Here is the bottom line: Titties. I had a sweet pair of titties in my mouth last night. I don't care how shitty your trip has been, or how many days you've been in jail, but when you end it with a perfect set of titties in your mouth, and the girl is actually good looking for once, all is right in the world. I had a huge smirk on my face all the way to the airport, where I have developed gas that smells exactly like honey-roasted peanuts. I am sharing it with the guy next to me, who does not look like he agrees. And in case I have to point it out, I'm still drunk. I'm astounded they let me on a plane.

Let's back this truck up before we go getting ahead of ourselves and I tell you about the strippers. Oh yes, there were strippers too. When I entered the gates Thursday night, it was my last day of work release. I had to serve Friday, Saturday, and Sunday in jail to get out on Monday at 8 AM. And that... is a lot of fucking poker. I played and bonded with a couple of really cool guys: Lemir, Chris, and Seth. Seth was in for 15 for biting his baby momma (he's white) when she slapped him. Chris had picked up a bad habit of writing himself company checks, and Lemir was a fan of the crack rock. A rag tag bunch for sure.

I actually got a nickname in jail: "Two pair." Any time I got two pairs, I would get my ass handed to me. It was uncanny. I flop Aces and two's, and get beaten by a straight flush. The odds of that are close to 1 : 72,000. I know. The strippers. I'm getting there. Recently guys had been tossing cartons of cigarettes over the walls when they came back from work release to stock up for a long Memorial Day Weekend, which the guards caught onto and started shaking down the yard. The cigarettes they didn't find rose in price, to eight dollars a cigarette by the time I left. Second hand smoking probably en entire carton was free.

Saturday night, it happened. At the usual headcount at midnight, this bitchy female detention officer walked in and turned on the lights. She walked over to my bunk and asked for my ID which I gave her with a seriously crusty look for waking me up. She turned on her flashlight and scanned up and down my bunk, disgustingly marveled that one could actually sleep amongst his own soda bottles and candy wrappers. "Perry, kickout." That was probably the sexiest thing a woman has ever said to me in my entire life. That meant I was done. D-O-N-E. I was out of there a full day and a half early, most likely for my charm and good looks.

I packed all the crap I had brought in into a plastic bag, slung it over my shoulder, and headed to the gate. One last time in the pink Barbie handcuffs and a bus ride later, and we were in the holding tank waiting to be processed out. To make sure that the person leaving was the same person going in, we got re-finger printed and then they played 20 questions with us right before we got to leave. This was my favorite question:

"What do you call your mother?"

My response: "Mom, Momasaurus Rex, or if I'm mad... Jean."

Officer: "....I was going for Jean, thankyou."

They put eight of us into a little room, opened the outer door, and released us into the night. Everyone literally screamed with joy. "Free at last, thank god almighty I'm free at last" ... I finally know what Martin Luther King Jr. was talking about in his great speech from the steps of the Birmingham Jail when he got out for refusing to give up his seat on the bus. I grabbed my bag of crap, took a good crow hop, and hammer threw it into the parking lot. Then, I just started running. I was so excited I just ran. About two miles later I got tired and called a cab. I am done with this DUI, bitches. I feel like I should get some sort of certificate or T-shirt, but I suppose the giant hole in my bank account will suffice.

Ironically, the night after I got out was the one year anniversary of the DUI.

At Dos Gringos in Old Town: Looks like I'm trying to sneak one in Evan's back door.

The next day was Memorial Day, and our friends Georgie and Erica had invited us up to a pool party in way, way - WAY North Scottsdale. I made Georgie pull over and let me take pictures of this guy and his paneled van. Jon commented that this was going to be me in a couple of years, but I would never be caught dead driving something like this. Mine would be silver, not beige.

"If I don't get this fixed soon the candy is going to melt and the kids are going to start getting sweaty."

There were kegs, there were friends, there were girls... and there were strippers. One of the guys who lived there was friends with some strippers and told us that they were going to be coming over after their drugs wore off. Jon and I both have whiplash from jerking our heads every time we heard the sliding glass door open. I decided that pool parties are much more fun than being in jail.

...For several great reasons.

Finally, the strippers came over. When they came out the door you could hear everyone jabbing each other with elbows whispering way too loudly, "Be quiet, be quiet" and giggling. Shortly thereafter, we got word that a bar down the street had Karaoke, and decided that we (my friends and I, the strippers were bust and stayed behind) should definitely go participate. Turns out there were probably a dozen people in the bar including us, which was good because we started taking shots and getting rowdy.

The Kansas Girls and me.

Justin, Jon, and I, being drunk and acting gay.

Realizing we just got caught acting gay...

"Give me that fucking camera."

Which leads us back to the beginning of the story, which is where it will end, without details on said titties or exactly how disappointed the girl was left after we hooked up.