OK, planning ahead isn't your strong suit. You could've picked up an RFT or logged on to this here web site and found something worthwhile to do this last night of '10. Oh, well. Too late.
The dinner from the Hen House sits heavily in your gut. Outside the window past the glow of the Best Western sign, a solitary Terre Haute-bound 18-wheeler kicks up a frigid mist. Pontoon Beach... tonight it's just another cold and lonely place. And where is this goddamn beach, anyhow? Could sure use some company... some of that healin' that Marvin sung about, if y'know what I'm sayin', sport. Well, we've got some ideas for you. All of 'em bad.
Here they are, in no particular order...
You know that you mean nothing to her, right? She's working here to support her mean-ass Harley-ridin' boyfriend's crack and Jack cravings. You know that too, right?
Rest Stop Men's Room
Like the guy on the record says, "Take out your false teeth, I wanna suck on your gums." However, bedtime's mighty early and the prime pickin's have probably been spoiled by some STD-infected geriatric Casanova.
They say it's better to give than to receive. 'Cept you don't look like you're likely to be on the giving end of things.
Uh-huh, some of the nurses are kinda cute. But they see so much "anatomy" over the course of their 12-hour shift that whatever you're packing isn't likely to be much of a turn-on. And when the privacy curtain parts, chances are you'll draw Brünhilde. NTTAWWT.
Look Maynard, by law fuckin' the critters just ain't allowed in either Missouri or Illinois. And the guy in the farmhouse -- the one with the shotgun -- he probably won't look kindly upon it, either.
That Medical Examiner is a bit of a MILF. Oh, wait. You're thinking of the stiffs. Nevermind.
The Trophy Room at Busch Stadium
Just 'cause the Dunc did don't mean you get to. (Sorry. We couldn't resist.)