"WHERE'S MY MONEY?".

"WHERE'S MY MONEY?".

"Simmer down now. I've got you money right here!" I slapped my rear-end. I didn't have her money. I gambled it away last night. "I've like my money now," she said. I pretended not

to see. "Aarrgh! Your beauty has blinded me!" I stumbled into the hotel hallway tripping over the room service tray. "BASTARD! WHERE'S MY MONEY!" she yelled.

A maid gasped as I scrambled to cover myself with a nearby ashtray. "Let me get your money, Sweetheart," I said coming back into the hotel room. I found my crumpled jeans in a heap

by the bed. Would the maid recognize me from the night before? Surely, the alcohol would have clouded her memory. But the lipstick stain on my jeans would be a dead giveaway if I

let her see it. Apparently, I need to go out and buy new jeans because no matter what I tried I just could not get the lipstick off. Now all I need is to get out of here without h

-er noticing my pink pants. "Look Mommy, that man has pink pants!" a child hollered, and pretty soon everyone (except her- she was fixing her hair) was pointing and laughing at me.

Who gave the cue? What was the cue? Surely not my orange mushroom-headed member. "I did not expect that reaction but OK. Lets go with it." Grabbing them by the pussy cured them.