Well, this is what I get for not visiting the extras club downtown in two years: New faces who may or may not give you what you expect.
There was only one girl working when I popped in there at noon. She was hot, so I was thinking with my little brain and not my big one when she convinced me to go from the couch to the bed to "get naughty." I thought she was speaking my language when she came back and I was unholstered. But besides the initial squeezing and some light stroking of my tip when she was riding on top of me, she was not naughty at all. I have no idea what she was thinking, but I believe that she knew what I was thinking, and therefore leading me to believe she was going to give me what I want (especially when showing her my hard dick should have been an indication) means she is a ripoff bitch. So Monica, consider this a demerit. I will never take you back to the bed ever again, and I'll let all of my other stripper hounds know that you lied to me and that you don't deliver.
I was frustrated by this while having lunch, so I turned on my phone's 3G so I could look through my Twitter feed. I have been avoiding the result of the Lynx WNBA Finals game because I was pessimistic about how it went (although I stayed at home all Sunday, the day of the game, and it was even on free TV, I didn't dare come across it). I just wasted $110 on this chick; now's as good a time as any to confirm that the Jynx choked at home to Indiana. And they did! Of course.
All the goddamn teams in this town suck right now. And then I just pissed away $110. Fuck my life.
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