she's a hooker, right?

so, last night, Any and i head out to our favorite tavern for some dinner around eight (after the OC was over, of course) and we plop down at the bar and the conversation goes something like this:

bartender1: ...so she's waving these big ole titties around in my face and...oh hey guys, what'll you have?
any: gimme a corona
me: bud light
bartender2: you guys here for the oil wrestling?



any: sorry, did you say oil wrestling?
me: we are now...
bartender1: so these titties man, she's waving them ...

and the evening continued as such. i got served the wrong order, but ended up with a pretty tasty piece of prime rib and mashed potatoes. we're just listening to the virtues of bolt-ons by bartender number one, who's become our best friend and has now included us in on every sordid detail of of his sex life and some woman sits down right next to any. very attractive woman, in her late 30s, pretty face, nice hair, bright blue eyes and as she nuzzles up to the bar, so do her heavy C cups. she then proceeds to spend the next hour and a half getting to know us. what we do, where we're from, etc. we had an extensive discussion about the fatboy and why the sportster just wasn't the same motorcycle it used to be...

her: so what do you guys do for a living?
me: i'm in project management for IT with cingular.

blank stare

me: you know when you turn your cell phone on and you can do things like text and recall old numbers and use stuff like rollover? i work the projects that makes that...
her: and you?
any: i work with plastic.

queue cricket symphony

b1: ...and she's on her knees and in her mouth...

well, the DJ gets the music going for karaoke, we order another round of shots and any's new girlfriend excuses herself to the lady's room.

her: will you watch my chardonnay? (placing her napkin and cigarette pack on top of the glass ever so delicately)
any: dude, she's rubbing the inside of my thigh and my bicep. she won't let go. i think i'm golden.
me: what bicep?
any: i'm serious man.
me: so she's a hooker, right?
any: that's what i was thinking.
b1: i've got her bent over the hood of my dad's 64 chevy...
me: yeah, she's gotta be.

and again, this is how our evening continued. the women that were to be wrestling in oil later...

b1: dude, they're hookers...

...sauntered around the bar selling tickets, tempting drunken idiots like ourselves to actually get in the ring with them.

b1: man, that one's got a vicious left hook. they don't fuck around up there. they beat the shit outta each other. no shit. see the one with the huge tits? she will FUCK YOU UP!

the DJ starts a techno song with a heavy base beat

b1/b2 in unison: hey! it's dance on the bar thursday!!!

all 3 of the oil women climb up on the bar right next to me and proceed to shake anything that will. the back of the bar is mirrored, so we get to see the show from both points of view.

we paid our tab out later, hugged our newest friends, exchanging numbers and promised christmas cards this year and help building the custom chopper kit on the way.

the mcgriddles were good this morning.