If I had a dollar for every waitress I've made out with, I would be broke. Well, because the most one can do with $17 is a pair of denim jeans. So whoever had a part in the composition, production, lyrics of the original song:

"If I had a dollar for every woman I've made love with, I would be rich"?

Does not deserve to be breathing freely amongst us. Isn't there such a crime as gross deceit? The biggest womanizer, player, casanova, play boy, male slut, giggolo or whatever you want to call him, of all time - King Solomon had 500 wives and more than 1000 concubines. If we are to overlook threesomes and if my maths is right, King Solomon had $1500 according to the 'brains' behind the song. Okay and some inflation, say $2000? Gimme a break, that couldn't have been enough for even a decent spartan slave!

So if there's any justice in the world, that fellow should be beaten up and his mouth sewn shut. Plus he should be dragged no boda-bodas(for lack of camels) through Kiwunya to Nansana wherein he'll be burnt and his ashes thrown in open man-hole septic tank filth where he belongs.

Wait. Wait, that's a bit extreme. Let's just blame it on my anger management shrimp-no hard feelings, I guess I'll need that drink...

...that's better.

See, for most of you who know how unbearable it is to hang around sober minded upright folk, the bar seems like a second home. This also applies to those who are unhappily married to the quarrelsome mother of thirteen hoodlum excuses of infants. The bar is filled with nice random words like love, awesome and many others that the people around you never thought were mentioning to the colossal failure that you are. Plus the waitresses (sometimes) let you bury your head in their bosom to cry out your woes. And depending on how much you tip, kiss you generously and/or indulge in another most likely publicly inappropriate behaviour--

Hold up. Just a minute!

Yay! Breaking News! I would like to interrupt this post with great news-even by my standards. Uganda, has won a gold medal at the Olympics!

Yes! Kiprotech, whom I've never heard of has won the gold medal in a sport which is most likely scuba-diving, at the Olympics. Wait, is that...is scuba-diving an Olympic sport? Goooogle?? By the way, don't you wish Google had voice activation so that you could just yell stuff like you're ordering another round of shots?

"Ay Google! Know that fella Kiprotech??"

Anyway, Kiprotech has refuted claims that he was in London to watch nekkid girls in swim suits doing some gymnastics shit and clinched a title! Tight shit bro, though I've no idea what the deuce you do for a living. Matter of fact, i'll dedicate an entire post to finding that out. Y'all hit me up with info in your comments.

Okay where were we before we were interrupted by all these tech people. That's right. Waitresses. With their nice little uniforms like flight attendants. And the plastick-est smiles. I once stayed in a dingy town where there were no more than 4 bars which offered a pool table. The girls waiting tables in this area-code were especially generous. Or sympathetic. Or broke. Everytime I got wasted there was a kiss-compliment of the house.

Within two weeks, I had no where to hangout.

Simply because when you do such a dumb thing as make out with a waitress, you have to own up to it and budget for her drinks everytime you visit. In three words: that sucks balls.

After spending my evenings in tiny kiosks for the ensuing weeks, i got bored and lonely and decided to head for my favorite of the four bars. As if sensing my reluctance to visit, she was especially very cordial. When i declined to have my usual house compliment. She looked hurt and let me know that it was up to me and that I should,

"make up your mind and call me tomorrow. For anything you want."

My mind went like, "anything?"
Her eyes went like, "anything!"

Whoa! Been a while since I last received a booty call let alone made one. There was a downside-as usual.
I don't do lodges. I can't bear the thought of my self-righteous aunt finding me doing gymnastics in the boner olympics. Plus, I don't think I'm ready for my bastard to be born.

Yet.

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