A seedy strip club.
A smoke filled dance floor.
Horrible Flock Of Seaguls music or Justin Beiber's "Never Say Never". It didn't matter which.
"Crotch Rabies" would dance to anything while a stream of red insects poured from her flesh eating virus infested vagina, it only got worse from there. Crotch Rabies was only her stage name. She only had an Alias, Videos. She had to get rid of her real name since her vagina had committed Crimes Against Humanity by snuffing out the life of a Rabbi who had hired her to help him "Read The Tora". The music thumped in the seedy strip club, a place where women who were too intelligent for that sort of place, but had severe Daddy Issues bordering on the absurd came to dance their pain away.
That sad, lonely pain that only the eventual digging up her Dad's corpse form the local graveyard and having long slow sex that only a professional incestious necrophiliac like herself could give him. She paraded around in her usual costume, a thick layer of horse piss, sparkles, honey, bear ****, and a sharks vagina that was the only thing covering her flat, slowly decomposing, nipple-less breasts.
Three customers popped into the unflattering club, which was a parking garage equipped with a stripper pole, a fog machine, a legless midget with a CD player hooked up to a single speakerless subwoofer. Al Ittle, See Kadvent, and a DJ by the name of Music Mogul popped into the parking space that was usually reserved for the legless midget's red wagon.
Al smiled, slightly disappointed that this was where his promotion party was being held. "This is pretty much the setting for your most outrageous stripclub stories." He said with a tiny laugh, Kadvent smiled broadly, eyeing the ugly hag like creature up on the stage.
Crotch Rabies shot them a look of contempt. "No one cares about what you do for your night job. Just make it rain while I eat my own ****, then **** it onto my husband over there in the gimp outfit." She snapped. The stream of red insects now gushing from from her fetid, mold spore producing, fungi sprouting nightmare snatch from Hell's half acre.
See Kadvent, continued smiling as he threw a brick at her.
Al decided to end this poor demented woman with a crotch that smelled like fourteen day old Chinese food if it had been left under a morbidly obese Sumo Wrestler with a bad case of **** geysering. "Al, remember what we talked about? Strippers of this caliber will only look at you if you're stabbing their diseased, herpes ridden snatch with an arc welder and if you're pointing a gun at her puppy.
Music Mogul yawned, the stripper dancing like a knee capped tap dancer in a room full of upward pointing knives. Her tears of daddy **** shame were all too eager to be seen as she twirled around the pole, slamming her head into the guard rail like it was her favorite past time. Her tears were green, like toxic waste eating away at a green apple.
"Go to Jumbo's Clown Room in LA..." He began as he ran over to the legless midget and field goal kicked him over the railing. "You will see some crazy **** in there."
Al Ittle held the gun out, it was a Desert Eagle equipped with hollow point bullets with a Cyonide core.
"Aw, come on Crotch Rabies! You know you would love to jam some singles down whatever you call those meat flaps on your crotch, while I drape my sack over your face." He giggled uncontrollably, couldn't hold back, and pulled the trigger, the bullets exploding out of the barrel, zipping through the air, and buried themselves into videos knees. she cried even more Daddy **** tears as the honey attracted the insects she had birthed, the horse piss had attracted the attentions of a semi, and the bear **** had given her space herpes.
The three men decided to kick the crap out of her head, one at a time, while the other two held her arms down. Afterwards, they slowly ran over her repeatedly. The three customers then left for Vegas, and hopefully, a better stag party, leaving Crotch Rabies for dead, alone, and getting hit by the semi while the insects began devouring her still wriggling corpse.