The Bad RButler

Let me put a question to you. Is it possible to be a stripper without some sort of mental scarification? Does the act of removing one’s clothes before beer-bellied, blue collared and no-collared workers, obnoxious frat boys, and hopeful twenty-something bachelor partygoers, have some sort of damaging effect on the judgment center of the brain? Or is it the diseased mind that entices one to strip in the first place? Which came first, the stripper or the pain?

That being said, thank God for strippers! Maybe strippers carry the as of yet undiscovered genetic sequencing that induces clothing removal. I myself have inherited the widely popular alcoholic gene and am looking forward to a scathing case of Alzheimer’s…Hooray for me! I don’t mean any disrespect by questioning the synaptic routes of the apparel challenged. If anything, I am jealous that I do not currently the kind of body that you would want to experience with the lights on, much less on stage.

I only lament on this topic for its depressing effects on a dear pal o mine, rbutler. Winter is bad enough, but the cold weather combined with the unpredictability of stripper logic, can send rbutler spirally down the bitterness vortex until he reaches the point of maximum density. A point that I know as: The Bad Rbutler. The coming of the bad rbutler is usually foreshadowed by the growth of a shaggy goatee, the wearing of dark colors and a spend thriftiness that is contrary to his generous nature. Mind you, I have not seen the goatee as of yet, but that is just a technicality. A few days of waking up late, and dealing with non paying clients, and a goatee that the devil would envy will spring up on his boyish face.

The bad rbutler also makes the normally conservative and republican beliefs of his nicer counterpart, (the funny, generous, stripper loving rbutler) look like a gay senator from Kansas City. If you have a face, watch out, because he won’t like it. Once I saw the bad rbutler punch his own face because he ate a burrito, and he doesn’t like illegal immigrants. Another time he got a third degree burn on his head from an iron because he thought that he had found a curly hair. The bad rbutler only eats food out of the possibility that he might spit some at you when he is talking. Yes sir, the bad rbutler is best left un-conjured and left pacing within the confines of his magic circle.

I don’t know what incantation dismisses the bad rbutler, but I do know that two of the words are summer and water. If I could pull some Miami Beach weather out of my ass I would do it, just for him. If I shut my eyes real tight, I can see the old rbutler’s smiling face, ruddy from the sun. He is wearing dark Blue’s Brother’s style sunglasses and is wearing a loose Hawaiian shirt. His teeth are white and almost glow in contrast to his tanned face. A Brazilian beauty is sunning her ass on the deck of his new sailboat, and his first mate GS3 is steering the vessel straight and true to tropical isles.

“Hola, Esmeralda, necesita más loción que broncea?”
“Sí, pero se cerciora de usted conseguir a mi extremo bueno verdadero.”
“Ése no va a ser ningún problema”
“Ningún problema en todos”

Translation:
Hey, Esmeralda, do you need more tanning lotion?
Yes, but make sure you get my butt real good.
That is going to be no problem.
No problem, at all.