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ON THE FRONT LINES with Freak |
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ON THE ROAD WITH... FREAK NUDES-A-POPPIN’
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ROSELAWN, INDIANA – 8/17/03
Every now and then
someone will interrupt your journey through life with an amazingly stupid
question. It happens to me
all the time –– “Would you
like another beer, it’s on the house” or “Hey,
we have a hundred strippers coming by for some friendly competition, would
you like to hang out and host the festivities?”
In
either case, you simply smile, restrain the urge to pump your fists in the
air, and calmly say -- “Sure, why not.”
I was contemplating
that very scenario as my friend Jimmy and I rotted on I-80/94 en route to
the Ponderosa Sun Club on Hwy. 10.
One by one and
sometimes in groups of five they came, mostly young, mostly good looking,
but definitely all nude women dancing their hearts out to various types of
music for the judges under the hot afternoon sun.
Thirty girls and a
12-pack into it, we fell into to an odd mind-set I like to call the... Miss
Universe Elimination Inversion.
Let me explain.
If any of the contestants from the Miss
Universe pageant walked into your local pub and grabbed a seat at the bar,
they would instantly become the hottest piece of ass in the joint and
normally rational men would be falling all over themselves just trying to
get their attention. In the pageant,
however, we find ourselves criticizing these same women for the smallest
infractions in demeanor or appearance.
Trust me, Miss Sweden isn’t going to get turned down by anyone
hanging out at The Backdoor Lounge
or Second Dimensions because
her second toe is freakishly longer than her big toe.
It just wouldn’t happen.
That said, we found
ourselves nit-picking these poor girls to death until the competition, at
least for us, turned into a hunt for the ugliest of the bunch.
All the imperfections
that go unnoticed in the smoked filled darkness of a strip club were
mercilessly illuminated by the sun. Bruises,
scars, cellulite, and stretch marks no matter how tiny were spotted and
duly noted by the two of us until a pudgy brunette from Michigan with a
bad boob-job and a c-section scar finally took first place.
The Hedgehog finally
joined me on stage to help hand out the awards and it was over.
We hauled our drunk asses back to the food barn and filled up on
some bar-b-que before heading back home.
This is where Karma
decided to strike again.
Not wanting to rot on
I-80/94 again, we plotted a back-roads escape towards Illinois.
We headed west on 10 to 47 where some of Indiana’s finest were
waiting for us. They clocked
us doing 92 in a 55 and after failing a roadside sobriety test, Jimmy blew
a .12 and was immediately arrested. I was then charged with public intoxication, cuffed, and
hauled off as well.
I won’t name the
exact city since there’s still a court date pending but I will say it
resembled the fictional TV town of “Mayberry.”
The cop that took me in was in his late fifties and had his wife,
who took the opportunity to lecture me about alcohol abuse during the trip
back to the lock-up, riding in the squad with him.
We arrived at the station before the other car so, as I waited in
the back seat, the officer got out, unlocked the front door, and went
inside and turned on the lights before returning to get me.
The other car, which
had stopped for gas, arrived soon after and we were finally booked for our
respective charges and surprisingly issued I-bonds and allowed to call our
girlfriends to come pick us up.
It
was 9am when I finally got home. I’d
missed the show and was being railed via telephone for doing so by Mancow
as well as the listeners.
Karma was obviously still upset over the whole Baltimore thing (Editor’s
Note: refer to Freak’s May 2003 column) and had kicked me once
again. In the shower it came to me, to fix things I’d have to return to Maryland, the scene of the crime, but what then? How would I appease the powers that be to get Karma back on my side? I guess I’ll figure it out when I get there, seems like I always do. |
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We
arrived around 11am and made our way towards the main tent where Ron Jeremy was waiting with a cooler packed with ice cold Miller
Lite.