Posts tagged ‘bar’

Don’t worry ladies – he’ll be here all night!


Sometimes a golden opportunity just falls ass-first on the floor in front of you like a drunk fratboy on ‘ludes.

And, if you’re like me, you fucking LIVE for these moments!

I was lucky enough to be in the right place at one of the most mind-blowing times in recent history when, as odd as it seems, yours truly was *SHOCK* sober enough to capture the exact moment when idiot met dumbass and morphed into the most ritarculous example of douchebaggery I’ve had the pleasure to fully document in at least 16 days in a loooong time!

I AM SO LUCKY!!!!!

A group of hot sluts and I recently channeled our inner Whitney Harding and beheld the rough-and-tumble awesomeness that was the Gold Coast Derby Grrls giving the Blitzburgh Bombers a beatdown so bad they wished they could crawl back up their mamma’s vajayjays and take back their own births!

BOO-YA BITCHES!
Don’t mess with SoFla!

But the best part of the night wasn’t watching women in fishnets and kneepads for two hours (although not an unpleasant way to spend a Saturday evening! ;)).
No, the BEST part was the stupefying show put on at the bar when Mr. Mondo Dismo and his friend emerged to entertain the masses themselves.

Well, in truth, ol’ brownie over there –>
was too busy chatting up two women who prove the adage that everything looks/tastes better the more beer you suck down.

As the Chicago-style jazz/blues band belted it from the stage, Mondo was gettin’ his gyration on while working his $16 Haircuttery ‘Swoosh’ for aawwwllll the ladeez in da HOUSE … ‘cept no one was paying attention, so he kicked his Mondo moves into high gear with arm gestures, moonwalk missteps and a rarity — something you just don’t get to see in public very often anymore — self-induced nipple twists!

SWEET MOVES!

So there I am, enjoying my cocktail, taking cellphone snaps of a live cock literally losing his mind when … HE SEES ME!

Mr. Mondo Dismo slides his size 12’s over to our table, leans in and asks:
‘Soooewwwww, like, uh, hehe, *burp* yur taking my pictchur! Yoo wanna hit ‘dis?’

I look at my girls, laugh, then reply:
‘Don’t wanna hit “dat” – but I have to take your picture, dude. I just HAVE TO!’

To which he responds:
‘I know yooo dooo. ‘Cuz I am hot.’

To which I respond:
‘Actually, no. Because you are RIDICULOUS! HAHAHAHAHA!!

To which meathead actally laughed, nodded agreement then went back to the table next door to begin a solo-samba/salsa type mess aimed squarely at our table.

SNAP SNAP SNAP!

Suddenly he stopped for what I was sure was going to be a vomitus experience to which the entire bar would bear witness — but no!
He stopped to check his phone.

* Looks down, click click … looks up at me … looks down, click click … heads back my way *

‘I don haf ’em ‘n my phone,’ he says with just a hint of whine.
‘Have what?’ I ask.
‘Thuh pictchurz yooo tuk,’ he slurs.
‘Why would you? I don’t have your number. I’m taking them for myself,’ I say.

‘Cuz I am hot.’
‘Actually, no. Because you are RIDICULOUS! HAHAHAHAHA!!

Oooohhh ho HO I tell you … just every now being the most ‘sober one’ translates to F-U-N!!!

Win-win 😉

March 22, 2010 at 10:04 am 5 comments

Touched by an angel


Feet up — flip-flops barely hangin’ on — gettin’ my Mojito on and takin’ in the sunset along the Intracoastal at The Old House this weekend, I was all, ‘Life just doesn’t get any better than this!’

But then it did.
Because she walked in.

A glistening summer ray of delicate womanity so exceptional mere mortals dare not rest eyes too long for they would certainly go blind from the unfathomable ferociousness of her infinite beauty.

Behold the sun-damaged Herbal Essence Chardonnay Shimmery locks! The desiccated body bark!! The overtipped French Maniclaw as it guides an unsuspecting bottle of Bud [aka Heaven’s Nectar] toward the gaping maw of celestial refinement!!!

You just can’t fake that kind of intrinsic sophistication and class!!

Her grace so overwhelmed me that I wanted to climb atop the seawall guardrail and command to the masses:
“Bow down in the presence of so rare a gem, commoners!! Bow DOWN!”

But I dared not for fear that the good Lord himself would intervene and end my shit if I dared distrurb the tasetful pursuits of his most elegant angel.

Instead, I paid sloshy, yet silent homage to the careworn cougar, wished her well on her midday pub crawl and returned to the humdrum, ordinary existence of the non-chosen — wholly satisfied with my place in life now that I’d been blessed to spend even the most nano of seconds in the presence of such flawless femininity.

Glide on golden goddess… glide on …

nottie

July 27, 2009 at 3:40 pm 8 comments

Boob vs. booby bar: Your tax dollars at work


It went from bow chicka bow bow to bow chicka bowOWW  when a stipper workin’ the pole at the local tittay bar sent her Stiletto soaring with something as simple as a singular toe flick.

I hate it when that happens! You step into your spinback on the way to the hip-reveal and whammo! – wardrobe malfunc …. uhh, well, I mean, that’s what I hear can happen …

Aannnyputmyselfthroughcollege, that shoe shot off, shattered the mirrored ceiling and sent glass raining down like silvery shards of lawsuit all over 35-year-old Charles Privette.
::: poor widdul pervert – him gots a boo boo :::

George Gettinger, general manager of Margate’s Booby Trap,  confirmed such an incident happened and paramedics were called, but the emergency responders apparently weren’t too worried about Privette’s injuries.
“A quote from the paramedics was, ‘I can’t believe you even called us for this,'” Gettinger said.

But panty waste hired himself a lawyer anyway (like you didn’t see that coming) and filed himself a lawsuit, wherein he states that he sustained a small laceration to his eyebrow, headaches and nose bleeds as a result of the Jan. 14 shoeing and is seeking at least $15,000 in damages because The Booby Trap breached “its duty when its employee failed to perform her routine in (a) reasonably safe manner.”
::: and you thought you had to have a ‘gina to be a gold digger, didn’t you?!?  tsk tsk :::

Seriously people, can’t we just toss this prick a few sticky pennies from the floor of the Champagne Room and call it even Stevens?

October 15, 2008 at 8:25 pm

What’s wrong? Credit got your tongue?


According to a recent poll, Americans find it easier to talk about the day Uncle Hollis’ face met the business end of the hay baler than mention the ol’ MasterCard.

We’re even more apt give the gory details of our last one-night stand (and thanks SO MUCH for that graphic account, Sheila – eww) than disclose the dollar amount on our Discover card.

“Talking about credit card debt is an overwhelming social taboo. There is a social paradox happening people who are faced with credit card debt are unwilling to face their financial issues and therefore may be leaving it unresolved, said Ben Woolsey, Director of Marketing and Consumer Research for CreditCards.com.

This – to me – is nothing short of fascinating.
No — really!! It’s more than fascinating — it’s FASCINATACULAR!!!

These days, the idiot box is nothing more than a malfunctioning mental toilet — crammed full of shit like the skankerific I Love New York, the bangfest that Big Brother has become, Dog The racist, human beef-jerkey Bounty Hunter and any of the MANY baby-daddy paternity smackdowns that litter the landscape of daytime television.

Teevee ‘programming’ leaves the same taste as that quart of milk I left in the car about 3 hours too long this weekend. But it’s not just the boob tube — talk radio and, err, well yeah, the Internet aren’t much better!
::: well, ‘cept for the porn … porn’s alright … for medicinal purposes and all …  :::

I mean, with the stupidly notable exception of the absolute gay paranoia tidal wave sweeping the nation (so they’re getting married — get OVER it, Prudeholm!) – one would think every topic is considered ‘in bounds’ these days.

Ahh, but not so!

Eight out of 10 adults (82 broke-ass percent of us) are reluctant to openly discuss our credit card debts with someone we just met — but we have nooooo problem letting him get his grope on while checking out the fusica and lime bustier/thong set when we were in that really cool room behind the back room at Le Cie …. uhhhh, wait … what? …. I mean when my friend wa… ehhhACK!!!
::: NEVER slammin’ Tequila again!!!! :::

July 8, 2008 at 8:34 pm 3 comments


This is the shit you bitches are reading


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