Moore's the Merrier

"Ever buzz the tower?" I wonder.

Ryan chuckles: "We quote the dialogue from Top Gun a lot, but never buzz the tower. Cessnas are too slow. Wouldn't be the same effect, you know? I learned to fly over in Deer Valley. I'm from Denver, originally. A travelin' man."

"There are a lot of things you can do, being a pilot," I say. "So what're your career plans?"

"Oh, I dunno, Hooters Air, maybe," says Ryan, smiling. "Actually, I want to fly corporate stuff all over the world. I don't have the money to travel, so I want someone to pay me to travel for free."

"Are you a member of the 'mile-high club'?" the J-girl inquires lustily.

"Yes, I am," he replies, proudly. "Her name was Jenny, and she was very good. You know the whole 'Let me take you up in my plane' thing? It works."

"Man, I gotta start taking lessons," I comment. "Say, how'd you do that, anyway, in a freakin' Cessna?"

"Autopilot, my man!" he says, winking.

"You wanna get some, Kreme?" Jett asks of me, as we move on from Ryan. "Forget about pilot school. Just do as I say: Talk to more drunk chicks."

"Drunk chicks, eh?" I respond. "Hell, let's go find some!"

As luck would have it, there are three squalies nearby, though how faded they may or may not be is up for grabs. Their names are Annie, Sarah and Angie, but Sarah is the trio's spokesperson.

"What're you lovelies doin' at Casey's this evening?" I query, doin' my best to act chill.

"Drinking water," answers Sarah, a bangin' blonde with a cute upturned nose. "Are you recording this?"

"Er, yeah."

"Well, we love to suck wieners," says Sarah, out of the blue.

"Hmmm, and what does drinking water have to do with sucking wieners?" Jett has to know.

"It's lubrication," she smiles, while taking a sip, amused by her own outrageousness.

"Seen any you like this evening?" I ask.

"Do you have a wiener?" Sarah questions, looking deep into my eyes.

"A-babababab-b-b-b," I stutter, unsuccessfully trying to get out the word "absolutely."

"Ignore him, this is what happens whenever he gets near a female," clucks the J-unit. "Are you girls students -- of anatomy, perhaps?"

"Actually, I am Deutsch," says Sarah, in a fake accent.

"You mean, German? Then what you want is the Wiener schnitzel, eh?" says Jett.

"Ja, Wiener schnitzel is good," she laughs along with her pals.

"You're crazy! I can't believe you're just drinking water," says Jett.

"Well, we were drinking margaritas before, over at Z'Tejas," Sarah admits, switching to a Southern accent for no good reason.

"Those are strong -- especially the Chambord margaritas," I butt in, finally regaining my composure. "They only allow you three of them at Z'Tejas, then they cut you off."

"And then we ordered something else," Sarah tells me. "Now I'm having water. I have to get up at 8 in the morning to go to work."

"Whew, good luck at that!" exclaims Jett, dragging me off, then whispering in my ear. "Now, if you catch one like that when they're kicking everyone out at closing time, then you've got a chance at hitting pay dirt."

"If anyone should know, you should, Jett," I say. "You've heard of Six Degrees of Separation? When you're involved, it's more like Three Bedsheets of Separation."

"Har-de-har-har," she lets drop. "Whoa, check out the eye candy."

Indeed, to our right is a whole table of dimes, and of course, Jett, being her switch-hittin' self, dives right in without a thought for me. As she squirrels around amongst them, rubbing up on each in turn, I chat up this bearded bloke named Steve standing next to me who's trying to explain his new business venture.

"It's www.poserFish.com," he says, handing me a card. "It's a betting network."

"What, like an online casino?"

"No, totally different," he explains. "On my site, two people can bet on almost anything. Like the size of the Deep Impact crater, where that spacecraft slammed into the side of a comet. Or whether Barry Bonds will play this year. We also take bets on sporting events."

"Anything you won't take a bet on?"

"Well, we did refuse a bet on whether or not they'd find the body of that teen in Aruba," admits Steve. "I thought that was a little creepy."

"Hey, I've got a bet for ya," cries Jett, bumping into us.

"And what would that be, Porthole?" I ask, using my pet name for the Tara Reid of P-town.

"That you break into a sweat the next time you slip on your Pumas," she cracks. "You know it, tubby, that's one bet you're always gonna lose."