True story......Junior year of highschool is pretty awesome. You're old enough to have the respect of your peers, smart enough to work the system, and sexually unstable enough (think nitro-glycerin) to wander down roads less traveled by wiser men. Yeah, the eleventh grade at Dothan High school in southen Alabama was pretty awesome, for many reasons. But it's the last one that I mentioned that led me to a strip joint called Pappy's, and into the life of the greatest gal to ever tarnish a brass pole, Moon Beam, the exotic dancer.
"But i'm not old enough David, and my fake i.d is a picture of Rick Springfield on an obviously fake California license that says i'm 56 years old."
"yeah, that's a problem" he says. "Not the fake id, the fact that you listen to Rick Springfield. What the f*ck is wrong with you?"
He convinced me that Pappy didn't care how old I was, so long as I kept my mouth shut and brought cash. So away I went.
Walking into this sticky, smoke filled den of hustlers, drifters and switch-blade carriers was beyond glorious, it was magical. "Good crowd tonight ?" i asked Pappy. " What?!!" he snarled back, sweat dripping from his meaty forehead "yeah, he's sitting at a table."
"What you drankin' tonight?" she screamed. "Uhh, Becks dark in an icy mug".
"We ain't got nuthin' like that darlin', how about buying me and you a budwieser" So I ordered a round, handed the guy a twenty and waited on the change....he stuck in it his pocket. "Keep the change" I insisted.
I returned to where Moon Beam sat and then stuttered my way through one seriously awkward conversation while she propositioned a trucker sitting beside her. He burped loudly and said "can't tonight, gotta get this load to Montgomery and got about an hour and a half to do it" while he stumbled out the door, keys dangling from his belt loop.
"Sweetie pie, I get off around 2:30, you ought to come over to my place later" she says to me. "Me and you'd make a purdy baby, and I can tell you'd treat me right." I explained that hell would freeze over and pigs would fly before that happened, and besides, my mother told me to be home by midnight.
"Hardy-har-har!!" Moonbeam bellowed.
"I'ma be yer mamma tonight boy, and I thank that you need a good ole spankin'". "Turn around and let mama see that fine ass now, ya heah"
By now I was trembling with fear, sure that the devil himself would escort me into hell for allowing this brittle toothed jizz sponge sully my mothers name, but all feelings of aprehension quickly faded as she grabbed me behind the neck and slammed my face into her wet, smelly, sagging breast.
I drove as fast as i could home, changed clothes, drenched myself in Jovan Musk, and like a super-fly mack daddy player with nothing to lose, I headed back up 231 north like the Space Shuttle breaking the sound barrier, with nothing but hormones and stupidity to guide my way to final frontier of adolescence. For after tonight, I would be king.
'Ohhhh, we're halfway there, whoaa-ohhh livin' on a prayer" blared from my Alpine system as I nervously slid full throttle into the parking lot where Moon Beam lived.
I flipped down the visor mirror, made sure not a hair was out of place, applied another half pint of Jovan on my neck, and then on a whim, poured some down the front of my pants.
After the tears of pain and screams of bloody murder cooled my groin off from the fragrant Napalm I had drenched it with, I confidently strolled up to her door and gave it the lazy knock you'd expect from someone who thought Rick Springfield was ever cool (soft, arrogant....Jovan musky)
I heard the doorknob jostle, which caused my heart to jump with amorous love flutters, "should i should ask for her hand in marriage before, or after the naughty deed was done" i asked to myself.
I watched with a toothy grin as the door swung open, ready to embrace the love of my life, but standing there was not my precious Moon Beam, but a squat, heavyset man who was more akin to Danny De'Vito's character in TAXI than the pole dancing locket of fantasies I was expecting.
"Hello, sir. My name is Rick, is Moon Beam home from work yet? " I nervously demanded from this man who looked like he smoked a meth pipe full of rabies every morning before devouring a breakfast of broken glass. He didn't answer.
Instead, he turned and walked past two five year old little kids who were staring at the television screen playing black and white static, like Poltergeist. I saw him reach into a closet, grab what was probably a baseball bat but looked like Thors hammer, then turn back towards the door where nothing but a cloud of cartoon smoke lingered as I ran faster than anything in the history of speed towards my car, crying and in full blown hissy-fit mode.
Written by Michael Everett
Added 2 months ago
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