My wife says to me, “How do you know what to write?” I say, “Its not what to write, its what not to write!” If I wrote every story that I remembered I’d be tossed off this deal in five seconds. Huh? You say. Lets see now, what just popped into my head. Hmm. A song on the radio can set me off down memory lane. Gee, ‘Money, money’, made a memory lane come to pass. It made me think of, ‘THE GLORY HOLE’. In phone man terms, a DBA. That means, the job your being dispatched to, is so DISGUSTING, they give it a fake name under, Doing Business As, to fake you out into taking said repair ticket. Hence, a DBA. If you knew you were going to a gay bar that specialized in old fags getting T-bagged, why, you just might find a way not to go to said business. Plus, the telephone equipment is mounted in the mens room ceiling accessed by a pull down ladder. Since its a gay bar, BOTH restrooms are for men. Naturally, the one that was for women is used by the cross dressers. Both have glory holes, so, be ready. These type places are where I would use my secret weapon to avoid contact with crazed inhabitants. No matter what drug these nuts were on, I was protected. My big container of fake boogers, given to me by the master mask maker at Hollywood Toy. Just pop on of the fake rubber sticky snots into your mustache, and PRESTO! Your an instant pariah. I always stuck one on the back of my hand to give me the, ‘Hick just wiped his nose on is hand’, look. I’ve found over the years its the little things that make life more interesting…