"Don't Tell Me, I Don't Want To Know"

Hair Band Friday is crazy busy today here in my office. After three weeks at the new job, I'm comfortable enough to install one stripper pole in my office (I'll see how that goes over before I install the second one). Some of the girls were a bit shy, but Cyndi really took it. After watching me write an answer and counterclaim, she bonged a half a bottle of Absolut, stripped down to her unmentionables (read: red lace thong and clear plastic spike heels), and performed one hell of a routine on that pole for three full songs: "D.O.A." by Van Halen, "Don't Tell Me You Love Me" by Night Ranger, and "Wild Child" by W.A.S.P. Usually you have to pay extra for three songs, but that's the beauty of Hair Band Friday. No costs, no limits, no worries, and most importantly, no strings. And also no babies, which is why we keep a fresh stock of RU-486 pills in a bowl next to the nitrous tank. I don't know if it's the shrooms talking, but I'm just not ready for kids yet. Especially with some of the half-baked tricks that walk in here in heat and present themselves. I don't want to be put in a position five or ten years down the road where my kid asks who his mommy is and I have to explain that his "mommy is a two-pack-a-day waitress named Rhoda who I fucked on a gaming table in my office one Friday after writing an appellate brief, expecting never to see her again until she left you on my doorstep because she didn't have enough money to buy diapers and support her burgeoning meth habit at the same time." Awkward at best.