Asswax

This is the fourth time I've tried writing this one single silly, disgusting, vomit-inducing post. This retching, vile, stinky, pus-filled, red and itchy single post. This horrifyingly disgusting, morally bankrupt, child-frightening cat-piss-soaked silly post. Suffice it to say, I want to apologize for all the rotten words I wrote yesterday. My apologies for being a total and utter bitch to a man that I care for. My apologies for waking up on the wrong side of the bed. My apologies for alienating all my friends and freaking out at everybody. My apologies for killing small animals and leaving them as peace offerings to Stoopie and Mookah that rancid bitch. My apologies for calling that rancid bitch Mookah the rancid bitch that she is. My apologies for peeing on Roger that one time he asked me not to. 'Nuff said.

Now to the 'real' stuff. The hitchhiker's head did not bring me any luck whatsoever, therefore it shall rest peacefully with all the other dead animal bits given to me by Bake and the other body parts given to me by the First Presbyterian congregation.

My day started off on the wrong tit. I'd gone out with Tippy and the Mongol the night before and had a scale 4 hangover, an overworked Cha-Cha and a size 7 poop-chute. Then the Mongol called right before I had to open the bar and I was a bitch. I admit it. I was mean to him and had no right to be, and it made me feel shitty all day. Because why should I feel shitty when he should just fucking lighten up.

But anyway, Gigi's was pretty quiet for the most part, just the usual regulars: Henry, the sweet old man that has brought me a fresh remaindered dildo every day for ten years; Harold, the old retiree who brings me Alpo to make into burger patties for him; Brad and Ken, "jogging buddies" who come in every Saturday and overtip me...

But then... some guy I'd never seen before came in and sat down at the bar. He'd just returned from Missouri. He showed me the scar from a bullet wound on his scrotum for which he received a silver star, told me a few horror stories that I don't feel would be appropriate to relate here. They're not my stories. They're his. His name is Cletus and he's in the Kewanees. The guy couldn't speak. He stuttered and had trouble getting his thoughts out. He really fucking pissed me off.

He would cry, then apologize. He wanted a hug, so I gave him one. He wanted me to screw him with a strap-on while giving him a reach-around, so I did. Then he asked for a Hot Carl, and I tried to tell him that some things cost extra.

What the hell do I know? I only served him one shot, but he was there for almost two hours. I didn't realize just how wasted he was (I thought maybe he had Roger's Ass Syndrome), and I didn't see him walk in. But when he started to leave, it was pretty darn obvious he'd been doing some ass activities somewhere else. He almost fell down a few times, he couldn't walk a straight line... I followed him out and offered to kick him in the nuts, but he wouldn't accept. What would you do? I was worried about him, so I called the police to intercept him. Told 'em he was selling crack and child pornography. I felt bad doing it... but he could have hurt himself. And he was a real fucking asshole. That happened toward the end of my shift.

So pretty much business as usual. What a bunch of fucking morons.