EVERYTHING IN THREES: Part Deux

...Continued from Previous entry EVERYTHING IN THREES here, read here for Part #1:

http://missboozetender.blogspot.com/2015/06/everything-in-threes-triple-bets-triple.html

PART DEUX:
The race went off, and the crowd began to scream at the tv, hollering "Come on baby; Bring it home, Come on fifty-five! "...it was the most memorable time I've had watching a bunch of horses "run for the roses." I was rooting for the favorite, even though I had drawn horse number three, twice. I liked the idea of witnessing history, and a regular winning the most monies.

Well, American Pharaoh, brought it home, and the big winner, was big and generous, ordering pizza, buying shots, and tipping me a twenty. Like I said, win, win.

Shortly after the race was finished three cute twenty-something girls stepped up to the bar and delved in to a pitcher of beer. My peripheral vision caught one of the girls trying to get some juice from a dead outlet for her dying cell phone. I got her attention, "Hey Missy...you need to use this outlet!" And pointed her over to the power strip already in heavy phone refueling use. She gave me a nod of thanks and I thought maybe these chicks were going to be fun ones for me to attempt future interaction.

After I returned from counting the register and cashed my tip bucket of singles into bigger bills, I somehow ended up at the girls' table where they had already kidnapped one of the trouble making regulars into their den of debauchery. There was an antagonistic banter going on, the girls saying he was calling them "dirty white girls" and other derogatory things, and he was trying to get them to come over to his bachelor pad to do naughty things.

The chicks were dressed in some kind of costumes; but it wasn't obvious what disguises they were attempting to present . One of them looked like a cross between a nameless band member from "The Go-Go's and Cyndy Lauper, but they all had scrungies on their arms circa the early nineties. They said it was supposed to be nineties attire but besides the scrungy bracelet thingys, I didn't see it. Anyway, theme parties are odd to me. It's just some excuse to dress up as a slutty whatever, or act more like a douchebag than usual. I'm not a huge fan.

The banter turned into drunken ranting.  One of the girls said some obscene things to the reverse racist, promising sexual favors to him; joking or not, I covered my ears. Some other stuff started to go down that I didn't want to witness, so I removed myself from the scene.

Well, just another day in the bar room: a historic race, an unexpected profit for one that affected many, and a gaggle of silly girls.

Never a dull moment. Looks like it's time for triple shots! TRIFECTA!

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