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Chick Shit for Chic Chicks
by Melissa Paternik
 I guess the law enforcement people think that since Ralph hits me in the stomach
daily with a 2X4, I am a victim of spousal abuse. At least that is the excuse they gave me before dragging my poor
Ralph to jail this past Sunday. No matter how many times I tried to explain that it was
part of my excercise regimen, they just seemed to beat on Ralph that much harder.
What makes it worse is that the exercising isn't helping much because I have gained 5 pounds since last week. I
can also tell that my boss is none too pleased.
My heart really isn't into my job right now, and my tips are starting to show it. I mean, I made only .83 yesterday
when I generally can make about $3.00 on a good night. I guess I didn't help myself when I puked on the stage during
my second number. I guess it really, really didn't help when I slipped in my own vomit and slid off the stage and
crashed into a dancer performing a table dance.
This didn't sit too well with my boss. I was immediately called into his office and I sat there for a good hour
as he lectured me on the dangers of vomiting on stage. He seemed to like the idea of a vomiting dancer though,
but thought his insurance company wouldn't like it too much.
I actually felt a bit better after our meeting and went back out and danced until the end of my shift. My heart
wasn't totally into it, but I gave it the best I had.
When I got home, I picked the dried vomit off my body. I noticed that when I picked it off my legs, the leg hair
was removed as well! It seemed to work as well as wetting my legs with gasoline and setting fire to them, and it
is definitely much cheaper.
Tomorrow I have to go to court and try to convince the judge that Ralph isn't a bad person, so I am going to go
now.
NEXT WEEK: Do I turn to
prostitution if Ralph is still in jail?
Look for a new Chick Shit for Chic Chicks, each and every Wednesday.
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