Last night, I went to Alice’s house to celebrate her sixteenth birthday. So no, people who follow me because of NaNoWriMo, I have accomplished absolutely nothing with my book. I did, however, lose over six thousand words of it (Two Chapters) to a very big mistake made by my father while I was away.
Needless to say, I have been throw into a depression almost as horrendous as the Actual Depression (See US History). It’s possibly not that intense, but compare it to the Vietnam War except take out the part where anything except for my soul dies. Now you know the pain I am feeling. Or do you? But I digress.
She asked me to make her dinner, and, being the good friend/girlfriend that I happen to be, I kindly obliged and made my specialty soup which has been proven to make even the most aloof of lovers feel a stirring of romance in their nether-regions. And their hearts, because that’s where love really comes from, kids, okay? Don’t believe everything you watch on Porn.
I did all of this wearing a pair of Coveralls, a short blond wig, a black mustache, and a train conductor hat. At this point in the story, I’m guessing that you probably put two and two together and came up with strippers. I don’t blame you for doing so, but that’s because I always blame the strippers.
When I put two and two together, I don’t come up with strippers, at least, not until much later when the sun goes down. I come up with a cute and devoted girlfriend who dresses like a man to prove that men really can cook and the cake isn’t a lie. (PS, the cake was a lie).
Later, when the parental units of the birthday girl went upstairs, my friend Sam assisted me in picking a song (which may or may not have been but definitely WAS Pornstep), sitting Alice down on a couch, and preparing her for the dance of her life.
This dance involved me stripping off the wig, Coveralls, mustache, and hat to expose myself wearing a corset and black and white striped leggings, humping Alice in at least three different ways, and falling twice. It’s pretty sexy.
We actually have a video of the dance, which, when posted, you will agree was probably a mix between the greatest thing you have ever seen and what you imagine a dying sea lion with Tourettes and bad sex jokes would look like.
I believe the worst part was the very beginning, where I freestyled a sexy pickup line that went something like:
“Hey baby, I heard you needed help with a train that’s having trouble pulling out of the station.”
Yes, yes, I did say that. Don’t judge me; I’m not born for this line of work.
Now, I must go, as exchange students are at my house to watch a movie. I hope you all have a wonderful day, and I must make it very clear to you that the life of a stripper is one of shame, humiliation, and regret. Or, at least, the life of this stripper was.