A Few Requests Regarding Clubs:
*Don’t charge me a fucking cover because you have a computer system with a cracked out kid in a sideways hat standing next to it. Surely you’re making enough off my nine dollar drink.
*There’s an on-going debate that my being on the dance floor is an invitation to be fucked. Not so. Go ahead and argue with me. See what happens.
*You ladies crouched on the floor (get low) with your underwear flossing your ass look like those public bicycles chained to parking meters around the city. Seriously. I’ve seen butter churned with more grace.
*I realize it makes your boyfriend hard when you rub your tits on me but I’m not interested in playing pretend. I will raise the bar to reveal your prudish self and send you running right back to his lame ass.
Anything to add?
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