With My Luck She'd Start Climbing Trees


That winter, while we were in Charleston, May and I worked night clubs. May stripping, me doing comedy and emceeing the show.

I'll never forget some of the patter I used. At one club we worked in the front of the night club was a cutout of a horse and carriage and a sign reading Harold's Carriage House. I started the show by saying "Welcome to the Miscarriage House, all you ladies in waiting! Have we got a show lined up for you tonight! We have Paul Van and the House Rockers with Paul on the keyboards, tickling the ivories. There is Al Herman with the talking guitar, Lenny Brooks on the pigskin, Carl Smith on the sax, Bill Arnold slapping the bass and Howard Blake on the horn, all for your dancing and listening pleasure."

"Then, for the benefit of all you studs with your hands down deep in your pockets, for this week only we have Reno, the girl from Nevada, the gal with more curves than the Burma Road, with more bumps and more grinds than a Model T Ford going over a cornfield. Then we have Miss Chesterfield, the gal that satisfies. If she had as many roots sticking out of her as she has had stuck in her, she would look like a porcupine. Then there's Chili, the Hot Pepper, from below the Rio Grande, doing her hot and braless number called 'Stick It Where You Stuck It Last Night.' But, before we start the show, I've got to tell you what's wrong with our country."

"Do you know what's really wrong? It's our women! That's right! Our women, painting signs, picketing in front of abortion clinics, demanding this and that, the rights to equal pay, the rights to join the Army, the right to join the Navy, the right to join the Air Force, the right to play baseball, the right to play football, the right to use the men's dressing rooms! I'd give a brand new twenty dollar bill to see a broad take a piss in the urinal down at our clubhouse. That would be a sight to behold. Would she back up to it, or hit it head on?"

"Women's Rights! Rights! Rights! Rights! What about a man's rights? What about the right to get laid at least five or six times a week? Man, I've had so many handjobs, my root looks like a Chiqiuta banana, it curves to the left!"

"My wife is the only broad on our block who can drink a magnum of pink champagne, a pint of hundred proof vodka and a sixpack of malt liquor and still say no! She'll make one hell of a candidate for a convent. She's already become a none! Don't want none, ain't interested in none, can't talk her out of none, can't even bribe her out of none!"

"Of course, it hasn't always been like that. I remember back when we were first married, all that I had to do was to unzip my fly and she would grab a towel and head for the bedroom. Back then, she was built like a brick shithouse, with every brick in place, Her boobs were like big cupcakes with cherries sitting on top of them Now, after forty years of married life, they're like oatmeal cookies and raisins."

"One time, I thought about getting her one of those monkey gland transplants to stimulate her sex drive but I decided against it because with my luck she would start climbing trees and swinging from limb to limb. With my arthritis, I couldn't catch her."


To be Continued



Posted here courtesy of Midway Publications - Copyright 1999 William T. Usher All rights reserved


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