Red Box. White Box.

I go to classy places. For Bruiser’s birthday, On My Terms, So Hip and I took her to one of the best garlic burger joints, with carpeted walls, in the city. If you’re drinking in a bar with non-carpeted walls, you’re not really drinking. Sure, the maintenance is awkward, but who doesn’t love carpeted walls?

 

A few hours after drinking and gossiping (the latter is very good for your health according to a University of California, Berkeley, study) with these fine ladies, I joined I Was A Stripper and The Leaver for dinner and strip club festivities.

 

The first strip club we stopped by was in the middle of calendar autographs. Yawn. Been there, done that. So, we headed to a different strip club – a strip club where the songs were from the 80s and played on a jukebox.

 

Being the classy person I am, I asked the server/bouncer, “What are your house wines?” He replied, “Red box and white box.” “I’ll take the red box,” I Was A Stripper told him then leaned my way and said, “Like a period.”

 

I also opted for the red. Like my thinking, I occasionally prefer do my drinking out of the box.

 

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