If I were to say that the particular bar that would host the evening's festivities was called Green House, what would you think? I for one thought it was going to be a nice bar with an affluent crowd and perhaps a special on mojitos. In fact, it was a dark dingy hip-hop blasting dance party. Why would that be the bar of choice for the evening? Because DC had a fever, and the only perscription was more Rae Rae.
She had been texting DC all night flirting and begging him to come to Green House because it was the last night on island for a number of the Hooters girls and that was where they wanted to spend it. It was nice getting pat down for weapons on the way in, because I knew that once we got inside we would be safe. I especially wasn't hiding a gun where my dong usually goes, but thanks for checking there extensively anyway. Sorry for saying dong mom.
We get our beers and walk around, looking for Rae Rae. When we found her she had some weird growth on her lip - it was in the shape of a six foot white guy. About five minutes later she left with this dude. I felt bad for DC - all night she had been leading him on, and for this? DC was like Martin Luther King Jr, though, because the dream did not die with him. Sitting in the next barstool over was Brittany, the Hooters waitress who gets confused about pretty much anything, but specifically what someone takes with them when they ask for the rest of their food to be wrapped.
I start talking to her and for some reason she seems really into me. Maybe it was the Dakar Noir I was wearing. I go to the bar and get another round, and upon my return she is gone. The way DC described it this morning was that she was on the phone and did an impromtu demonstration of her 100 meter dash. Regardless, her bolt meant one thing - we were the last two white people in this bar.
No big deal. At least not until DC spotted some dude in a Ronaldino jersey. Long story short, DC is now the keeper on the best soccer team in the Caribbean. His "tryout" is a game tomorrow night. Now seems like a good as time as any to mention that we saw Michael Jackson last night. I'm not even joking around - this guy had a light blue bedazzled translucent blouse unbuttoned and over a white wife beater with black pants, sunglasses, a classic MJ hat and a white glove. He even had the lightening skin and jerry curl. It was like a Halloween costume.
After a while we decided that we had enough of the cast and crew of House Party. As we exit the establishment we see one of our familiar taxi drivers. This guy is actually a really good guy, and his brother is too. The best way to describe his brother is to say that he is a Rasta that runs a bodego out of the back of his pickup truck. For the first and hopefully only time in my life, I bought a cold cheeseburger out of the back of a pickup truck and then took a taxi home.
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