06.02.08 - 12:25 pm

kenny.
kenny asked for beer, and i couldnt resist including him in our migrating group. he wore a loose denim jacket, the same color as his denim jeans. he wore a denim hat that rested snuggly above his small dark eyes and long goatee.
i explained to him that we were on a search for beer as well, and that if we found a place, i would buy him a beer.
he just needed something to get him through the night, he passionately lamented. he continued to tell me that he was up from california, that he had done some bad things but didnt want to be self incriminating. only that, the cops didnt know where he was and that they didnt understand him. after i removed the MD 20/20 orange jubilee from my paper sack, peter got him to admit that he was infact, a sex offender. i gave kenny a hug and exclaimed that he loved each of us. of course he did.
the beer we purchased was taken to our mt hood suite at the nearby hilton. twenty one stories up, stacked amongst the skyscrapers, we looked out walls of glass. the city was alive with glistening lights as the parade below came to an end and millions of people were left shuffling their cars down narrow channels of pavement. inside, fruit was thrown at each other. occasionally things were dropped out windows. waterfalls of beer on tables, chairs and carpets and down the fronts of our evening attire. but the man with the feathered boa signaled his desire to leave to better places. and so we did.
during our walk downtown, light sabers filled the hands of nearly every person we passed. vendors wanted seven to twelve dollars. i offered a young girl thirty dollars for hers, and she still refused. finally, i passed a desperate teen hobo and gave him twenty five cents for his. one could argue i actually stole it from him and ran off. i dont exactly recall.

marys.
like a closet one would normally stash leaky barrels of grease and dirty towels, so was marys the pinnacle of class in the business of nude entertainment. a one woman stage. correction: a fish net suit with too much woman poured inside. very dark. cramped. trolls and novelty seekers sat in the seats. unless you had a mustache, mullet, or the weathered face of a hardworking alcoholic, i dont think anyone was there to actually enjoy the women, so much as the experience of despair. i bought the man in the feathered boa a shot. he was wary, unsure if he should drink it after all the other alcohol he had just consumed the previous night and previous hours of this particular evening. so i convinced a young lady seated at the bar to drink half of it. peter made sure to tell her it was a roofiecolada. she drank it anyway. chad finished the rest. i had just ordered a drink for myself and tasted it before the group decided to migrate once more. and rightfully so.

cabaret.
seated next to the roseland, and within a shout of marys, the cabaret had what each of us needed: lights. people. multiple semi attractive girls. i traded a fresh piece of gum for some prechewed stripper gum. her name was clam jam. she refused to tell me her real name. looking like an out of work avril lavigne, clam jam had braces and an infectious enthusiasm for her work. clam jam helped me formulate a plan, but i needed one more stripper. so she suggested neiko as her favorite. i left her to go about her business and proceeded with my task: collect $45 dollars. tim put in twenty. levi put in seven. the brother put in fifteen. someone put in three. it was done. another stripper stopped me as i wormed through the masses of people and we talked. probably about buying drinks for her or arm wrestling. she was cute, so i told her i wanted her involved in my plan. clam jam was in but had suggested some girl neiko, but this girl was probably way cuter than neiko; so i requested her company instead. to my surprise, this tiny brunette was infact neiko. perfect.
when i approached the manager with the wad of bills, he exclaimed that i would need $60, because there was a t shirt involved. fuck that. keep your t shirt and take my goddamn $45. he agreed. we talked. a nice you guy in a pin stripe suit. i was probably older than him. a blonde stripper held up a magazine that had her on the cover and proudly displayed it for me while the manager polished the details. nice.
meanwhile, the feathered boa was just returning from a lap dance he had been unwillingly suckered into. fortunately, he had another experience waiting for him. the dj, a painfully nice older black guy with cornrows, demanded that the man in the feathered boa make his way to the stage. puzzled, he made his way as instructed.
there, neiko and clam jam sat him in his chair. removed his belt or found a belt or made a belt and put it around his neck. and then smeared his face with boobs, thighs, stomachs, faux kisses and tongues and moans. our group made an entire row along the backs of lounge chairs that separated us from the small stage. behind us, the main thoroughfare of foot traffic and then the bar. suddenly i was pushed forward with shouts and movement. my friend the manager was staring down another large dude. there were a few quick anticipitory lunges. and then, the attack! punches, shouts, pushing and shoving. peter jumped in to separate the two as i cheered gleefully. peter was quickly shoved aside, "IM THE FUCKIN' MANAGER!"
the fight continued. the stage was paused. boobs still in face, both girls looking at the ensuing brawl. the manager reached for something in his pocket, held it low, his thumb pressed firmly into its handle. a fucking knife! this guy is going to get stabbed right infront of me! fuck yeah! i was slightly disappointed when the knife turned out to be an extendable baton, but was still more than happy to enjoy the other guy get pummeled by it. as soon as the guy hit the floor, he was swallowed up by the crowd of people and dragged off like the bad guy at the end of ghost.

awesome. so the strippers resumed.

the man continued to wear his boa, even when asked to dance for the girls. he was told to climb the pole and touch the ceiling. unfortunately he was put on all fours, with a girl on his neck and another thrusting herself behind him. i dont think he enjoyed that part. and then, it was done. he was reborn. we left soon after.

i made sure to grab my light saber on the way out.

*the rest of the evening was not as memorable. i know it ended at around 330 in the morning. i know tim ordered a pizza when we got back to the hotel room and for whatever reason the phone call took nearly ten minutes to complete. i know that more food was thrown around the room and against the $2000 plasma screen tv. i know that most people sat on the couch or in chairs and wished they were asleep. i know that i spent far too much money. half our group was still out downtown. and by downtown i mean marys. when the feathered boa returned, i gave my hugs, shook some hands and made the long way back to my car. and from there the soft folds of julies bedsheets.