So, we finally got the bachelor party photos back from the lab and they’re not too bad. There’s even some of the stripper getting beat up, but luckily I kept my heart true and didn’t get caught up in the blood frenzy. That’s right, I saved a stripper’s life, once again. I feel pretty good about that, but you’re not here to listen to me toot my own horn, you’re here to see the craziness unfold before your eyes.
As we all laughed about getting a three way tie, we didn’t even notice Frenchy slide up in his slick suit. After a high five, and a hearty hello, we got back to the bachelor party. Now we just have to wait for the stripper to show. I wonder who it will be? You see we live in a small town, so you have to take whoever the agency sends you, but it’s not like it matters, there’s no such thing as a bad stripper.
It was now looking like we were going to drink piss, not that there’s anything wrong with that, and Scooter was the first one to down his. He said it smelled and tasted like some sort of piss, but that it wasn’t human or cat. We all wondered how the hell he knew that, and he said he watches the Discovery Channel a lot. We didn’t question further because he’s fucking huge, and he just drank some piss. Now it’s my turn.
As Frenchy tried to read the handwritten label on the small bottle in his hand, we all had a good laugh. He showed us the label and then we realized what had happened. The guy at the Husky truckstop in Cochrane, Ontario had sold him bear urine. Frenchy thought it said ursine ursine, but it really said ursine urine. It’s used to keep deer and other animals away from your pot plants, but we didn’t know until it was too late. Oh well, it was an honest mistake.
Well, I’m sorry to do this to you, but we don’t have time to finish this story. It will have to continue on Friday, because tomorrow is Therapy Thursday. I really hope some kind soul sends in a problem to us at email@example.com. If not, I guess I’ll have to do some more Dear Abbies. Boooo
Ain’t no sunshine when she’s gone, this house just ain’t a home, anytime she goes away,
P.S. Want more? There are two more posts in this series, and the next one is The stripper, a pictorial Pt.II