Wednesday, July 2, 2008

Titties, guns and Butts County. The Eldrin fuckin' Bell redux.

I was looking at my logs Monday evening and found myself scratching my head as to why so many people were searching for and landing on my entry about Big Brother’s Little Helper, Eldrin fucking Bell, from last year. Sometimes an old post will get numerous hits out of the blue, sometimes because of events in the news, but usually for no apparent reason. It’s like a flock of people just appear for no reason and then disappear. Then I caught last night’s 11 O’clock news and found out why so many people were looking for blog entries on Bell, starting as early as Saturday night.

Apparently Eldrin was at a private 4th of July party on Saturday, thrown by a titty bar baron who lives down in Butts County. No pun intended. While at this party Bell fucked up his thumb and it appears that rumors started flying that he (or someone else?) had shot off his thumb. Now it appears he just burned the shit out of it while shooting an unspecified large caliber handgun at the titty bar magnate’s indoor shooting range.

Before I go any further, let me get a couple of stories out of the way before addressing Big Brother’s Little Helper. I’ve been to a titty bar on two occasions in my life. Both times I was with my best friend of almost 25 years. This guy used to sell cheap jewelry to strippers in Philly from the back of his car when he was 18 years old so his perspective on the whole titty bar thing is completely different than mine. The guy is a riot and he’s actually an amazing guy, even though he thinks titty bars are a hoot. His name is Mike.

The first time I ever went to one of those joints was back in the early 80’s, long before they became “gentlemen’s clubs”. Back then, they were dangerous dives with dangerous patrons and they employed dangerous women who looked hard from the road they had traveled. So here we are in this titty bar in Pensacola, Florida; five of us in total and we are all young sailors. I was sitting between Mike and one of my favorite all-time wild men, a guy I worked with whom I’ll ID only as Steve.

Steve was a wild fucking mess of a bastard and one of the greatest free spirits I’ve ever known, he ran with total abandon through life. God bless the Steve’s of this world for they make the daily drudgery of existing more colorful, exciting and interesting. One time he lost a brand new rented Iroc Camaro in Ft. Lauderdale during Spring Break. The ship we were all crewmembers of made port visits to Ft. Lauderdale every spring and on one occasion Steve rented an Iroc while we were there. Dude walked down the brow of the ship one afternoon and suddenly realized he didn’t know where he parked the car. In fact he realized that he didn’t remember how he did get to the ship the night before or what he had done after about 5PM the night before. Lost a brand new, 1987 model with the T-top, rented Iroc. Gone baby. Lost. Forever.

So here is Steve, sitting to my right at the end of the dancing area. This dancer came up to me, looked down while she was shaking the moneymakers and I noticed that she had crossed eyes, tattoo’s on her tits and was wearing a gold lame bikini. Unlike Bob Dylan, I didn’t look a little bit uneasy and she didn’t bend down to tie the lace…of my shoes. I just stared at one of her eyes, beer bottle frozen half way between bar top and my lips. She sensed no dollar tips were coming from me so she sauntered over to Steve, who I now noticed was leaning on the bar with both elbows, that Wildman gleam in his eyes and a big grin on his face. “Oh boy..” I thought.

Mike is sitting to my left and talking with one of the guys he worked with and I’m staring straight ahead at the distant wall. The next thing I know the stripper screams and I look to the right to see Steve right at the tail end of something that I’d never seen before. As she was shuffling away I could see this large shiny streak of saliva running up the crack of her ass and Steve was cackling with that killer laugh he had. As the stripper bent over in front of him, Steve related to us later, he licked her from somewhere in the vicinity of the taint all the way up to somewhere close to her tail bone.

The stripper chick was also moonlighting as a biker chick and guess who was playing pool on the other side of the titty bar? Yup, the boyfriend and members of the motorcycle gang he was with. Back then; bikers weren’t stockbrokers or even guys who made a good living doing general contracting construction work. Back then, bikers were rough bastards who used to slit people open with knives and date strippers. We were in deep shit.

Long story short, we escaped with a few minor pushes and shoves and only a punch or two thrown by the bikers. Steve had given us a brush with death all because he thought it would be great fun to lick a cross-eyed stripper’s ass crack. I miss crazy ass Steve and often wonder what became of him through the years.

The second trip to a titty bar came a year or so after Dave Attel had a show on Comedy Central where every week he would traipse around a different city, showing what happens there at 3AM. He had visited Atlanta and showed the world the joys of the Clermont Lounge down on Ponce. Mike was visiting and he simply had to see the bar where the bartender crushed beer cans with her tits and see the mother and daughter strippers. This time we got out without danger of being shiv’d by a biker but middle age had robbed us of much of the rambunctiousness of our Navy days. Still, it was an experience to be had.

With the stories out of the way let me say that while I don’t think those types of clubs return something worthwhile to the community, I certainly will back up anyone’s choice to own, visit or work in one. It’s all about freedom of choice and letting people make their own decisions in life. Hey, if you can find no inner light, no sense of self-realization or sense of human decency from our existence in this temporary and ethereal realm, go for it and enjoy Tammy on the center stage. Besides, it’s only a fucked up rationalization of human sexuality and lack of love for themselves or their fellow man that drives people to such places. It’s not like they are doing something that destroys communities and lives, like selling heroin to 8 year-olds or becoming a politician.

So, Eldrin fuckin’ Bell is at the palatial estate of this titty bar mogul on Saturday and he fucks his thumb up while shooting a gun. Let’s go a few layers deeper here. While I have never been to a party thrown at the palace of a titty bar empire owner, I do expect there would be several things I could count on if I did:
1) There will be lots of expensive booze to drink for free. (Or maybe it’s rotgut placed into Top Shelf bottles?)
2) Got Cohibas? Smoke ‘em if you got ‘em.
3) Like easy women with big fake boobs? Plenty of those too.
4) If I’m someone who the titty bar owner wants to curry favor with, or show appreciation for, I can expect to have wild and naughty sex with a (several?) of his employee(s). i.e…the girls who show their titties.

Look, I’m not saying it’s cool, I’m just saying that if I’m supporting and backing a titty bar owner in a county where the sheriff is 100% against this guy’s business and that sheriff is my enemy…Well…I’d be expecting his employees (the strippers) to provide me with some lovin’ I can’t get at home…if you know what I mean.

You can say I’m a bad person for saying that but hey, I’m not in that position and I am not looking for that and I am not condoning it. I’m only telling you how these sort of things sometimes work out in the real world. No one in their right mind backs a titty bar owning scumbag, lowlife bottom-feeder unless they are getting SOMETHING in return, even if said titty bar looser is an enemy of your enemy. It may be illegal to offer or take a money bribe but if your bread and butter is the exploitation of women, you don’t even need to worry about the dreaded “B” word. Just send the more impressionable and easy of the girls over to give away a free blowjob and you are all set.

I’m not saying Eldrin fuckin’ Bell is getting stripper blowjobs for his support of the low life strip club vermin. What I’m saying is if he’s at a 4th of July party, that is invitation only for the mucky-mucks, with all those young and sexually free women around and free booze is flowing like the river Jordan….what in the fucking hell is Eldrin doing wasting his time shooting fucking guns for fun? Seriously, is Bell into some sort of weirdo power trip thing where the only way he can pop usable wood, is after he fires off some rounds at the shooting range? Why isn’t he in some hidden bedroom, getting really funky stripper sex while guzzling straight from the Chivas bottle?

Man, Eldrin. Go back to making seriously fucked up analogies of George Orwell’s novel and fucking with the public’s expectations of privacy and stay away from the titty bar gun range. Use your thumb for more useful purposes like resting inside your rectum.