Post #167682 by Satan's Sin on Thu, Jun 23, 2005 4:06 PM

Just got back from Washington DC. After a hard day on the road my colleagues and I like to get liquored up and exchange road stories and one story was floated that is too good not to report:

My friend claims that the Number One Hooker Capital is Phoenix, not Las Vegas. Beautiful hookers all over the place, dressed so as to look exactly like civilians but they will let you know what they charge for their services should things get to that point. (plus of course gorgeous babes coming onto doofuses is another giveaway that all is not on the up and up)

Anyhoo, my friend was supervising a Johnson & Johnson sales convention in Phoenix and hookers were coming out of the proverbial woodwork during the social functions and so one happy boy, a 12-year veteran of J&J, picked up TWO hookers, went back to his room, and did his thang, as Disco Stu likes to say.

So a "bill" is presented for services rendered and our boy tells the workin' gals to screw off, get out of my room you stupid hookers, ha, ha, there's nothing you can do. Hookers raise an immediate ruckus, so much so that security is called, cops are called, and the harsh cruel light of messy reality has all of a sudden gotten our boy pinned down like a moth in a display case.

Hookers don't get their money, but our man is soon in the head J&J cheese's suite and hearing the magic words "you are fired, fired, fired -- get on the next plane and get the hell out! Jerk!"

And so our boy has to go back home to Utah (he is Mormon!) and explain to his wife and five -- five! really! -- children why daddykins no longer has a place to go during the day.

The moral: pay your hooker bills.