Saturday

As you can tell, I’m not here today. Actually, I'm here but I’ve been enjoying a day off after wowing the ladies with my routine last night.

The Green Dragon Tavern was a riot and it was as though the Chipster hadn't been away. The only thing to go wrong was that one lady got so excited that she wrote her phone number on my thigh. She used one of those permanent markers and now the number won't come off. I tried using a scouring pad but I couldn't get past the dial code before the pain became too much.

I also need to make a request:

Could whoever it was that caught my thong last night please contact me. I left the spare front door key in the secret pocket stitched into the crotch and I really don't want to change the lock.

A Sweaty Friday

I’ll be brief. I think that’s what you want and I need after my mammoth post yesterday. I’m really sorry it was so long as I'm sure nobody read it.

To be honest, I don’t have much time right now to write a long essay. I’m dripping with sweat after a gruelling workout since I’m trying to get myself in condition for tonight when I’m making an early return to the stripping circuit.

I’ll be at the Green Dragon Tavern at ten, performing my new routine, which I’m calling ‘Gunboat Diplomacy’. It’s a topical routine, even though I say it myself. It ends with the last bit from the 1812 overture as the canons roar and my thong goes sailing out into the crowd. It’s as close as I get to making an overt political gestures in my act but I’ve had enough of this country being made to look foolish by these Iranians who are, let me remind you, a nation very hostile to the thong and thongdom.

At these times of heightened international tensions, I think all we can ever do is to thong on and never look back.

See you all tonight at the Green Dragon Tavern. And remember: when I shout ‘take aim’, the first person to cry ‘Fire!’ gets the thong.