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6:13 a.m. - 2005-12-05

BOOGIE IN YOUR BUTT


So we've got this new manager at the club.

A young girl ... mid 20s I'd guess. Kinda has a Goth look to her, but you can tell it's kind of in her past.

She's a Goth Gone Good.

Yep.

So anyhow, we get along pretty well because her first night on the job I played some Violent Femmes, The Cure and Sisters of Mercy along with "Science Fiction Double Feature" from the Rocky Horror Picture Show Soundtrack.

I was declared the best club DJ ever by no less an expert than the Goth Gal and we became friends.

(At this point, please allow visions of myself and a pale gal with jet black hair running towards each other in slow motion, arms outstretched in a field of poppies to run through your head to best signify our relationship. Thank you.)

So Thursday night she's managing, I'm playing music.

For the hell of it, I put on Donnie Iris' "Love Is Like A Rock". It was never a big hit, but it should have been. Very drum-heavy with a killer chorus in it.


"Love can rock you.
Never stop you.
Ah ah ah ah.
Love Is Like A Rock"

Yeah.

You remember, right??

Anyway ... she comes up to the DJ booth and walks in.

I think she's there to make last call because we're down to about 15 people in the bar and it's about 12:30 a.m.

Nope.

She's there to dance.

Now then ... I don't dance. Not with my wife and most certainly not with a Gothic manager who grew up spoonfed on a steady diet of Harry Potter books and Skinny Puppy CDs.

And ... ummmm ... for a Goth girl ... she surrre likes that dance where she grinds her ass into her dance partner.

Granted, she can't grind her ass into my crotch because I'm facing forward towards the dance floor.

So she's basically grinding her ass on my left leg.

Let me say ... I am in no way attracted to this gal. She's nice and seems fun, but I DON'T KNOW HER.

This was only my third time of working with her.

Now ... the booth I work in is up over the dance floor and people in the club can't really see what's going on because of the way it's set up.

Basically ... I'm being sexually assaulted by the club manager who's young enough to be my daughter if I had found someone to snag my virginity a few years earlier than I actually did ... and nobody is able to witness it for legal purposes.

So ... in a nutshell ... I'm not enjoying this at all.

In fact, at this hour, I'd much rather be sound asleep in bed rather than having a semi-strange ass grinding on my leg without permission.

Because the microphone is mere inches from my mouth, I take this opportunity to take matters into my own hands.

"Last call for alcohol," I belt into the microphone. "Last call for alcohol. If you're not drunk yet, you won't be drunk at all because it's last call for alcohol."

(That actually rhymes if you say it right ... "Drunk at all" and "alcohol". I made it up years ago and still use the phrase today. Feel free to put it on my gravestone if I die unexpectedly.)

Then I add ... "I'm sure the manager would have told me to make that announcement but she's too busy grinding her ass on me to talk right now."

This ... ummmmm ... this caused her to stop abruptly.

It was like she was in a trance and the fact that I pointed out to everyone left in the club that she was acting inappropriately snapped her out of it.

She stopped grinding.

She gave me a smile which I'm not really sure was genuine or fake.

And she walked back to the bar.

As of Friday night, I hadn't been unjustly fired for pointing out in a public forum that I had been abused.

But then again ... neither had she.

Yeah.

Could you tell I had a fairly boring weekend after that story??


Oh yeah.

This.

I know a little boy who bent Santa's ear for ten minutes, talking about his favorite TV shows, favorite foods, and favorite video games.

We had practiced what he was going to tell Santa he wanted for Christmas for DAYS.

Then, once he got on the jolly man's lap (can't really say he was "fat" ... the guy was practically anorexic for a Santa), all that practicing went STRAIGHT OUT the window as the boy reeled off a totally new list of toys that he wanted.

Great.

If you see an old fat guy at Toys 'R' Us running around frantically trying to find a Spongebob Squarepants Ripped Pants Dancing Doll with dried ass juice on his leg ... that'll be me.

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