A dance was an art form, whether in front of an audience full of gentlemen and ladies or in front of lascivious losers in a bar. She swirled around the pole as graceful and elegant as a respectable ballet dancer lost in the beauty of her own motions. Her eyes behind the mask that had been closed, opened as her set ended and locked directly with the steely, grey eyes of the man in the front row. Her heart skipped a beat. He knew who she was!
Then she thought he would forget if she got him drunk enough.
She yelled at the bartender to bring her two bottles of Jack!
She walked over and sat on his lap.
After he finished the second bottle.
She started passing gas.
He got so sick from the smell.
Earlier she had eaten an entire jar of both pickled whole onions and eggs.
So you know she was putting him through hell.
Shitting on his leg!
By
Dwayne
Clark
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