Yawn

Hallowe’en. Booze. Frolics. Drunks.

 

Saturday night was a fat time here in the Tropical Midwest, what with all the Hallowe’en parties and onset of bearable weather.

I didn’t partake of the party side of things, except as an observer from my limousine driver’s perch. The Boss gave me the prime run of the night – one of his golfing buddies wanted an eleven seater for three of his mates and seven wenches. I knew we were in for a big night when they needed a wheelbarrow to cart all the booze from the house.

My town has only three or four places for the kind of frolics that involve belly shots, women in (mock) S&M gear and Columbian Beach Sand, if you get my drift, so everyone under the age of 30 was at one or other of them. Man, were there some hot looking babes strutting around, making a mockery of my notable failure in the chick dept. As one of the other limo drivers opined, where the Sam Adams are these women during the day? Are they all vampires snoozing in a coffin?

Another Floridian mystery – do all the ninety year old women with one foot in the grave take a step out and lose seventy years when the sun crashes into Mexico each night?

Hanging around waiting, I was approached by three couples (tanked) looking for their cars which had “disappeared”, two young guys wanting to know what it was like driving around “rich arseholes” and one youth looking to urinate on my limousine.

Just joking doood, he said walking headlong into a dumpster.

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