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| Blogs > rsbrandt44 > They Call Me...The Professor |
Hand Blown Away
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Hand Blown Away The gentleman's club down the way has a claw machine, one of those<b> games </font></b>where you struggle, fruitlessly more often than not, to pick up some item of value and maneuever it into the chute without dropping it. My favorite dancer is apparently somewhat adept at this game, having previously acquired a life-size blow-up doll. I suggested she bring him over to the pool and use him as a floatie. On this most recent occasion, she had her heart seat on a glass "massager" called the Icicle. "It's hand-blown!" she enthused. "Hand Blown?" I replied. "How is that even possible?" Against my better judgment, I agreed to let her have the grand sum of one entire dollar for two tries, and on the second try she dropped it into the chute, accompanied by much joyous squealing. "I don't think I've ever made a woman this happy or excited," I said. "What did you get?" our cocktail waitress asked as she walked up. "This massager!" she exclaimed. "That's a vibrator," our waitress said. "It's a massager," I insisted. "She has a kink in her neck. Probably other places, too." "You know what that retails for?" another dancer told her. "About 75 bucks." "I do love a bargain," I admitted. "Thank you so much!" my favorite dancer told me. "Well," I replied, "whenever you use it, think of me." "Write it on your heart that every day is the best day of the year." - Ralph Waldo Emerson |
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