Thoughts Of A Dirty Young Mind


Hi, My name is Anthony.

I am going to assume most of your high school cheerleaders are alcoholic ex-pharmaceutical sales reps in loveless second marriages by now.

Ever been to a whore house? How ’bout an Asian whore house? I have.

A couple friends and I were drowning about 20 long island ice teas each at a strip club in rural Illinois. Throwing these random green pieces of paper with George Washington on stage that apparently encourage terrible looking farm women with weird teeth to finger themselves in front of you for the price of a McChicken.

As we leave, I take a couple steps and totally puke all over these black van style shoes I bought 10 hours earlier. Luckily I have a mint in my pocket. Walk up to this whore house across the street or “Spa” Taped to the door is a handwritten note that simply says “come in.”

Inside, some morons are there looking to get jerked off. Some bottom of the barrel idiots, but there were also some folks that appeared normal in this waiting room lobby, which I thought was more weird.

We ring the bell. Some guy starts acting frantic, insisting he’s next, afraid someone will cut him. We barely resist laughing at his panic. This guy says something along the lines of “I have to talk to you. Can I talk to you inside?” The older Korean lady goes in we walk around outside… laughing trying to get into another strip club blah blah blah. Not important. We end up back. We ring the bell again. An older lady opens the door, maybe fifty-something.

“Herrro, herrro,” she says in a heavily North Korean accent.

Echoing like she’s on a toilet or something.

She’s saying all dumb shit like, “40 dollar 40 dollar 40 dollar for everyone.” We kind of sit there in a drunken-stoned stupor. Then, in my paranoia, I start to believe that she thinks we’re cops.

She insists on rubbing my head or popping my neck or something, talking about all dumb shit like “oh you have tension on your right side not your left” blah blah blah. Starting to get bored but still confused as to why this old whore is trying to massage us in a waiting room lobby. She then takes turns massaging the three of us while one of my friends was outside in the Blazer because he was drunkenly mumbling about how we were all going to get killed. She then asks if anyone would like a Coke. We decline. Goes inside insisting we take one. Locks both locks behind her. In a very freaked out manner.

Returns to the lobby. With dollar bills. Hands the four of us $2 dollars each… for some reason. Apologizing about something a bunch after giving us some weird neck popping back rub bullshit that made no sense.

The weirdest experience I have ever had at a whore house.

But that’s not Vegas. Where people stand along the boulevard with their soulless hollow stare. Handing you cards colorful business cards with half naked women on them. Saying “girls” and smacking the cards against their hands for attention to the tourists who try to ignore them. These crazy vapid vessels that were once maybe an actual person that had emotion.

We got some cards, called a few girls, they showed up, we decided to insult them and turn them down, which got us even more trouble. Using American Psycho quotes like “You’re not quite a blonde are you?” Telling them they were ugly and saying “next.” While they very angrily and awkwardly typed into their prepaid flip phone. Getting phone calls to our hotel room as they walked out the door with a lot of questions we tried not to laugh at.

Flip through some cards.

Search some shit online.

End up with this chick whose name I’m not sure I ever asked.

I go down stairs to the valet, get in some parked Taxi pull out my GPS app on my cell phone to make sure he’s not going to give me the run around and drive me like 20 minutes out of the way because I’m sure I don’t look like a Vegas regular as I hailed him down from a hotel. Give him the address. 10 minutes later, arrive in some ghetto run down use to be hotel possibly part of Vegas. Vaguely off the strip. Walk out of the cab into a third-world country where people are wearing Red Robin uniforms or something walking the street.

So I call the chick, being in some drunk, pilled-out stupor like, “So where do you live? My cab just dropped me off where the GPS said.” Because I am a 22nd century idiot with little to no experience finding where the hell I’m suppose to go without a pocket computer that makes phone calls. She is somehow looking out a possible bathroom window waving me down like “You see me,” and I just hang up and laugh as I have the room number still. I make my way over and start walking up these stairs as this dude is leaving. I’m so drunk I’m just like, “What’s up man,” and he mumbles some weird cave man or neanderthal-like noises that I barely understand if I even did at the time.

I knock on the door. She answers, offers me a beer and asks me to sit down. At that moment I realize this isn’t a hotel and people live in these places somehow. She makes small talk. I make fun of the dude that was leaving talking like an idiot, when she tells me that was her boyfriend. Which I think was hilarious, because in my head it was like, “Hey can you leave, some guy is going to pay me to blow him.” And he was all, “Yeah no problem babe,” Kiss kiss.

I think she asked my name to which I more than likely made up some name from a movie or TV show I recently watched on Netflix. She offered me a beer, COORS Light if you’re into detail like myself. Sitting on the couch, she sat down next to me and gave me a beer and starting making small talk while I was rolling a blunt. I was like, “What do you do?” out of habit and she said “Well, I guess I suck dick for $45,” and we both laughed hysterically, probably me more so but I believe we both laughed.

I finished rolling the blunt, packing it full of whatever weed she had on the table. Lighting it up and smoking it. She was all, “Let me see your dick,” and pulled it out. Grabbing a condom from the some drawer in the table sliding it on my flaccid cock and begins jerking me off while I’m get high. If I haven’t said this so far, I love Vegas. It is the best city in the world. She starts blowing me while I’m just getting high smoking this blunt. Thinking about whatever gets me off when I’m drunk and pilled-out on a couch in a hookers apartment. For some 30-50 minutes or so, didn’t really time it. Blah cum, small talk, call cab, walk out. Passing her boyfriend on the outside, still fucked up and thinking it was funny was just like, “What’s up man,” to where he said, “What’s up,” responding like his girlfriend blowing me makes us best friends. I bum a lighter because that fucking whore stole it.

Light my cigarette and walk to my cab.

image – Flickr / DerrickT