"Ahhhhh...," said Kyle and I in a tandom falsetto. The captain of the vessel fired up the diesel and we were off to the first pole, stage and tassel. Jen made the customary announcements of how things were going to work. I still couldn't believe in my mind that we wouldn't loose everyone by bar nine. In fact, when she announced that we were to visit nine random strip clubs before night's end I sat there in confusement, looking around the bus as we all bounced on our spring seats laughing like little children. Essentially, no matter how strong the mature facade, makey make , pbr, wine, and shots of pleasure would soon dissolve any of that bullshit.

The bus of rama IV was pretty tame on our way to the first stop. Where we were going was anyones guess. We headed toward NE Portland. Kyle and I discussed the possibilities, but we were way fucking off. The bus pulled its diesel gurgle and squeaked its breaks to great fanfare as we arrived at Dancin' Bare. This clever title reeked of dead head money, but its newness intruiged the dudes of fuck it to no end. Here we were. Strip club two. Fuck it.

We entered surprisingly quick to witness the oddest pool table this side of Sterling. It's the one Tetris shape you dread at level 15. The one part greek ornament, two polar right angle thingy. Kyle, the creator of tri pool couldn't believe his eyes. We headed to the U shaped bar, but anxiously hoped we could attempt a game or two of Tetris pool. Unfortunately, the drinky drink took too long so we opted to embrace the shielded kiss.

The naked lady was already on her third song so there was no mystery to her endowment. She began the ass-to-face figure eight. At this point the makey make was begining to seriously kick in so I only saw the tracing lines of the infinite symbol marked by the stitched skin. Kyle and I politely requested she release a torrent of air out of her gaping orifice in our faces, but that ended in an unfulfilled humorous fantasy.

Before we could drop a bill of gratitude Jen annouced that it was time to leave. Even the stripper was wide eyed as if a semi with bright lights was about to plant its grill in her face. Were we on the sprint journey of peenor ? Surprisingly, we all seemed to feel a sense of relief and happily single filed to the yellow bullet. There was no doubt a boob or two was left sagging. What do you do?

Excitement was in the air. The bus began to feel a bit more relaxed and Kyle and I anxiously awaited the third nipple. Our intoxication allowed us to embrace our unabashed demeanor. The creeping fuck it was in full swing and there was no turning back. We were headed to destinations unknown and we could care fucking less. This is the shit we live for.

To Be Continued...