My best friend, the groom to be, was getting his midnight "last lap dance of freedom" by some buxom blonde. It was in fact his fourth of the night; by his own insistence, it was midnight somewhere every hour. The other guys were chatting amongst themselves, talking about the girls, sharing stories about how they all seemed to look like some girl they had dated back at some point which they seemed a little fuzzy on, but they could definitely remember how good the s*x had been, pretty much typical guy strip club banter when everyone's realized that the inside walls of their wallet were touching. I sat, of course, in the middle, trying to appropriately nod in appreciation of some chick a guy had met in a Hooters that had given him a new meaning in life, although apparently not her name, when
