... ..big bang ....September 19, 2005   I have grown accustomed to the displaced strippers taking refuge at Greenmullet.  Two were employed at Rick's Cabaret, one worked at Larry Flynt's, and the other danced (exotically) at Big Daddy's.  All four were graduate students stripping toward degrees in astrophysics.  All four, when compared to the general population, look exponentially better with makeup than without.  One of the first rules I implemented was this: No makeup, no refuge. The girls like pancakes for breakfast and they squeal with delight when I refer to pancakes as flapjacks.  I never called pancakes flapjacks until I had a house full of strippers.  The reason is unclear.  What is clear is that two of my guests prefer Steens; the other two think it's icky.  I offer both cane syrup and faux-maple syrup.  Not surprisingly, at least not to me, they all rejoice in link sausage.  Mornings like this one please me.  All of the girls are sitting around the table in various stages of undress arguing, with good natures, various theorems and equations bearing on the life cycle of the universe.  I'm still wearing my apron and I grin when Candy accidentally spits a masticated chunk of sausage while pronouncing "singularity."  I clear my throat loudly, perhaps preventing a food fight. "Would any of you ladies care for more flapjacks?" I ask. The girls just squeal. previous..|..current..|..archives..|..3d quarter index..|..next

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