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Miss Tyler approached my table and looked like she was about to give me the treatment.The dollar bills in my pocket set aside for emergency were not needed, my friend.Now, I wasn't the biggest fan of Strip clubs per se. Neither was it that I didn't enjoy seeing babes naked.I wasn't one of those guys, either, who only said they disliked those places to appear to be sensative. Maybe it was just my cheap Scottish streak that found it distasteful to dish out my hard earned Dollar Bills down the garter of some harlot 'working her way through college' at my expense.But, in the long run, I-Dog and my Penis were pretty persuasive, and we eneded up deciding to go down to the Foxy Lady.We pick up two of our esteemed cronies, I's best buddy Jake, and ol' Joe Pace, the 5' 1" Italian stallion, son of a Brick Mason, and possibly the funniest bastard you'd want to meet.
But the main event, eagerly anticipated, and just about to come on: one Miss Bunny-Jo Tyler. Out into the spotlight glides the biggest set of boobs this young reporter had ever seen.
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Then, suddenly, I rejoined the world of light and sound, and hundreds of screaming and cheering patrons of the Foxy Lady. Miss Tyler had turned a possible tragic incident into the highlight of her show. Every time I went to the Men's room, I was slapped on the back and congratulated.
I never did get my free drinks for the night, which I thought was unfair, but I did receive an 8-1/2 -11' autographed publicity photo of Bunny-Jo, and a brief tete-a-tete.