Eoster Can Kiss My White Ass

Eoster Can Kiss My White Ass

by Tim Case Walker

Spending Easter Sunday working inside the cozy confines of a strip
club may not sound like the most socially redeeming proposition to the
bulk of you reading this website. And you’d be right, of course.
However, since my scheduled shift condemns me to the DJ booth every
Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday, that’s where I spent Easter from 4pm till
3:30 the following day.

Easter is, of course, the holiest day in the Christian calendar,
celebrating as it does the Resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead.
There are those who say the holiday actually predates Christianity,
and is related to an ancient festival which celebrated the pagan
fertility goddess of Eoster, or Ostara. So, if you look at it in that
light, perhaps spending the holiday playing bump and grind music for
the fertility goddesses at the Harem, all skilled at making things
rise from the dead, makes sense after all.

“Bunny” is one of the Harem’s lovely entertainers -- a very nice girl,
who likes to drink Grey Goose and unfortunately chose a stage name
which lends itself to lame DJ jokes like “Okay gentlemen, put your
hands together for the lovely Bunny, hopping her way up to the main
stage right now.” She flips me the bird from the stage on a nightly
basis. She told me that early on Easter morning, her phone was already
filled with texts from fellow entertainers wishing her a “Happy
Easter, Bunny!”. Not long after clocking in, she ordered her first
shot of many shots of vodka after our manager hunted her down and
demanded to know where his basket was.

“Kat” is another lovely young lady who plies her trade at the Harem. A
newbie who just started dancing last week, Kat hails from Centerville,
Indiana and spent the last several years travelling with a carnival
and working the various games and rides found therein. A very nice
young lady, but a little green, Kat spent the day dancing in furry
white shoe covers, a faux tux outfit complete with cuffs, and big
white ears which lit up onstage and made it appear that UFOs were
hovering just above her head.

Don’t get me wrong...I like Kat. She always tips me at the end of her
shift, she’s friendly and pleasant and she’ll dance to anything I
play. But last night, when my friends Bear and Little John stopped in
to the booth to say hello, she may have damaged our working
relationship when she offered to show my friends how adept she was at
the old carnival game of “I Can Guess Your Age!”.

Bear went first. Kat studied his face for a minute, and skillfully
guessed his age as 32. Bear is actually 31 -- not a bad guess.

Little John is a bit older than Bear and closer to my own age... she
guessed him at 41. John is 42 years old.

Then she looked at me. Even with my grey hair and beard, people
usually think I’m a bit younger than my actual age, which is 47.

She studied my face for a long minute, smiled and said “You’re 58!”.

Fuck Easter.

I charged her double tip out.

Mike South: An Addendum

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Far From Perfect

When I was a younger man, I used to think I would wake up one day and everything would make sense. That I would have all the answers. I'd be settled and happy and stress-free. I would know the meaning of life. Now, at 47, that thought makes me laugh.

Too often these days, I find myself running short on patience. I let myself get stressed out over small things, and I take it out on the people I love the most. That is a mistake.

I complain about my life, even though I have no right to -- I'm tired, I'm grumpy, I don't have enough time to write, the kids drive me crazy. Whatever. There are people all over the world who went to bed last night, who passed away in the night and will never open their eyes again, and each and every one of those persons would give anything -- anything at all -- for just five minutes of my painless existence.

I have a beautiful wife who loves me, and whom I love, and she has been my very best friend for nearly 20 years now. I am blessed with wonderful, beautiful children. I have a job that allows me to spend a great deal of time with my family, and -- even rarer -- I enjoy it. I work with and for some fantastic people. I have friends too numerous to count, whom I dearly love, who have put up with my quirky behavior for year after year without comment. I have a family that continues to reach out to me even though they deserve better than the years of neglect I have given them in return.

Friends, family, and Beth -- I am sorry.

I am truly blessed. I am loved. I have no right to complain.

May God allow me to always remember that.