WARNING! Irreverence Alert!
The room is dark and smoky, the music almost overpowering. The young man in the lime green pants steps slowly into the room, his head swiveling to take in the pole dancers, the cocktail waitresses, the sumo-sized bouncers. He is tense, nervous, a sour taste in his mouth. Fear, he thinks, I'm afraid.
He orders a watered down drink from an impossibly buxom cocktail waitress, glancing into her ample cleavage. Nothing! he thinks, on the verge panic. Nothing at all! He scans the room for a seat, momentarily fixing on the woman on the center pole. Oh my God! She looks just like my wife! Buzz kill! Buzz kill! He quickly seats himself close to the third pole, his back to the center of the room.
He stares at the brunette, who slithers across the stage and positions herself directly in front of him. Focus! Focus! She begins working her hands over her body...up her thighs, over her breasts, her buttocks. He is on the verge of bolting when, suddenly, a twinge from below his belt. A twinge getting stronger, swelling, growing, until he feels on fire. Hell yes, he thinks as he takes a roll of hundred dollar bills out of his pocket, the Master is back! Sink that putt, baby!