Z Bone in the Chair
   By Link (with apologies to Ernest Lawrence)

The outlook wasn't brilliant for the ASSC crowd that night;
The dancers had demolished almost everyone in sight.
When Eye gave way to Edie, and Bubba did the same,
A sickly silence fell upon the patrons of the game.

Most had given up the quest, dejected in deep despair.
The rest were sure the odds would favor veterans of the lair.
If each one would but try his luck--one might just stand his ground.
But 300 laps together? No champion could be found.

At 80, Dodger struck out. At 90, Doug caught fever.
The former fell to Holly; the latter fell to Viva.
Upon the stricken multitude, grim melancholy grew;
A sad record in lap dancing for members black-and-blue.

Then Laar pitched up his pup tent, reached 100 overall;
ALS won 140, but collapsed into a wall.
And when all the dust had settled, our eyes they turned in place
To a bright and shining figure with confidence and grace.

Then from 5,000 throats and more, there rose a lusty yell; 
It rumbled through the hallway and rang out just like a bell;
It rolled upon the freeway and recoiled throughout the air,
For Z Bone, mighty Z Bone, was advancing to the chair.

There was ease in Z Bone's manner as he stepped into his place;
There was pride in Z Bone's bearing and a smile on Z Bone's face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly tossed his hair,
No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Z Bone in the chair.

Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt;
Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt.
When Crimson sprang forward and spread her legs against his hip,
Defiance gleamed in Z Bone's eye, a sneer curled Z Bone's lip. 

When her leather-covered ass-checks came hurtling through the air,
Z-Bone moved to shift his clothing, his little man prepare.
100 laps, then 200. The numbers quickly sped.
"Another lap" snapped Z-Bone. "That's all from me," Crimson said.

From the back, thick with people, there went up a muffled roar,
Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore.
"Molli! Send in Miss Molli!" shouted someone in the stand;
There might have been a riot had not Z Bone raised his hand.

With steely determination, great Z Bone's visage shone;
He stilled the rising tumult; then bade the game go on;
He gestured he was ready, and sweet Molli took his lap.
The two began to sizzle, reached 299 in a snap.

"Yes!" screamed the maddened thousands, "Yes, he is our lap-dance gawd!"
But one scornful look from Z Bone, and the audience was awed.
They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles tense;
His brow began to moisten, and his eyes began to wince.

The sneer was gone from Z Bone's lips, his teeth were clenched in hate;
He pulled his shirt and trousers in, prepared to meet his fate.
As Molli reached her rhythm, which had started out quite slow,
The air was suddenly shattered by the force of Z Bone's blow. 

Oh, somewhere in this favored land, the sun is shining bright;
A band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout;
But there is no joy in Frisco--mighty Z Bone has splooged out.


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