3" and maybe 118 pounds, this girl couldn't possibly hurt me. Besides, as someone who's been married for over 5 years, I'm certainly more familiar with taking punches from women than my fallen bachelor comrade.
It was then that I saw her right arm go back. It didn't look like she was preparing to slap. Her arm receeded like she was about hurl a discuss or skip a stone all the way across the Mississippi.
I heard the impact before I felt it. But not long before. Suddenly my chin was on my right shoulder. My ears starting ringing. Actually ringing. My face felt like it was on fire. I was sure I'd lost a filling and that my jaw might be broken. For a moment, I couldn't see.
I shook my head, blinked back what I feared would be first of many tears and turned back to face my assailant. Her hands were covering her mouth, as though she thought she may have done something wrong. Her eyes a little wide. She lowered her hands to reveal a huge smile. She was laughing. Then she turned and pulled out the side of her thong. Inviting me to place a dollar, where so many other dollars had gone to die.
'Not a fucking chance,' I thought. If anything, I should be allowed to punch her in the face for $1. There is no way in hell I'm giving this girl $1 for hitting me. Jon might be a sucker, but I for one am not. I then noticed my right arm extending toward her, dollar in hand. 'How could this be?' I thought. Was my right hand acting autonomously? Certainly, I wasn't in control of it. I wasn't the one telling it what to do. If I was it would either be in a fist and heading towards her face, or in a slightly looser fist and heading towards my cock.
Next thing I knew, my dollar disappeared - as so many other dollars before it - into the thong of this stripper. Nestled right next to Jon's dollar, the two singles hung there, as a symbol of perhaps the dumbest way to spend $2 in history.
I turned back to Jon. His face had emerged from his hands, but still sported a look of deep confusion. He clearly saw the same look on my face and just shook his head. "Were we just robbed?" he asked, massaging his jaw. We stood up to leave and as we did, we noticed a new stripper hitting the stage. Also cute, and also sporting that pouty pleading look. We turned and ran out the fuck out of there.
If there's a moral to this story, I don't know what it is. But if anybody asks if they can slap you - say no. And if you let them hit you, don't give them money for it. And if you do give them money, you should go right home and cut up all your credit and debit cards, put an "R" or an "L" on each of your shoes, and write the word "ME" on the top of your bathroom mirror with an arrow pointing down. Because you're just as dumb as we are, and we are not smart.
Labels: bachelor party, new orleans, slapping, strippers
posted by Tent Time at 2:51 AM
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