The discussions we have all seen and taken part in concerning "extras" took on new significance for me as the result of my experience this weekend.
Sacha from Amsterdam has returned to Daytona to dance for the special events and write about them. She wanted to walk on the wild side, so I started off by taking her to the Shark Lounge, which is never tame, and will be wild indeed come Bike Week.
This one club I worked at before had a bunch of these worthless karaoke DJs coming through, all of whom were terrible. One particular guy was somewhat better than the rest, but drove me nuts when I was training him by singing along to the songs, in this tiny little booth we had, until finally I could stand no more and told him to come back for the other DJ to train.
Well, he was hired, and other than looking like an idiot with his fake headset when we had him bounce one night, and telling three girls at once that he was madly in love with them, he was OK to work with, except he sucked. But that made me look better, and I didn't really have to deal with him, so it was not a problem for me.
Finally, even my pathetic boss could no longer ignore the complaints of the girls and the guy was canned. He went through several jobs and then wound up at the Shark. I saw one woman there whom he had pledged undying love to, and I asked her if he still sucked (my exact words). Then, later, having been fired from my job for being nice to the girls and making it impossible for my boss to hound them for blowjobs, I went into the Shark and told Nick, my old friend I used to fight with when I worked there, that I'd be glad to fill in while he looked for a replacement for this loser, just temporarily, you understand (my exact words). Neither of them were impressed with these demonstrations of bad karma on my part, and I got a job somewhere else, anyway.
Well, we get to the Shark, my old friend Indian is DJing there again (Indian is a wizard, who actually got 40 of these felons and killers from all over the world to do a Conga line dance, for Christ's sake--I would have thought it was just the mushrooms I ate, but there were witnesses), so I'm like, where's the idiot Karaoke guy, thank God you guys finally got rid of him. He's at the Pink Pony, and they are hiring, is the answer.
The Pink Pony has always been notoriously sleazy (nothing like the other Pink Pony clubs--the one in Atlanta is nice), but has taken a major turn for the worse since the only guy there who knew what he was doing opened up a real club, and took the few good-looking girls, and what little class the place had, away for good. It has become an out and out whorehouse, featuring extremely unattractive dancers, is in one of the worst sections in town, and is the last place in the world I would ever work.
So I went to apply for a job. I had been fired from Molly Brown's for telling them to find another DJ three weeks earlier, and playing Korn songs New Years Eve. Sacha will love this ultimately depraved place, I'm thinking, & she'll be safe with me. I really DON'T want to work there, but I need to eat, and season is only 5-6 weeks long. Hit & run, and acquire excellent perverse material for my book to come, I'm thinking. If it proves to be intolerable I can quit.
I was immensely relieved to hear from the bouncer that they had 2 DJs already, so we sit down to watch the freaks. There are the biggest bunch of nasty, ugly women running around, not one of whom could pay me enough money to actually make me watch her dance. And they are all getting rich off the sorriest collection of dirtbags you have ever seen in one place. You know how.
The amazing thing is that the damned Karaoke guy is up there kicking ass, never have I seen a DJ with more intense energy, I would never have known it was him. I am very impressed with this dramatic transformation until I listen to what he is shouting, about VIP standing for "Very Intense Pussy", etc. Plus he won't shut up (I know, neither will I, but this was ridiculous). Pussy this, pussy that. The guy is bouncing off the walls of the DJ booth.
Seeing as how I have no respect for this moron, I'm not about to say hi, I don't care if he sees me or not. Well, after I have made fun of him for a while, we're getting ready to go when, for God's sake, I hear my name on the mike. My skin crawling, I pretend to ignore him, but it's no good, one of the girls goes "he's calling you", so I have no choice. He comes running over, grinning from ear to ear, and tells me they need a DJ, and with all my great music, I'd be perfect...
To be continued, I need a break, and maybe you all are getting grossed out. But every word is true , it is funny, and there is more twisted Karma, if you want to hear it...
Djoser



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