Ass-slapping Party

My friend Martinson Agunga Agunga, from Dar es Salaam, Tanzania, runs an underground casino on the outskirts of Boston. He tends to move locations every so often, and now it was in the basement of an office building. So I went and spent some cash and met some people. One woman in particular struck my fancy: Kate Jackson. That's right, the Charlie's Angel was there, and let me say she didn't look too bad for 58.

So we flirted and danced, and as we did so, I became more and more enamoured with her. So much so that when we were sitting down together, I professed my undying love for her. She laughed at me, but I was undaunted, and I made a pass at her. I don't know what came over me, but I needed to have her then at any cost. She of course nailed me in the balls, saying:

"The old magic's still there."

Despite my antics, she did still give me her number. I was still mortified, and needed to find a place to go be alone. I left the basement and strolled around the buliding somewhat. On the 17 floor I found a nice little office that was unlocked to chill out and drink some wine. After I sat down, however, I heard laughter and screams above me. This sounded like a happening.

And it was, but nothing could have prepared me for what I saw. People of all shapes and sizes were lining up, and bending over to receive spankings from Indian men with wooden paddles. As I was staring at the proceedings, one of the men approached me.

"Hello, my name is Varghese. Would you like to join our Ass Slapping Party?"

He was smacking the palm of his hand with what looked to be a cherrywood paddle.

"Um, no, I'm all set. But you go on, it looks like fun."

I backed away, slowly, never taking my eyes off the man. When I reached the elevator, I rushed in, closed the door, and breathed a sigh of relief. Then I pulled out my cellphone and did a little drunk dialing with Kate Jackson.