Girls' Night Out

Anywho - Bogsville Bars don't come any cooler than Big Stiff's converted funeral home bar. Last night the notice on the lounge door read Girls' Night Out and the front bar area was deserted except for three old guys puckering up to their beer and watching the lights flashing on the bandit. Wow! This is it Milt. Girls' Night Out. This is the place to be. All Depeche Mode and Siouxsie Sioux eyes. I was wrong.

"Yee-Ha!" rang out from next door and was repeated eight or ten times. Then all hell was let loose. There must have been 150 red hot mommas in there keeping time, stomping their feet: "Oh-ye-haw, oh-ye-haw, yee-ha-ha -yee-ha-ha- yi- ha-a-a-a. Woo-Hoo!"

The three old guys looked at one another nervously and puckered up to their beer again. The DJ next door announced "It's Raining Men."

“Woop! Woop! Woop!”
"Hallelujah!". Accompanied by frenzied stomping. Whistles and wilder, louder stomping shook the foundations. Those women had turned off their brains and were suffering seriously cranked up libidos.

"Hiyooooo! Woop! Wooop! Woooop! Yee-haaa! Yee-haaa!”
"woo-hoo! woo-hoo! woo-hooo!" and even more "Woo-HoOOo!"

It's Raining Men came to an end, the three old guys raised their eyebrows, finished their beers, picked up their little cases and headed for the washroom. Minutes later they reappeared dressed as firemen and set off purposefully for the lounge area door.

I finished my beer and wandered off outside. The stomping and singing was even louder out there, "Come on baby, light my fire. Come on baby, light my fire. Try to set the night on fire. Come On! Come On, babe! Yeah! Wow! come on! Muahahahaha! Woo-Hoo! Woo-Hooo! WOO-HOOOO!"

"wOOt! wOOOt! wOOOOt!" Stomp, stomp, STOMP.

I opened the trunk of the car and dropped my little case inside. "Sorry girls but there's no Milt today," I said to nobody in particular and set off for the safety of the Tulip & Tiara.