On my way back from Oceanside, half past three a.m., I managed to snag another ride on my way home. I recognized the address on my phone, because I had been there a few times before–⏤but for Uber needs only.
I was booked to pick up a customer from one of the local strip joints.
Once in the parking-lot, some big guy opened my passenger door and flung his fat ass inside.
I know that sounds mean of me to say it like that, sorry dude if you stumble upon this, but this is for entertainment purposes, and that’s how this muhfucka entertains yo.
The big belly next to me smelled of booze, but as I already knew and he made a point to inform me, they don’t serve alcohol up in there–⏤just O’Doul’s–⏤and who the hell wants to drink that shit?
“Man, I think I got drunk on O’Doul’s,” Captain Placebo said.
Dude must’ve smuggled in some booze or something, because he sure talked like he was drunk, repeating his story how he moved up here because of a stripper ex girlfriend.
Captain Placebo didn’t have anything good to say about the club, which made me wonder why the hell he went in the first place, but he kept circling back to some fifty year old titty hanging bitty that was trying to hustle him.
“The whole time I was there, I forgot to look at a vagina. It was right there in my face, and I didn’t look at it.”
What the fuck was that guy looking at then? Old, ugly or not, if there was a vagina in my face, I’d be looking yo. Maybe not necessarily enjoying it, but I’d sure as hell would notice beef curtains draped in my field of vision.
“There were vaginas all over the place, and I didn’t look at any of them!” Mr. Placebo said sounding genuinely disappointed in himself. “I want to go back.”
It must have been awhile since dude got laid–⏤I kind of felt sorry for him. Aside from his O’Doul breath and his drunken loudness, he was a pretty cool guy, a good passenger, and he was a tipper too. Tippers are always awesome in my book.
I hope he remembers to look at the meat wallets next time–⏤maybe if he lays off the O’Doul’s.