Written by: John Tellegen
“Why don’t you pull your pants down and GIVE YOURSELF A PUSSY SPANKING YOU PATHETIC LOSER!” <OH, OHHHHHHHH!>
He was a large man and he wore a beret and a trench coat. And he was mad. Mad at me. I sat in the back of the strip club in a purple velvet chair watching my co-workers get lap dances and stick dollar bills in g-strings while this angry man berated me.
“WHERE ARE YOUR BALLS? DID YOUR GIRLFRIEND BITE OFF YOUR DICK? It’s not too late for you to be a FUCKING MAN!” <OHHHHHH!>
I didn’t know who this asshole was but since nobody else in the club seemed to pay him any attention, I was sure he was a figment of my sick mind. And somehow, I felt that I deserved him.
Three days ago I had been invited to this bachelor party after I overheard some guys at work talking about it. Griff was getting married. I don’t think I was supposed to be on the guest list because everyone at work thinks I’m a prude. The general vibe around the store seems to be that I’m not much fun. After I interrupted the guys with my patented, “Hey guys, whatcha takin’ about?“ they took pity on me I guess and extended the invite.
When I got home from work I expected Shelby to freak out and demand that I not go, instead she said ‘have fun’ and smiled without a care in the world. It bothered me that she wasn’t the least bit worried that I might do something objectionable. Why is everyone so sure about me?
Now that I was at the club the guys were hardly paying attention to me. Even the strippers weren’t coming by to pester me for a lap dance. Maybe I had died and I was just a figment of my own imagination.
Apparently this lunatic who kept screaming in my face thought so.
<OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!>
“Please stop yelling in my face!” I demanded. “Look, I know you’re not real okay so leave me alone.”
“You want to know what’s not real? THE AWESOME FUCKIN’ TITTIES IN YOUR BUDDY’S FACE WHILE YOU SIT BACK HERE LIKE A PATHETIC SALLY!” <OHHHH!>
“I’m not pathetic,” I said, not sure at that moment I even believed it. “Famous dead people visit me, what can you be famous for?”
“I’m Sam Kinison you fuck-tard. I’m so famous JESSICA HAHN TOOK A SHIT ON MY CHEST!” <OH, OHHHHHHHHH!>
“Who?”
<OHHHHHHHHHHH!>
This was getting us nowhere. “I’m pretty sure if you’re dead, someone killed you and I’d like to buy that someone a beer.” But instead I grabbed my phone and texted Shelby:
At the club, naked girls everywhere!
After a moment she texted back:
Trying to get some sleep! Have fun!
Not the reply I was hoping for.
“Is that your little girlfriend?” Sam asked, affecting his voice to be condescending. “I hope you’re not planning on marrying her cause GAY MARRIAGE AINT LEGAL YET SALLY!”
As I nodded, completely annoyed, Griff swung by to check on me. He didn’t look like a guy who should be getting married, he looked like a guy who should be getting a penicillin shot.
“You alright, Kyle?”
“Yeah,” I said trying to look heroic.
“The guys said I shouldn’t ask you, but…” He mumbled in my ear as the music pounded.
“Ask me what?” I inquired.
“…There’s a stripper giving handies in the VIP room.”
“Oh,” I tried to play it cool. “I have a girlfriend.”
“And a vagina,” Sam quipped.
“Yeah, that’s what they said you would say,” Griff said.
I watched Griff swim his way back through the ocean of silicone and I must admit, at that moment I felt pretty low. Everyone seemed to think they knew exactly who I was and what I would do. And maybe they were right.
Just then my phone vibrated. It was another text from Shelby:
Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do! LOL.
I steamed as I stared at the LOL.
“What an angel,” Sam snarked in my ear. “You two must take precious photo booth slides.”
“Why are you so jaded, man? Just because you never found love?”
“I finally did find love you little jizz-drip. Her name was Malika and we got married 6 days before I flipped my FUCKING CAR ON HIGHWAY 15! HOW’S THAT FOR FUCKING LUCK!” <OHHHHHHHHHHH!>
“That sucks. But does screaming in my face make you feel any better?”
“Yeah, actually it does.” Sam smiled. “Now stop pretending like you might actually do something out of character and go home to your little Shelby.”
“No,” I shot back. “You don’t know me.”
“I know when a guy leaves his DICK IN HIS BEDSIDE TABLE! Let me ask you something, DO THEY SELL MEN’S CLOTHES WHERE YOU BOUGHT THAT SHIRT?” <OH, OHHHHHHHH!>
I grabbed Griff as he passed with a beer. “Yo, where’s the VIP room?”
“No shit?” Griff and Sam said in unison.
I glanced at Sam but spoke to Griff, “You only live once, right?” Griff nodded and pointed toward the room with his head as he walked off.
“Wait,” Sam pleaded, “don’t do this on my account. I was just fucking with you man.”
“Did you know you were going to die before you died?” I asked Sam.
“I’m a comedian shithead, not a psychic.”
“Well, I’m a man not a pussy.” For a moment I felt like Eastwood.
I made my way toward the VIP room, my nerves were jumping out of my skin. This could be the worst decision I had ever made. But I was going to do it. And not because I was trying to be a ‘man’ or because I was mad at Shelby or because I wanted to impress the douche bags from work, but because at that moment, more than anything, I needed to prove to myself that I wasn’t a completely predictable joke.
Later, as we were all leaving the club, high-fiving and chattering about the work we would do the next day, I felt incredibly guilty for what I had done. I wished I could confess to Shelby but these kinds of stories are not usually meant for girlfriend ears. Not if you hope to have a girlfriend when the story is over.
Maybe I’ll tell Shelby about this on our tenth wedding anniversary…. Then again, maybe not.
A Few Minutes With... 
I like handies!