It all started innocently enough.
I came agonizingly awake. Eyes like slits, I peer blurry at whatever it is that is there.
Fe.
Garbed in little more than the flaming red thong FanBoy brought her back from Victoria's Secret as part of a small package of essentials he shleped back from Okinawa which has all those things and more.
Shuffle into the kitchen to pounce greedily on the last cold can of Canada Dry Ginger Ale in the house that I cleverly hid last night in the way back of the ref behind the pickles she hates fucking pickles and ain't never gonna look there oh fuck shit cocksuckers the fucking thing is gone!
She got here before me...ok, ok, it's cool, don't panic.
I didn't wanna shlep today out to S&R cause it's a Sunday, not the day of rest around here, but more like the day of everyone all go to the mall at the same time and create mass chaos.
Ok, fuck it, I'll brave the stores out onna Base, pick up some beverages, who knows what other strange and wonderful goodies awaits at like Parkson's...this place's is really strict on their dress code, especially hats. Man they get all like mental over hats. Usually Fe is there to remind me and leave it inna crumplemobile.
Today, no, I forget, so just tuck the bill inside my pants waist and enter and get my little cart and cool it's too early Church ain't let out yet I can still do this without crying.
I stuff my cool new almost functional counterfeit super duper Apple earbuds in and crank up the volume in a Tribute To Warren Zevon but I get instead Skynrrd telling Neil Young to go fuck himself and that's ok also...off I go, strolling when suddenly out of the blue a hand grips my arm from behind and there this rather squeaky voice going sir sir sir...the entrance guard dude.
"What?"
"Please, Sir, you will place your ball cap in mumble mumble mumble..."
"No."
I start walking again - turns out I didn't drape my shirt over the cap. Or something. This whole episode got me so upset that I was forced to go to a Perimeter Bar.
There a rather subdued conversation occurred among folks that you could only call habitues - I don't have the little mark thingie for an accent but you get the picture. Some guys been here long long time. In the trade. On the fringes. In the middle. There and back as it were.
Lotta Mamsans hanging around outside their bars they say...not a good sign for a lot of reasons.
Many have been in or have friends that were or are still in jail - rumor has it that all the previous Mamasans from the last Carousel raid are still in the slammer - and they don't wanna go.
Gee, no shit.
So this really changes a lot of things, none for the good sadly...
There's a lack of money for them to make because they aren't inside where they can almost always, in a busy bar, get 5-15 Ladies Drinks of an evening, unless you are one of the real serious drink naughty girl ripper-offers and then who knows?
They also aren't inside doing the very important supervision waltz, and few things need more supervising than a Heartbreaker.
They also aren't there to serve as your conduit, your buffer, your go-to person when trying to actually communicate with a Heartbreaker.
Not to mention how difficult a situation they are now in, with regard to new recruits.
Here's some panties.
And tits, turns out Guys like big tits!
Who knew?
