Portland used to be the wild, wild west.
In the 80s, you could pay off your parking tickets with cocaine.
Musicians were still ugly, and the cops were still blowing up grocery stores and robbing dealers
Gather 'round children, grandpa wants to talk about the good ol' days.
I was living with a stripper in a basement apt. on 19th and Burnside. She worked in a glittery toilet on 3rd and couch they called "Club Macombo".
It smelled like moldy ice, rancid jizz, and sweaty dollar bills. #Thatsshowbusiness!
This place had a giant neon sign in the front window that said
" Nude dancing
20 beautiful girls
and three ugly ones "
Which meant they offered discount tug jobs in the champagne room.
And tug they did. A lot.
My girls horrible stripper friends would come over after a busy weekend and they would be wearing wrist braces, because they all had carpal tuggers syndrome.
They would talk about how stupid the guys were, how bad their backs hurt, and how they all hated the open toed stripper shoes because they would get man gravy between their toes.
Those big titties are a curse fellas, you just don't understand.
At that time, I had my usual hustle going, doing OK, but she made even more money than I did.
A lot more. However, I didn't take singles, so mine was easier to count, and you didn't have to glove up.
Aaaaanyway, I will finish telling you this story later, grandpa needs a nap.
