I just had a bit of an accident. It happened in the pool, where I was high as a kite on OxyContin and Old Fashioneds while frolicking with a half-dozen rented women. Nothing out of the ordinary there; a typical Saturday night, really.
Next thing I knew, however, the water around me had taken on a decidedly brownish tinge and the call girls were swimming away from me as quickly as possible. The reason? I had crapped my Speedo.
Not the end of the world, I suppose. My butler, Montgomery, took care of the immediate cleanup duties, and I’ll have the pool drained and disinfected on Monday. And it’s not as if I care what hookers think. After all, I pay them for sex. How much lower could their opinion of me be?
Speaking of which, time for me to motor. I’ve moved the party up to the hot tub, and my second dose of Viagra for the evening is really starting to kick in. Catch you on the flip side.