Do a Little Dance, Make a Little Love, Get a Hip Replacement
There are times where we men do things, or agree to things, just to make our women happy. What this actually means is... we want to have sex.
Most women want that moment of raw passion to happen out of the clear blue sky with no rhyme or reason.
The few that don't dance around a pole naked for a living.
They don't want us to ask for lovin. Women want spontaneity.
So men, that leaves us with the problem of "planning" spontaneity, which brings us back to my first paragraph and explains why I agreed to go see the Commodores and KC and The Sunshine Band last night.
In my mind a night of romantic Commodores songs and KC and the Sunshine Band would mean we'd do little dance, make a little love and get down tonight.
Oh Contraire...
We went to this "concert" at Harrah's Rincon Casino, "just 20 minutes north of Escondido", which translates to the middle of the desert an hour and a half from San Diego.
Their new "open air" theater was a stage set up in the parking lot of the casino surrounded by folding chairs and bleachers.
It was $60 a ticket.
It was so hot they were passing out fans to us as we sat down.
The soles of my shoes actually melted on the asphalt.
We're talking hot. But that was okay because we could buy water, little tiny eight ounce bottles of water, warm water.
Oh I felt quenched.
We had great seats though. Seven rows from the front, dead center. The concert started and no one sat in front of us...yet.
The Commodores, who are now obviously collecting Social Security, lead off with their rendition of.....
I have no idea. Why? Because the feedback was so bad from the bass player who thought he was playing for Black Sabbath that all you heard was what sounded like the roar of a jet airplane engine...in your face.
I'm looking around like, hello???? Am I the only one hearing this? And I notice that everyone but me has their fingers in their ears.
30 minutes later they work the sound issue out but at this point I don't care because I am now deaf.
It was at this time that a man the size of a Sumo wrestler and his friends find their seats.
In front of us.
He sits down in front of my wife. She's 4'10".
I don't care where we go, a movie, a show, a ballgame. Someone huge is going to sit down in front of my wife. Every damn time.
I always offer to change seats with her but by this time the damage is done. My odds are slipping folks. This fat @#$% is killing my spontaneous moment.
The Commodores finish with a tribute to Marvin Gaye but it could have been a tribute to Marvin Hamlish and no one would have known the difference.
Maybe someone should point out to the Commodores that there's a reason they are "opening" for KC and the Sunshine Band.
During the twenty-minute intermission we took a potty break. I'm a guy, I have no problem with "Porto-potties" my wife on the other hand is not a happy camper.
My planned spontaneity moment is not looking good at this point. But hey I've still got KC and the Sunshine Band as the ace up my sleeve.
When KC came out to start the second half of the show the crowd went wild. It was at this time that I noticed that the entire audience was filled with Vietnam veterans who weren't homeless.
You hardly ever see those.
One thousand fifty year old plus white people in one place.
Trying to shake their booty.
Booties that shouldn't be shaken.
Someone could lose an eye.
There needs to be a law.
Um....
KC is now fifty-four years old. He's got a beer belly and, well, let's just call it plenty of booty.
He should change the groups name to "KFC" and the Sunshine Band.
It was sad it really was. KC's now arthritic hips don't move the way they used to. This night was deteriorating rapidly.
I was ready to concede defeat when the Sunshine Band dancers hit the stage.
Oh my.....
These two girls were smoking hot!!!
There wasn't a man in the place watching KC's feeble attempts to move. All eyes were fixed on these two angels of lust. This one black goddess, wearing hotpants and a bikini top, does this move where her left leg shoots straight up and her right leg is planted on the ground. She was doing the splits standing straight up!!!
I don't know what came over me but I yelled, "Yes baby, let me be your Mandingo warrior!!!"
Huge mistake.
I felt the left hook from my wife just under my rib cage. Yes she's 4'10" but she teaches women's boxing.
As the air forced it's way out of my lungs my right arm shot up into the air. The idiots around us must of thought I was doing my best Tony Manero Saturday Night Fever impression because they all shot their arms up. Even the Sumo wrestler joined in.
My wife has the now familiar "no chance" look on her face.
All I could think of was to cool her off with my Harrah's Rincon Casino official concert fan.
When the concert ended we didn't talk much.
Her feet were swollen from the heat of the asphalt.
Freeway construction crews only had one lane open on the way home.
It took two and a half hours.
We got home just in time for fake porn on Cinemax.
We have a very comfortable couch.
I just love spontaneity.
Most women want that moment of raw passion to happen out of the clear blue sky with no rhyme or reason.
The few that don't dance around a pole naked for a living.
They don't want us to ask for lovin. Women want spontaneity.
So men, that leaves us with the problem of "planning" spontaneity, which brings us back to my first paragraph and explains why I agreed to go see the Commodores and KC and The Sunshine Band last night.
In my mind a night of romantic Commodores songs and KC and the Sunshine Band would mean we'd do little dance, make a little love and get down tonight.
Oh Contraire...
We went to this "concert" at Harrah's Rincon Casino, "just 20 minutes north of Escondido", which translates to the middle of the desert an hour and a half from San Diego.
Their new "open air" theater was a stage set up in the parking lot of the casino surrounded by folding chairs and bleachers.
It was $60 a ticket.
It was so hot they were passing out fans to us as we sat down.
The soles of my shoes actually melted on the asphalt.
We're talking hot. But that was okay because we could buy water, little tiny eight ounce bottles of water, warm water.
Oh I felt quenched.
We had great seats though. Seven rows from the front, dead center. The concert started and no one sat in front of us...yet.
The Commodores, who are now obviously collecting Social Security, lead off with their rendition of.....
I have no idea. Why? Because the feedback was so bad from the bass player who thought he was playing for Black Sabbath that all you heard was what sounded like the roar of a jet airplane engine...in your face.
I'm looking around like, hello???? Am I the only one hearing this? And I notice that everyone but me has their fingers in their ears.
30 minutes later they work the sound issue out but at this point I don't care because I am now deaf.
It was at this time that a man the size of a Sumo wrestler and his friends find their seats.
In front of us.
He sits down in front of my wife. She's 4'10".
I don't care where we go, a movie, a show, a ballgame. Someone huge is going to sit down in front of my wife. Every damn time.
I always offer to change seats with her but by this time the damage is done. My odds are slipping folks. This fat @#$% is killing my spontaneous moment.
The Commodores finish with a tribute to Marvin Gaye but it could have been a tribute to Marvin Hamlish and no one would have known the difference.
Maybe someone should point out to the Commodores that there's a reason they are "opening" for KC and the Sunshine Band.
During the twenty-minute intermission we took a potty break. I'm a guy, I have no problem with "Porto-potties" my wife on the other hand is not a happy camper.
My planned spontaneity moment is not looking good at this point. But hey I've still got KC and the Sunshine Band as the ace up my sleeve.
When KC came out to start the second half of the show the crowd went wild. It was at this time that I noticed that the entire audience was filled with Vietnam veterans who weren't homeless.
You hardly ever see those.
One thousand fifty year old plus white people in one place.
Trying to shake their booty.
Booties that shouldn't be shaken.
Someone could lose an eye.
There needs to be a law.
Um....
KC is now fifty-four years old. He's got a beer belly and, well, let's just call it plenty of booty.
He should change the groups name to "KFC" and the Sunshine Band.
It was sad it really was. KC's now arthritic hips don't move the way they used to. This night was deteriorating rapidly.
I was ready to concede defeat when the Sunshine Band dancers hit the stage.
Oh my.....
These two girls were smoking hot!!!
There wasn't a man in the place watching KC's feeble attempts to move. All eyes were fixed on these two angels of lust. This one black goddess, wearing hotpants and a bikini top, does this move where her left leg shoots straight up and her right leg is planted on the ground. She was doing the splits standing straight up!!!
I don't know what came over me but I yelled, "Yes baby, let me be your Mandingo warrior!!!"
Huge mistake.
I felt the left hook from my wife just under my rib cage. Yes she's 4'10" but she teaches women's boxing.
As the air forced it's way out of my lungs my right arm shot up into the air. The idiots around us must of thought I was doing my best Tony Manero Saturday Night Fever impression because they all shot their arms up. Even the Sumo wrestler joined in.
My wife has the now familiar "no chance" look on her face.
All I could think of was to cool her off with my Harrah's Rincon Casino official concert fan.
When the concert ended we didn't talk much.
Her feet were swollen from the heat of the asphalt.
Freeway construction crews only had one lane open on the way home.
It took two and a half hours.
We got home just in time for fake porn on Cinemax.
We have a very comfortable couch.
I just love spontaneity.
posted by Shrinking Wop at 1:59 PM
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