Post by MW on Oct 11, 2023 20:01:28 GMT -5
Our adventure begins with Sid pulling up in front of Welsh’s hotel in California which is not to be confused with the weird Hotel California. Welsh is already outside. He looks anxious, as though he’s a wanted man in a strange land.
“Marcus!” Sid yells from inside his sweet gold and black convertible.
Welsh jumps, “Sid! Man, I didn’t recognize you with the sweet stache.”
Sid nods, staring at his stache in the rearview mirror, “Yea, I know.”
“Came in pretty fast.”
“Yea, I know,” Sid continues admiring his sweet stache. He snaps out of it and looks over at Welsh, lowers his brow a bit, his eyes peeking over the top of his shades, “Get in loser, it’s drafting time!”
He doesn’t have to tell Marcus twice. Welsh hops in over the door and lands hard on the seat, wincing.
“The heck did you do that for? You could’ve just opened the door.”
“I don’t know, I’ve seen it in movies and thought it would look cool,” Welsh replies, rubbing his soon-to-be-bruised tailbone.
Sid shifts gears. Welsh comments, “Sweet ride, man. Where did you get it?”
“It’s a rental,” Sid says like a total badass before hitting the gas and peeling out of the hotel parking lot.
---
The two men sit at an Applebees. Welsh is trying to enjoy a Gin & Tonic. Sid has a Pina Colada in front of him, scoping out the action at the bar. It’s not bad for 2pm on a Wednesday at an Applebees.
“Did they mix this with Bombay...it tastes cheap as fuck,” Welsh frowns after another rough sip from his tiny straw.
“Hey, look over there,” Sid throws his majestic hair in the direction of a blonde woman in her mid-forties sitting by herself at the bar.
Welsh leans around Sid to get a look, “Ah man, I don’t know…”
“Gotcha, not a high draft grade on that one. More of a...Brooke Blakely and less of a Sahara Duke.”
“You got that right,” Welsh takes another sip and frowns. Hotel California begins to play. Sid subtly bobs his head along to the song. “Bartender! Can we change the music?”
The bartender looks up, “Not a fan of The Eagles?”
“What are you trying to say? I’m patriotic. I have no problem with Philadelphia.”
The bartender is confused.
“The Eagles, Marcus. They sing this song, not the Beach Boys. The Beach Boys sing California Girls.”
“Really?” Welsh thinks “I thought the fat woman, Mama Cass sang California Girls.”
“No, she and her band ‘Mamas and Papas’ sing California Dreamin.”
“Huh,” Welsh takes the info in and shrugs, “This state is too confusing.” He goes in for another sip.
Sid elbows Welsh in the arm, “What about her? The redhead. No ring. Confidence. I see a lot of upside.”
“Hmm,” Welsh nods. “Okay. We’ll put her on the big board, near the top!”
Sid jots down a note in front of him. “Excellent. Maybe a Vhodka-level talent there.”
“Take her off the list.” Welsh scowls.
“What? But Marcus-”
Welsh taps the notepad in front of Sid, who reluctantly scratches the redhead off the list. “I suppose the brunette behind you with traps like Roo is out of the question also.”
“Wait a second,” Welsh taps the page a few more times. “Don’t be too hasty, Sid.” Welsh takes a furtive look over his shoulder at the Roo level talent. She grabs hold of her glass of beer and accidentally crushes the glass in her hand. Too much strength.
Sid and Welsh look at each other, “Yea, off the list.”
“Marcus,” Sid nods toward the corner of the bar at a woman in her seventies enjoying a shot of whiskey. Sid points at the notepad.
“Why do you have notes on Ehud?”
“A draft expert has to always be prepared.”
“He’s dead!” Welsh scratches the notes out.
“But she isn’t! Fine, whatever. Don’t sleep on experience though. Sure, everyone wants to find the new hotshot, the new Dadbod…”
Welsh stares blankly at Sid.
“Fine, the new Dickie Watson! But there is something to be said for years of experience…” Sid drifts off, eyeing the woman.
“Gentlemen,” the bartender interrupts, sliding a cheap, plastic bottle of whiskey in front of them, “courtesy of the, um, lady across the bar.” He’s referring to the old hag. “I can tell her you two refused if you want.”
“Leave it.” Sid doesn’t break eye contact with the woman as he waves the bartender off.
“What are you doing?” Welsh whispers.
“Experience.”
“Not all experience is good experience.”
“Would you relax!”
The two struggle a bit until the woman is standing over them. “Hello,” she blurts out, her voice as rugged as her face, now that they are able to get a proper close-up in proper lighting.
“Dickie Watson?” Welsh asks, incredulously.
“Right, I might have been off…” Sid looks over his shoulder, ‘Bartender!’
But, it’s too late. She snags the whiskey and both men by the collar of their shirts, tearing them away from the bar.
—
“Pornstar Dancing” blasts throughout a dark, smoky, smelly strip club. The woman from before is doing her routine on the floor. Welsh and Sid are seated next to the stage with a mic in between them. Behind them are ten other women…none of whom look all that appealing, even in the generous lighting of this disease-infested establishment.
“It’s a good song.”
“Kinda catchy but it’s no Duran Duran,” Sid replies.
“Is that a sound effect of the song or her knees and hips popping?”
“The latter.”
“Ugh…I don’t know if I can draft her. We’ve only got two picks left.”
“She dragged us here with her bare hands while downing a bottle of whiskey. We HAVE to draft her.”
Welsh nods. The song ends. Sid leans into the mic, “With the eleventh selection of the Nibbles Draft we select…” he covers the mic, “what’s her name again?” Welsh has no clue. So, Sid improvises, “This lovely woman on stage!”
The place erupts! She steps off, acting like she’s just won some major award, hand over her chest, tears in her eyes.
“Alllright, let’s give it up for Trrrrraci!!!!” Huge applause. Welsh and Sid nod, looking at each other and saying ‘Traci’ as if it were on the tips of their tongues.
“Allllright everybody we’ve got one draft pick left, who will these two lucky bachelors select to go up into the VIP room sponsored by Sutter Home! Let’s find out as…Sa….ara hits the stage!”
“Did he just say Sahara?” Welsh asks
“I think he said Sara.”
Welsh looks on with great excitement as a blonde woman in her forties stumbles onto the stage. She’s clearly drunk and barely able to walk. “More than a Woman” plays and Welsh is overcome with emotion.
“Hold on, Marcus,” Sid tries to hold him back.
But, there’s no stopping Welsh whenever he thinks he sees the CHAMP. “DRAFTED!” he yells into the mic before Sara can begin her routine. She looks over, clueless as to what’s just happened.
The music stops. “Wellllll…okay! Give it up for Sara, everybody! The twelfth and final pick of tonight’s Nibbles Draft Sponsored by Sutter Home!”
A female voice yells out, “Wait a minute! She didn’t even get into her routine!”
Another voice yells out, “This shit is rigged!”
And before you know it, all the strippers from the back pour out onto the stage and attack Sara. The previously drafted strippers hit the stage and fight back. The greasy DJ decides to make a break for it.
One very angry-looking stripper walks up to our viewpoint and spray-paints a dick on the lens.
We instantly cut to outside the club with Welsh and Sid running into the parking lot. They stop, Sid doubles over, gasping for air while Welsh has his hands on his hips.
“I didn’t know drafting was such a nasty business, Sid.”
“You don’t want to know what these eyes have seen, Marcus.”
“I…I think I’m gonna go back to the hotel. Call Adi. Yea, that sounds like a good idea.”
Sid nods, “I think TGI Fridays is open until 1am. I’m gonna go check out the vibe.”
“Go get you some, Sid.”
“You’re a good man, Marcus.”
The two men shake hands before heading off in opposite directions.
“Marcus!” Sid yells from inside his sweet gold and black convertible.
Welsh jumps, “Sid! Man, I didn’t recognize you with the sweet stache.”
Sid nods, staring at his stache in the rearview mirror, “Yea, I know.”
“Came in pretty fast.”
“Yea, I know,” Sid continues admiring his sweet stache. He snaps out of it and looks over at Welsh, lowers his brow a bit, his eyes peeking over the top of his shades, “Get in loser, it’s drafting time!”
He doesn’t have to tell Marcus twice. Welsh hops in over the door and lands hard on the seat, wincing.
“The heck did you do that for? You could’ve just opened the door.”
“I don’t know, I’ve seen it in movies and thought it would look cool,” Welsh replies, rubbing his soon-to-be-bruised tailbone.
Sid shifts gears. Welsh comments, “Sweet ride, man. Where did you get it?”
“It’s a rental,” Sid says like a total badass before hitting the gas and peeling out of the hotel parking lot.
---
The two men sit at an Applebees. Welsh is trying to enjoy a Gin & Tonic. Sid has a Pina Colada in front of him, scoping out the action at the bar. It’s not bad for 2pm on a Wednesday at an Applebees.
“Did they mix this with Bombay...it tastes cheap as fuck,” Welsh frowns after another rough sip from his tiny straw.
“Hey, look over there,” Sid throws his majestic hair in the direction of a blonde woman in her mid-forties sitting by herself at the bar.
Welsh leans around Sid to get a look, “Ah man, I don’t know…”
“Gotcha, not a high draft grade on that one. More of a...Brooke Blakely and less of a Sahara Duke.”
“You got that right,” Welsh takes another sip and frowns. Hotel California begins to play. Sid subtly bobs his head along to the song. “Bartender! Can we change the music?”
The bartender looks up, “Not a fan of The Eagles?”
“What are you trying to say? I’m patriotic. I have no problem with Philadelphia.”
The bartender is confused.
“The Eagles, Marcus. They sing this song, not the Beach Boys. The Beach Boys sing California Girls.”
“Really?” Welsh thinks “I thought the fat woman, Mama Cass sang California Girls.”
“No, she and her band ‘Mamas and Papas’ sing California Dreamin.”
“Huh,” Welsh takes the info in and shrugs, “This state is too confusing.” He goes in for another sip.
Sid elbows Welsh in the arm, “What about her? The redhead. No ring. Confidence. I see a lot of upside.”
“Hmm,” Welsh nods. “Okay. We’ll put her on the big board, near the top!”
Sid jots down a note in front of him. “Excellent. Maybe a Vhodka-level talent there.”
“Take her off the list.” Welsh scowls.
“What? But Marcus-”
Welsh taps the notepad in front of Sid, who reluctantly scratches the redhead off the list. “I suppose the brunette behind you with traps like Roo is out of the question also.”
“Wait a second,” Welsh taps the page a few more times. “Don’t be too hasty, Sid.” Welsh takes a furtive look over his shoulder at the Roo level talent. She grabs hold of her glass of beer and accidentally crushes the glass in her hand. Too much strength.
Sid and Welsh look at each other, “Yea, off the list.”
“Marcus,” Sid nods toward the corner of the bar at a woman in her seventies enjoying a shot of whiskey. Sid points at the notepad.
“Why do you have notes on Ehud?”
“A draft expert has to always be prepared.”
“He’s dead!” Welsh scratches the notes out.
“But she isn’t! Fine, whatever. Don’t sleep on experience though. Sure, everyone wants to find the new hotshot, the new Dadbod…”
Welsh stares blankly at Sid.
“Fine, the new Dickie Watson! But there is something to be said for years of experience…” Sid drifts off, eyeing the woman.
“Gentlemen,” the bartender interrupts, sliding a cheap, plastic bottle of whiskey in front of them, “courtesy of the, um, lady across the bar.” He’s referring to the old hag. “I can tell her you two refused if you want.”
“Leave it.” Sid doesn’t break eye contact with the woman as he waves the bartender off.
“What are you doing?” Welsh whispers.
“Experience.”
“Not all experience is good experience.”
“Would you relax!”
The two struggle a bit until the woman is standing over them. “Hello,” she blurts out, her voice as rugged as her face, now that they are able to get a proper close-up in proper lighting.
“Dickie Watson?” Welsh asks, incredulously.
“Right, I might have been off…” Sid looks over his shoulder, ‘Bartender!’
But, it’s too late. She snags the whiskey and both men by the collar of their shirts, tearing them away from the bar.
—
“Pornstar Dancing” blasts throughout a dark, smoky, smelly strip club. The woman from before is doing her routine on the floor. Welsh and Sid are seated next to the stage with a mic in between them. Behind them are ten other women…none of whom look all that appealing, even in the generous lighting of this disease-infested establishment.
“It’s a good song.”
“Kinda catchy but it’s no Duran Duran,” Sid replies.
“Is that a sound effect of the song or her knees and hips popping?”
“The latter.”
“Ugh…I don’t know if I can draft her. We’ve only got two picks left.”
“She dragged us here with her bare hands while downing a bottle of whiskey. We HAVE to draft her.”
Welsh nods. The song ends. Sid leans into the mic, “With the eleventh selection of the Nibbles Draft we select…” he covers the mic, “what’s her name again?” Welsh has no clue. So, Sid improvises, “This lovely woman on stage!”
The place erupts! She steps off, acting like she’s just won some major award, hand over her chest, tears in her eyes.
“Alllright, let’s give it up for Trrrrraci!!!!” Huge applause. Welsh and Sid nod, looking at each other and saying ‘Traci’ as if it were on the tips of their tongues.
“Allllright everybody we’ve got one draft pick left, who will these two lucky bachelors select to go up into the VIP room sponsored by Sutter Home! Let’s find out as…Sa….ara hits the stage!”
“Did he just say Sahara?” Welsh asks
“I think he said Sara.”
Welsh looks on with great excitement as a blonde woman in her forties stumbles onto the stage. She’s clearly drunk and barely able to walk. “More than a Woman” plays and Welsh is overcome with emotion.
“Hold on, Marcus,” Sid tries to hold him back.
But, there’s no stopping Welsh whenever he thinks he sees the CHAMP. “DRAFTED!” he yells into the mic before Sara can begin her routine. She looks over, clueless as to what’s just happened.
The music stops. “Wellllll…okay! Give it up for Sara, everybody! The twelfth and final pick of tonight’s Nibbles Draft Sponsored by Sutter Home!”
A female voice yells out, “Wait a minute! She didn’t even get into her routine!”
Another voice yells out, “This shit is rigged!”
And before you know it, all the strippers from the back pour out onto the stage and attack Sara. The previously drafted strippers hit the stage and fight back. The greasy DJ decides to make a break for it.
One very angry-looking stripper walks up to our viewpoint and spray-paints a dick on the lens.
We instantly cut to outside the club with Welsh and Sid running into the parking lot. They stop, Sid doubles over, gasping for air while Welsh has his hands on his hips.
“I didn’t know drafting was such a nasty business, Sid.”
“You don’t want to know what these eyes have seen, Marcus.”
“I…I think I’m gonna go back to the hotel. Call Adi. Yea, that sounds like a good idea.”
Sid nods, “I think TGI Fridays is open until 1am. I’m gonna go check out the vibe.”
“Go get you some, Sid.”
“You’re a good man, Marcus.”
The two men shake hands before heading off in opposite directions.