That sounds lovely! A favorite children’s author, who also happened to be the librarian at my nephews’ school, Esme Raji Codell, has a delightful kids or young adult book called Sing a Song of Tuna Fish, a memoir of growing up in Chicago the child of Russian immigrants, where she relates how her parents thought that watching TV in the US was a great thing for a kid and encouraged her to watch as much as she could (back when kids’ shows were pretty crappy compared to nowadays). It didn’t seem to hurt her any! (And I recommend that book, as does my daughter who read it in 5th grade.)
I sure hope you’re being paid for this!
Gave a guy a light outside a pub in Ireland. It was not a cigarette. Not sure what it was.
Well …
It involved me, 7 women between 15 and 40 years younger than me, and a rented house in the country for 5 days. And yes, I’m old enough that the 40-years-younger woman was well into adulthood. And no, nobody was paid for their services; this is friends, not business.
OMG, you were a cabana boy for five days! 
OK, volunteer cabana boy.
Lol!!
It started off like any other day. No business, but I’ve got the rent to pay on my office. I looked at my ad in the paper: ‘Private Investigator. $200 a day, plus expenses. 555-1212.’ Maybe I need to brush that up a bit.
My name’s L. Samuel Lawrence. Most people just call me Sam, and if you want to stay on my good side, you will too. Nobody asks what the first ‘L’ stands for, and neither should you. I’ve got three shots in me, and the first two are bourbon.
More coffee, another Lucky Strike, and the door opens.
“Mr. Lawrence.”
I stood up. Had to; this was the kind of dame who had never walked into my office before. “Good morning, Miss; how can I —” I took in the face, the perfect makeup, the tailored suit, the matching hat, the heels, and realized that this was one classy dame I should be nice to—“help you?”
“Mr. Lawrence.” Uninvited, she sat down, opened her purse, pulled out a pack of Camels, selected one, and lit up. She said nothing further. I sat down.
“You seem to know me, but I don’t know you.”
“Mr. Lawrence, my name is Cheryl Lott. I have the …” She paused. “Let’s say, dubious honour to be the escort to seven women who need a place to stay for the weekend, and slightly more. Hotels are out of the question because of the nature of these ladies’ business …” She cleared her throat. “But I was told that you were the man who could arrange such accommodation.”
“I know a few people,” I said. “Let me make a few calls.”
“I’ll make it worth your while, Mr. Lawrence,” she said, dropping a card on my desk. “You can reach me here when you do. I’ll expect an answer by the end of the day.” And she left, in a cloud of Camel smoke.
I poured another Jim Beam and lit another Lucky. “This is gonna get interesting,” I said to myself, and reached for the phone.
[Over to you, @LSLGuy !]
All I can offer is that I woke up at 3 AM, as I often do, and had the choice of either trying to go back to sleep or getting up and having a glass or three of smooth soothing rum. I leave it to the reader to guess which option I chose, and yes, it’s very smooth and soothing!
@wolfpup: The nice part about thorough drinking at 3am is that it’s already 5 o’clock someplace! And besides, the early bird gets the worm. But only a confused drinker would be seeking the worm at the bottom of a rum bottle.
@Spoons, that was fantastic. Not quite how it started but your tone is pitch-perfect. Bravo Good Sir!
This here publication ain’t Penthouse Forum, so I’ll avoid the salacious details except to assert without cite that there were many.
Anyhow I’d be up for a repeat engagement any time.
I could go on. It would be totally fictional, of course, only you would know for sure. But I had fun with it, and am thinking about how it would continue. Besides, I get so few chances to write stuff like this. Hmmm …
What’s the most degenerate thing you’ve done within the last month?
Perturbation Theory
I, for one, enjoyed this extremely nerdy response
Was P. Diddy there?
Not that I noticed.
Peed in the sink.
I just ate a can of Heinz Spaghetti Carbonara. Yes, apparently that is a thing.
It was not good, in fact it was so not good, I kind of think this canned product it must exist to be rage-bait, since carbonara is one of the most gatekept dishes from Italy, and this was nothing much like it.
Wow, you really do mange tout!
Within the past month? Sadly, that makes it far more boring compared to my wild and crazy youth.
Here goes: pirated chocolate out of my daughter’s exceedingly carefully curated gourmet stash. Didn’t ask, just did it. Still haven’t confessed, except here.
Spent an evening holed up in my room alone, in my bed, looking at pictures of neutron stars on the internet
I like the way you well-traveled airline guys think! My rule of thumb from my sailing days, when we always had vodka and Caesar mix and, of course, rum – the sailor’s essential – on board was that it was OK to partake when the sun was over the yardarm. As a modern amateur sailor acquainted with most nautical terms, I was never actually clear on what a “yardarm” was, but I took the old nautical expression to mean that it was OK to have a drink if the ship’s chronometer (i.e.- my cell phone) indicated that it was past noon.
I no longer own a boat but this nautical tradition persists on land to this very day. The bar always opens at noon at chez Wolfpup. This tradition is occasionally modified by the observation that it’s always past noon somewhere in the world.