The Night Club Down Under was as fascinating a place as you could get for the basement of a pizza joint. As the door man, I believe no one was better. Thanks to me no matter how crowded the place got, I made sure that Matt Boswell cleared a consistent twelve dollars a night. At four bucks a head, he was doing fine. For whatever reason, Matt was out of town, and several of us had a meeting of the minds (with a lot of peach schnapps, if I recall) and headed to the club. In the DJ booth (read stock room) Steve Fedasz sat with a particularly hot Italian chick by the name of Nicole... Tight black skirt, high heels, the works. Well, I pulled up a seat on the couch next to her and in my slick Data style babbled pretty much incoherintly about nothing. Then, I very smoothly slid my hand down to her shoes, took them off until there was just her sheer stockings separately my hand from her feet... And then I proceeded to play "This little piggie went to market." I can still hear Steve laughing to this day. Anyway, Nicole walked to a table and we spent the better part of coulple hours talking about how there was no romance left in the world. The next night she called me at the club, and we talked some more (sober though; strange experience). That sealed it. Steve got a letter about what an ass he was, and I got Nicole. It was a great four weeks... Until I got a letter about what an ass I was and how sweet Mark was.
 


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