Cheyenne Frontier Days, "The daddy of 'em all," begins in two days. Some people call it CFD. The Rodeo (always with a capital R). The un-official end to summer.
I call it the 10-day blow job.
To most of the regular Toms, Dicks & Harrys, the annual spectacle is a good excuse to leave town or head downtown to laugh at the drugstore cowboys and rhinestone hookers who invade our respectably-sized metropolis.
But to the a select few, who get to wear a plastic badge announcing them as a CFD volunteer or - God forbid - CFD DV - the chubby screaming to be serviced is already standing at attention ready for all to worship.
Those ID-sized badges are a little blue pill of joy marketed under the pretense of community outreach. Too bad the badges don't carry the same FDA-mandated warning advising users to seek help if things don't relax after four hours.
The CFD DV badge provides folks who carry some sort of important-sounding title with perks at the rodeo (like free shots of Pendleton Whiskey under a tent while watching an 8-second ride). And those perks are not to be discounted. Because those people can't mingle with the regular rodeo-goer, who can only buy beer from a college student and sits on aluminum bleachers baking in the sun while the smell of bull dung seasons their popcorn. The badge-wearers can't mingle with the community while outreaching.
I work with a few badge-wearers. I'm a lucky gal. Not only do I get to work for them (bringing the whiskey to them, because CFD DV), in some cases, I get to ensure people properly prostrate themselves multiple times in front of them.
In those cases, I'm a pimp. But instead of wearing the wicked cool '70s Huggy Bear polyester suit and feather boa, I'm in capris and flip flops. Flip flops because I live here, dammit.
Unfortunately sometimes I'm even lucky enough to experience that unbridled joy myself and callous my knees once or twice, or even 10 times, to ensure each badge-wearer is properly stroked.
I should pull an Elsa, I know that. This is an annual occurrence and everyone knows how much guys enjoy hummers. It's just that every year I provide road head for 10 days straight without additional compensation. Multiple BJs for multiple badge-wearers should include some sort of monetary incentive. Or a thank you. I believe it is common courtesy to thank someone who provides a vanilla shake.
In those case, I'm more of a hooker versus a pimp, you say. Technically you're correct, I am on the clock while pole smoking - so hooker works; even as poorly paid as I am. But when I'm booking hoovering appointments with various other badge-wearers, I want a bonus - and I want to wear a damn boa.
Come on August.
I call it the 10-day blow job.
To most of the regular Toms, Dicks & Harrys, the annual spectacle is a good excuse to leave town or head downtown to laugh at the drugstore cowboys and rhinestone hookers who invade our respectably-sized metropolis.
But to the a select few, who get to wear a plastic badge announcing them as a CFD volunteer or - God forbid - CFD DV - the chubby screaming to be serviced is already standing at attention ready for all to worship.
Those ID-sized badges are a little blue pill of joy marketed under the pretense of community outreach. Too bad the badges don't carry the same FDA-mandated warning advising users to seek help if things don't relax after four hours.
The CFD DV badge provides folks who carry some sort of important-sounding title with perks at the rodeo (like free shots of Pendleton Whiskey under a tent while watching an 8-second ride). And those perks are not to be discounted. Because those people can't mingle with the regular rodeo-goer, who can only buy beer from a college student and sits on aluminum bleachers baking in the sun while the smell of bull dung seasons their popcorn. The badge-wearers can't mingle with the community while outreaching.
I work with a few badge-wearers. I'm a lucky gal. Not only do I get to work for them (bringing the whiskey to them, because CFD DV), in some cases, I get to ensure people properly prostrate themselves multiple times in front of them.
In those cases, I'm a pimp. But instead of wearing the wicked cool '70s Huggy Bear polyester suit and feather boa, I'm in capris and flip flops. Flip flops because I live here, dammit.
Unfortunately sometimes I'm even lucky enough to experience that unbridled joy myself and callous my knees once or twice, or even 10 times, to ensure each badge-wearer is properly stroked.
I should pull an Elsa, I know that. This is an annual occurrence and everyone knows how much guys enjoy hummers. It's just that every year I provide road head for 10 days straight without additional compensation. Multiple BJs for multiple badge-wearers should include some sort of monetary incentive. Or a thank you. I believe it is common courtesy to thank someone who provides a vanilla shake.
In those case, I'm more of a hooker versus a pimp, you say. Technically you're correct, I am on the clock while pole smoking - so hooker works; even as poorly paid as I am. But when I'm booking hoovering appointments with various other badge-wearers, I want a bonus - and I want to wear a damn boa.
Come on August.
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