I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell (15 page)

I find a cocktail waitress and begin drinking. Combatively. I've driven 16 hours for the specific purpose of going to this strip club, and I'll be damned if I get here and nothing happens. To help achieve this end getting drunk and making something happen-I make friends with our cocktail waitress, Liz. Gentle readers, let me explain something to you: It is an almost universal rule of gentlemen's clubs that the cocktail waitresses are more fun to talk to, and more apt to fuck customers, than the strippers. They are not as pressed for time, so they will banter more. The limp-dicks that overtip the strippers usually don't tip the cocktail waitresses at all, so attention to a cocktail waitress will get you much further than attention to a stripper. Plus, they tend not to be high or drunk on duty, whereas strippers are almost always in some altered state, so conversation with them can actually accomplish something.

The funniest thing is that they always think they are better than the strippers; in their mind there is a bright line separating them from the women who actually take their clothes off, thus it is usually much easier to get a cocktail waitress to go home with you. Strippers are jaded, abused, used-up; they hate men, and usually for good reason. The cocktail waitresses are far less defensive. They are so used to being ignored or looked through, that when you do pay attention to them, they respond to it. Some innocuous flirting and a good first tip to Liz gets my friends and me a constant, uninterrupted stream of drinks and a flirtatious hottie hanging around us. Read and learn fellas. Back to the action:

SlingBlade gets one of the hottest girls in the club to give him a dance. Before she takes his money, she tries to talk to him, and actually seems genuinely interested, not just stripper interested. This probably has something to do with the happy confluence of his sarcastic, standoffish sense of humor and the inability of her step-father to show her any affection growing up. So what does SlingBlade do? Does he flirt with her? Does he at least try to exploit this situation? Of course not. He places his finger on her lips, patiently explains that he, "would rather mainline Drano" than listen to her for another second, and commands, "Less talkie, more boobie." The kid has problems.

Apparently, something about PWJ just says "sucker," because another stripper comes up and puts her hands over PWJ's eyes, coyly whispering something erotic in his ear. She is UGLY. Her face looks like it lost a frantic battle with a Roto-Tiller. The woman is literally missing some teeth. I can't tell for sure, but I think she has a tattoo tear on her left eye. I motion to him by making a cutting gesture across my throat
and yelling,

"Dude-she is unattractive. Bottom of the barrel. Needs to put her clothes on and learn how to type. Don't do it! YOU'RE A YOUNG MAN!"

He doesn't get my warnings in time. She sits on his lap. PWJ tells her he doesn't want a dance, but she says it's okay, and remains on his lap talking to him. I wonder, out loud for everyone to hear, if the zoo knows they are missing their three-toed sloth. She is not pleased. Fuck her, it's not my fault she looks like Adrian Brody with saggy tits. PWJ ignores me and continues engaging her in conversation. When I hear her say, "Yeah, I had two hearts tattooed on my hips, but then I got pregnant and carried my son on my left side. Now this one looks like a tomato," I get up. I'd rather rip my penis out by the root than listen to another minute of her stripper-ramble.

I saunter around flirting with waitresses and bartenders and strippers, double-fisting vodka and sodas ... and then it happens: I see EI Bingeroso's future wife. It's not actually her; THAT would be a story, but she looks exactly like EI Bingeroso's fiancée. It's spooky. I immediately walk over to where she is and stand there, waiting for her to finish the dance she's giving to some random guy. He's less than pleased. Whatever buddy, you're wearing a Detroit Red Wings jersey to a strip club, you obviously suck.

I give her enough to pay for two dances for EI Bingeroso, and then an additional ten dollars. I tell her that she has to tell him her name is "Kristy" [his fiancee's name], and to answer to nothing else. I point him out, and she walks over, and introduces herself. "Hi, I'm Kristy. Dinner is on the stove, baby."

After what seems like only ten minutes, I glance over, and she's just sitting there talking to him. Fine, maybe she's just warming him up. A few more minutes, same scene. I'll be damned if EI Bingeroso doesn't get my money's worth. He's the type that would pay her more not to dance, thinking it would violate his relationship or some such bullshit. I walk over and interrupt EI Bingeroso in the middle of a story I had heard the day before: EI Bingeroso "Yeah, I was fat when I was a kid. You know how kids jeans at K-Mart came in three different sizes, Small, Medium, and 'Husky'? I had to buy Husky." Tucker "EI Bingeroso, what the fuck? Is stripper-fiancée going to

dance for you
?

EI Bingeroso looks confused. "What are you talking about? Dude, sh
e
already did both dances, she's just hanging out now.
"
Maybe I'm drunker than I realize
.

I find Liz and ask her how many drinks I've had. She looks at me wit
h
the same look EI Bingeroso gave me, "Tucker sweetie, what are yo
u
saying? I can't understand you.
"

I guess I am fucked up
.

I try to stagger back to my seat when a very hot, voluptuous strippe
r
grabs me by the belt loops and pulls me towards her. She has a ski
n
tight tiger-stripe body suit that is virtually painted on her. To say that he
r
breasts were spilling out would be to imply that this outfit covered the
m
at some point. Her J-Lo booty smiles at me, and I smile back. It takes m
e
a few seconds to find her eyes. I have to shade my eyes, because th
e
gobs of silver glitter eye shadow smeared on her face are reflecting a
n
inordinate amount of light. She says something to me, but I don'
t
understand it. I pretend to listen for about 3 minutes, then I interrupt her
:
"If I were dating you, I'd never leave the house. I'd never even leav
e
your general vaginal area. Unless it were to cum on your face.
"

She thinks I am funny. She really wants to give me a dance. I tell her
I
am a starving lawyer, and can't afford one. But there is somethin
g
about her. Maybe it's the lighting, maybe it's her aggressive attitude
,
maybe it's her ghetto booty, maybe it's her 36 DO fake breasts pressin
g
against me ... maybe it's the 3 margaritas, 6 beers and 15 vodk
a
clubs, but she just strikes me in that right way
.

I guess she saw the acquiescence in my eyes, because without an
y
further deliberation, at least that I can remember, she drags me bac
k
to a secluded booth in the rear of the club and starts dancing. By thi
s
time, I'm so drunk I even know I'm drunk
.

Another great feature of Baby Dolls: The strippers encourage you t
o
touch their boobies. I exploit this privilege ruthlessly. I grabbed bot
h
her beautifully fake breasts full on. I was kneading her tits so hard ali
i
needed was a little water and some active dry yeast and I could hav
e
made bread. Towards the end of the dance, I was actually trying t
o
pop the saline implants. Those things are pretty durable
.

Finished, she snuggles herself up against me, breasts right under m
y
chin
,
Big Tits "Do you want to go somewhere ... more private?
"
Tucker "Yeah ... sure ... for what ... ?
"
Big Tits "If we get a champagne room, we can do anything we want.
"
Tucker "Anything?
"
Big Tits "Anything.
"
Tucker "OK.
"
Big Tits "It's 300 for the room, plus usually about 100 dollars more
.
Depending but you're cute.
"
Tucker "So 400 total?
"
Big Tits "Uh huh.
"

I pause and contemplate. I can vaguely recall a moral dilemma I migh
t
have had with this situation milling somewhere around my fronta
l
lobes ... provided I were sober enough to recall what exactly th
e
tenets of my ethical system were. Or even what an ethical syste
m
was
.

This drunk, I could only consider price. Thank you, University o
f
Chicago economics classes
.
Tucker "I'll give you 20 dollars.
"
Big Tits laughed. "No. It's 400, baby.
"
Tucker "Okay ... 22 dollars.
"
Big Tits "Well, you're cute and funny; I'll do it for 350.
"
Tucker "25.
"
Big Tits "325?
"
Tucker "No, just 25.
"
Big Tits "I have to give the club 100 to get the room for an hour.
"
Tucker "I can't last an hour ... I'll give you 28.
"

This went on for at least 10 more minutes before we finally settled o
n
a price
.

$55. For a half hour
.

I could write a book on negotiation. And as drunk as I was, you ca
n
believe she earned her $5
.

When I found my friends, two hours and $55 wisely spent dollars later
,
they were out in the parking lot eating sloppy joe's they bought from
a
guy selling them out of the back of his Chevette. Needless to say, the
y
were aghast. But in my vodka-addled brain, I had a defensible position
:

"Dude, I had to. How could I pass up a bargain like that? IT'S A MATTER OF PRINCIPLE!"

The next day we woke up scattered across our hotel room, still clothe
d
and reeking of hairspray and bar smoke. We pack up and head t
o
Austin. On the way there, we see a huge sign on the road
:

"This way to the Texas State Fair!
"

EI Bingeroso nearly has a fucking aneurysm, "OH OH OH OH!!! W
E
HAVE TO GO, WE HAVE TO GO! Guys, The TEXAS-STATE-FAIR!!!
"
It is the most insane morass of trucks and red necks and cheap carniva
l
trinkets I have ever seen. Sling Blade gets a funnel cake, I get
a
Slushee, PWJ falls in love with the "classic" (read: penis) cars, but i
t
was EI Bingeroso who really tapped into the essence of the Texa
s
State Fair. He made friends with a fat, brown-toothed teenage rednec
k
wearing a WWF Mankind t-shirt covered in mustard stains. The poo
r
kid looked like he had the cultural I.Q. of someone who just staggere
d
out of a sheep orgy. We see them standing over by some video gam
e
thing, and he waves us over
.

EI Bing "Guys, you see this thing? [pointing to the game] It is calle
d
'The Shocker.' You hold these metal handles here, and it sends a
n
ever increasing charge of electricity through you. As the wattag
e
increases, so does your score, and if you can hold it all the way to th
e
end, you win ... something. And this guy, [Jethro], thinks he can do it.
"
Tucker "What do you win?
"
SlingBlade "A free electroshock treatment, apparently.
"
PWJ "You can't hold that for more than a few seconds.
"
Jethro "Fuck dat; ike'an duit.
"
EI Bing "OK man, give it your best shot. Here, we'll even put th
e
money in.
"

As PWJ put the dollar in the machine and the redneck rubbed hi
s
hands together and mentally prepared himself, I pulled EI Bingeros
o
aside. He was giggling like a Japanese schoolgirl in a Hello Kitty store
.
Tucker "Dude, who is this kid? What the hell is going on?
"
EI Bing "I saw him staring at this thing and I bet him he couldn't do it
.
He got all worked up. Dude-I've seen this thing knock out 250 poun
d
guys before. They were outlawed in the state of Nebraska! THIS I
S
AWESOME!
"

The young redneck firmly planted his feet, rubbed his face, spit into hi
s
hands, rubbed them together and wiped them on his shirt. We starte
d
cheering him on
:
EI Bingeroso "YEAAAAHHHH!
"
Tucker "Eye of the tiger!
"
PWJ "What does not kill you makes you stronger!
"
Sling Blade "There is no spoon!
"
He muttered some inspirational phrases to himself, pressed the star
t
button and grabbed the two metal handles. For the first few second
s
he was fine ..
.
Then his arms started shaking
.
Then his shoulders
.
Then his torso
.
Then his head
.
Then his mouth began frothing and spitting saliva everywhere
.
Then this strange, guttural, animalistic groan emerged from him. Stil
l
gripping the handles, his whole body was in violent convulsions whe
n
an older woman pulled him off of the machine. He fell to the groun
d
and she yelled at him
,

"Jethro, git away from that'n thang. Thar makin funna YEW!
"

I don't know if I have ever laughed so hard in my life. I was laying o
n
the hot asphalt of the Texas State Fair, curled up in a ball, tear
s
streaming down my face as I held my stomach muscles and convulse
d
with laughter. I was able to look up and see the confused, blank loo
k
on Jethro's face as his mother led him off, wiping the spit off of hi
s
face, his arms still twitching slightly
.

I really hope that God has the capacity for forgiveness that Christian
s
claim, because I am going to test the absolute outer limits
.
We get to Austin and check in at The Embassy Suites. After a nap, E
I
Bingeroso calls his friends, and we all meet up at a place called Cheer
s
Shot Bar on 6th street. It was me, PWJ, SlingBlade, EI Bingeroso, an
d
three of his college friends, "Thomas" (from the story The Night W
e
Almost Died), "Dirty," and "Mermaid.
"

It was around 8pm when we rolled in there, and the bar was nearl
y
empty. Not a problem, this crew can make its own party. Mermaid tol
d
the bartender, "Seven Flaming Dr. Peppers.
"

At the time, I had no idea what a Flaming Dr Pepper was. The bartende
r
set up 7 pint glasses, each about half full with light beer, in
a

sort of pyramid formation on the bar. He filled 7 shot glasses about 90%full with Amaretto, then topped off each with Bacardi 151, and set them on the lips of the pint glasses. He then took a huge swig of Bacardi 151, put a lighter up to his face, and blew the alcohol in his mouth through the flame, sending a massive fireball over the shot glasses, each catching fire. While they were still on fire, he hit one of the shot glasses, starting a domino effect, each shot glass falling into a pint glass, putting out the flames and fizzing the beer up. We each grabbed a glass and chugged it, and I'll be damned if it didn't taste exactly like Dr Pepper.

It was the coolest thing involving alcohol I had ever seen. Being OCD, I had to see it again. And again. And again. 6 rounds of Flaming Dr Peppers later, I was fucked up, and we had nearly set the bar on fire. People, heed my warning: That stuff is Special Olympics in a pint glass. You think they are harmless and not very strong, and the next thing you know it is an hour later and you are in the bathroom of the bar with your pants off, surrounded by five girls, giving your boxers to a bachlorette party because one of the girls is cute and told you that you had a nice butt. Be forewarned.

After that little fiasco, we head across the street to a dueling piano bar. We discover that one of the two piano players is blind. We are basically jackals who walk on two legs, so true to our nature, we focus on The weak one.

We must have given him about 20 notes with song titles on them. Finally, the blind piano player stopped his music and said, "HEY IDIOTS! Stop giving me written song suggestions. I AM BLIND! BLIND! I CAN'TREAD THEM!"

One of the helpers came over and took the song suggestions over to the piano player who could see, and he broke out laughing so hard he couldn't even keep playing. He kinda stopped the music and said into his mike,

"Well, I would love to play these songs, but unfortunately I don't know any of them. Let's see if you know them Phil. They are:

• Please Kill Yourself
  
• Isn't Ray Charles supposed to be black?
  
• I'm gonna steal your wallet because you can't see who I am
  
• Have you ever fucked a goat by accident?
  
• You are blind because you masturbated too much as a child
  
• I'm gonna set your hair on fire
  
• Come to the bathroom so I can fellate you
  
• I bet you fuck ugly girls because you can't see their faces
  
• I pissed on your shoes when you were at the urinal
  

And so on. Phil, you know any of these? I'm stumped.
"
It was awesome. The irony was that while most of the crowd wa
s
aghast, the blind guy was laughing his ass off right along with us.
I
guess crippled people can be useful sometimes
.

After a few more beers, we went on to another bar, and another bar
,
and another bar, ad infinitum. The night was very funny ... for us ..
.
because we are not nice people. Here are some selections of ou
r
behavior at the various bars on 6th street that night
:

At one point, I went up to some deaf people who were signing to eac
h
other and began signing with them. I actually know ASL because I too
k
sign language for my foreign language requirement at the University o
f
Chicago, and as I was asking them where the hot sluts are, in sig
n
language, PWJ comes up to me and says, "Tucker, I didn't know yo
u
spoke deaf.
"

• While traveling from one bar to the next, PWJ saw a low rider E
  I
  Camino with hydraulics that was bouncing up and down on 6t
  h
  street. He ran next to the car and started jumping up and down wit
  h
  the car and yells at the driver, "NICE CAR MAN!," to which the driver
  ,
  a male of obvious Hispanic descent, gives him a look of disgust an
  d
  yells back, "Get away from my car, ese, or I'll fucking bust a cap i
  n
  you mane.
  "
  
• Of course, there were women. Countless women, thousands i
  t
  seemed like, most of them were hot, and all of them drunk. Some o
  f
  the interactions I caught on my voice recorder
  :
  Tucker "Hey, what's your name?
  "
  Girl "My name is Pocahontas.
  "
  Tucker "Right bitch, and my fucking name is John Smith.
  "
  SlingBlade [In a bar whisper] "Tucker, that's not good game.
  "
  Tucker "Are you married?
  "
  Girl "Yes.
  "
  Tucker "How good is the marriage?
  "
  Girl "Very good.
  "
  Tucker "So there is no chance of us hooking up?
  "
  Girl "No.
  "
  Tucker "Well, do you have any hot friends who aren't fuckin
  g
  prudes? Hey-where are you going? I was only kidding! I respec
  t
  
• the sanctity of the monogamous relationship! WHORE!"
  
• PWJ made me be his wingman at one point, but the friend was
  a
  hideously ugly fat girl. I tried to end it quickly with this, "You don'
  t
  want to talk to me, I have festering sores on my scrotum." Sh
  e
  thought I was hilarious, so I had to bring out the heavy artillery, "S
  o
  that spare tire you're carrying, is it for a car or a truck?" I plead ignoranc
  e
  when PWJ asked me what happened, "I don't know man,
  I
  was trying to help you out, she just wasn't into me. What can I do
  ,
  not all girls like me.
  "
  
• Dirty took a picture of me and some girl, and then said to her, "Yo
  u
  can see these pictures of yourself on Poopsex.com." She quickl
  y
  scurried away
  .
  
• Sling Blade was his usual charming gin-drunk self. His lines tha
  t
  night ran the gamut from awful to patently offensive to nearly criminal
  .
  His standard pick-up line that night was-I swear to Christ
  "
  Pursuant to Megan's Law, I am obligated to tell you that I am
  a
  convicted sex offender. What's your name?" After I made him sto
  p
  talking about molesting children, he moved on to these gems, "O
  h
  good, you smoke. When you're done sucking down that death stic
  k
  I want your advice on which brand of vodka to chase my Percoce
  t
  with," or this one, "Hi, can we just skip the pleasantries and g
  o
  straight to the part where you call me Captain Kirk and give me
  a
  handjob in the backseat of my car?" Quite the wingman he was
  .
  
• This was my personal favorite interaction of the night
  :
  Tucker "Do you mind if I flirt with you for a while?
  "
  Girl "Please zip up your pants first. Thank you.
  "
  Tucker "Oh, sorry. So, what's your name?
  "
  Girl "[Blah, blah, blah .... j
  "
  Tucker "You have an underbite! Wait ... COME BACK HERE
  ,
  THINK THAT'S SEXY!
  "
  
• Sling Blade somehow managed to get a hot girl that he didn't thin
  k
  was a whore interested in him. Fascinated by this rare event, I tal
  k
  to her and immediately discover the reason: The girl was not a da
  y
  over 16. Well, maybe 17. He whispered to me, "This is what lawyer
  s
  in Texas call, 'the age of consent.' " There was only one barrier t
  o
  Sling Blade sealing the deal-She didn't believe that he went t
  o
  Austin High with her. She asked him what the mascot was. He accuse
  d
  her of not knowing herself, and trying to steal that informatio
  n
  from him. I came upon a plan that could solve this dilemma:
  I
  told him to whisper his answer to me, and then she can tell me wha
  t
  the mascot is, and I'll tell her if he got it right. She agrees. He pretend
  s
  to whisper something in my ear, and I tell her, "Unless th
  e
  
• mascot is 'I'm going to knock this girl unconscious and anally-fist her,' he didn't go to Austin High." He still hasn't forgiven me.
  
• PWJ and I were talking to some girls, and PWJ seemed to be doing well with the ring leader, when she saw through his bullshit, Girl "Do you remember what my name is?" PWJ "No." Girl "That's attractive." PWJ [Turning to me] "Tucker, these girls are sleeping with us on the 7th of never. Time to move on." These fun little games were all well and good, but it was getting near closing time and we had no prospects, so Tucker had to get serious and do what Tucker does best: Pick up some women. By this time we had gotten separated, and it was only me, SlingBlade and PWJ. I found a group of three girls, bought all of us a round of shots, made a few jokes, and the crew was set. The way it worked out, I got the hot one, Sling Blade got the good-looking one, and PWJ got the fat one. I assigned the plump one to him because big tits are his kryptonite, and hers were individually each as large as his planet-sized cranium. When he gets a few beers in him, large breasts block out any other physical consideration: fatness, facial features, lack of personal hygiene, etc.