It’s that daily time again. Time for fun, mischief, and some other kind of chief I haven’t identified as of yet. Today’s prompt could be a fun one. Let me get started on my coffee and we may then have a fun adventure. Or, I could totally eff this one up. There’s only one way to find out! That’s right, come back later and read the comments first! Unfortunately, I don’t have that option so off we go!!
Friday. Saturday eve. Yesterday’s tomorrow. Tomorrow’s yesterday. A new day. My plans for the next seven days have suddenly vanished like an open package of cookies within reach of my toddler. I’m not sure how, exactly, but they did. Sadly, that means the only thing crossed off my itinerary was working and blogging. And perhaps even sleeping, but I don’t ever plan that so perhaps not.
I woke up last Friday with a full week of nothing to do. Even more amazing was the fact that I found $10,000 stacked atop of my dresser. I have my theories as to how it got there, but the prevailing theory currently is that the tooth fairy finally paid me for that last molar I lost and included interest in the payment. I mean, it was 20 years ago after all.
It took a while for my good fortune to sink in. Nothing like this ever happens to me. I’ve never even won $2 on a scratch-off ticket. Of course, that could be because I never play, but it’s still never happened. Anyways, what I’m getting at is that my life is like that horrible cliché; if it weren’t for bad luck I would have none. Quite frankly, I would normally settle for no luck but as I sat there staring at an insane amount of money practically radiating and beckoning me to take it I had a sudden change of heart about luck. Perhaps it wasn’t so bad after all.
First things first, there were things I needed to buy. Things I had no idea existed until a dear friend, and follow blogger, brought them to my attention. First, was the Millennium Falcon. Yes, you read that correctly. THE Millennium Falcon. Bed.
This bed kicks ass in so many different ways I can’t even go into it. I’d never finish telling you about my week if I tried.
The next thing on my list was Death Star Ice Cube makers.
I bought some other geeky Star Wars stuph™, but if I told you about each item we’d be here all day.
Next I decided to take a fun vacation. Where else but Disneyland to see all the Star Wars stuph™ there? Can you tell I’m a bit obsessed? This is what I got to see.
Does it get better than Darth Vader dancing to Beat It with stormtroopers accompanying his Imperial Dance? Darth Vader moonwalks? Yes, please. It was an awesome time.
Then I decided to go to Vegas. I’m not really a Vegas-type person, though. I don’t like to gamble. I like to drink occasionally, but I don’t necessarily party hard. You’re probably wondering why the hell I went at this point, but the answer is quite simple. I wanted to see what it felt like to make it rain.
Armed with $500 in singles, (hey, I wasn’t going to just give them all my money), I went to the Discreet Gentleman’s Club for my experiment.
Aside: Why are strip clubs referred to as gentleman’s clubs? Honestly, do gentleman actually go to strip clubs? Methinks not. Gentlemen view women as people whereas the type of guys who go to strip clubs view them as objects. So let’s think of a different name for our strip clubs, mkay? Besides, what’s wrong with just calling them strip clubs? That’s what they are. Why the misdirection? Is there shame in being a strip club? So much shame that you must refer to it as a “Gentleman’s Club” to make it appear more reputable?
Back to your regularly scheduled Daily Prompt post. I went into the “gentlemen’s club” armed with my stacks of $1 bills. I marched to the very center of the club, climbed up on a table, and then at the top of my lungs screamed, “It’s raining, bitches!!” I then threw all my stacks of bills high up in the air.
It was an amazing sight to behold as every stripper in the joint scrambled to catch the bills as they gently floated down, twisted and turning their way into the strippers’ outstretched hands. There was wrestling and pushing. Screaming and cursing. It was like a mud-wrestling royal rumble without the mud.
Then things turned dangerous. For me. All at once the strippers realized that the bills precipitating were only singles. And then they became angry. Pissed off, even. They had left their customers for a chance to make easy money only to find out that they might end up with enough to get a Coke out of a vending machine. The screaming and cursing continued, but was now directed at me. Sadly, I had not anticipated this.
Then an entirely different group of people directed their anger towards me. All the men that suddenly found themselves alone were pissed, too. It wasn’t long before one of the strippers in the mob shouted, “Kick that fat ass’ ass!” The mob roared its approval and from there I was screwed. I don’t remember much, but I was somehow knocked off of the table. I remember my head hitting the floor and instantly becoming dizzy. Then something struck my head. Hard. I can only surmise that I was kicked since I was on the ground. Then, blackness.
I woke up untold hours later. In ICU. A labyrinth of tubes were connected to various parts of my body. I was battered and bruised. The doctors told me I was lucky the bouncers got to me when they did. As it was, I sustained three broken ribs, a fractured nose, multiple contusions and lacerations, a shiner, some missing teeth, and, judging my the marks left on my left nipple, a serious titty twister. I was also urinated on. The doctor informed me that tests were run on the urine to ensure no diseases were present and it came back clean.
I was kept overnight for observation and released with a copious amount of painkillers the next day. Sadly, that was the end of my fun. The rest of my money is being saved for the coming legal fight and medical bills. Evidently I’m being charged because I “incited a riot.” What a crock.
My insurance will cover most of the medical bills, but I still have to pay my high deductible. So I spent the last 4 of my 7 free days recovering at home and subsisting on a liquid diet because I had considerably fewer teeth than I did a week ago. On a side note, I know officially hate tomato soup.
Remember how I said if not for bad luck I would have none? And then I said maybe I changed my mind after finding that ten grand on my dresser? Yeah, I was wrong. Eff luck. Eff it in the effing head. Effer.
Oh, well. My seven free days are up. Tomorrow it’s back to work where I’ll have to explain all these effing injuries and face the ridicule that will come from my coworkers. I hate you, life.
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