The Word on the Street is…

The sign in front of the club said clopen, which was good enough for us. We went in, expecting it to be full of yestergays, hasbians and banksters trying out their blaccents on us.  The usual chuggers in their frackets lined the walls hoping to get lucky. For most of them the last sexercise they had was paying a nyorican thirty bucks for a blob or maybe a mobisode with their dildonics.

Then some toonie with moobs and a murse walks up and asks to dance. What the hell, I think and thread my way through the crowd, following him to a spot where there is just enough room to dance. Then the shart actually turns around and leaves me for some vomitrocious slut from Queens. Hey, I can see your mangina from here, I yell after him but he’s not listening.  

Fuck it. I finish my drink and push past a cluster of gyfaking hubots towards the door. Maybe this isn’t my night, I say to my roomie, heading out into the snowmageddon for the long walk home. 

2 responses to “The Word on the Street is…

  1. Absotively posilutely wonderful!


  2. Thanks. I’m plonored.


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