Quote:
Originally Posted by Mrs. Rogers
There's a terrible rumour that you, during one of your alcoholic black-outs, wandered into a lezbean biker bar ... what goes on in those dreadful places? Is it true that they don't even allow balls on the pool tables? Did you really wake up with a half-burnt bra on your head and a pool cue up your bottom?
I only ask so that you can put the rumours to rest, Brother.
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What little I remember was after donig some Tequila slammers with another guy, we decided "those babes just need some real men to make them forget about carpet cleaning!"
Things get a little fuzzy after that. Pink Harleys are an abdomination before God!
I seem to remember balls on the table, but the ends of the cue sticks are sorry to offend "phallus" shaped.
Me and Jeffers went in there and hollered, "hey, babes, we is here to show you what men are all about. Bend over and let us drive!"
About that time I got whopped in the head by something and that's the last I remember until waking up in jail the next morning. Sheriff Swafford felt sorry for us and let us go. We had to pay for the damages at the bar, it seems we put up a bit of a fight, but for some strange reason all my body hair was gone.