A faceless lady of the night
walked into the bar wearing
a little fuck-me dress with her
Double Ds falling out of the sides,
and the crowd went wild!
It was a little shit-hole-in-the-wall
where nobody knew your name, but
everybody wanted to know hers.
What they didn’t know was she had crabs
the size of kittens that all had pet
names in her week-old smegma
Even the mangy old dog that the owner
kept behind the bar ran for cover
when he smelled her coming.
But it was a Friday, which was payday
for all the local drunks and all the
Johns and Hanks and Toms had their
beer goggles on that night so they
didn’t care, they were ready for
a good time.
Even if it meant waking up with
a strange rash and an itchy crotch.
She sauntered over to the bar forcing
herself between two lowlifes with a
stack of bills in front of them and she
ordered a double shot of bottom-shelf
tequila, then asked which one was the
“lucky” guy that wanted to buy her drink.
Both of the lonely souls jumped at the
chance and a scuffle ensued, but the
smelly hooker broke it up, telling them
she had plenty of herself to go around,
and invited them to her hotel room
across the street.
The men eagerly obliged and the party
moved from The Golden Horn to The
Redlight Inn, stopping at a liquor store
for a few cheap bottles of booze.
As soon as they got there she peeled
her dirty dress off and serviced them
both with the professional precision
only an old whore could, and after it
was all said and done she got up and
poured them a drink. Slipping a mickey
in each glass.
They woke up the next day and she
was gone, along with their money, but
left them with rashes and a bad case
of sabertoothed crotch crickets.
The booze was still there, so they
poured some drinks and gave each
other a high-five while they laughed
the situation off as if it happened
before . . . because it had.
©James Dennis Casey IV