Evening ladies and genitals. This is the first post from the sparkly Tony Spunk, pleased to make your acquaintance. I am a singer, based in Las Vegas, the city of light, casino chips, good Cubans and baaaaaaaaad ladies. I’ve been trying to make my living singing in lounges since I was knee high to a hooker. I started on the club circuit around Northern Nevada. Spent some time in Reno, a little cocksucker of a town that has some flea ridden cesspits that pay pretty well. Don’t touch the ladies however, phoooeee. Not unless you wanna spend the next three weeks in a government quarantine bay. Shiver.
I aim to be the best lounge singer Vegas ever saw. Course I’m a long way from touchin’ this fella.
Ok when I say “touchin'” I don’t mean like physically. I ain’t no homo or nothing. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. It’s just that this kielbasa prefers a dip in the mustard, get my drift? Still I don’t think I’m exaggerating by saying Lib is the Man. The King. Not bad for a big, old, dead, shiny queer. I love the guy. Just not in a touching each other’s pee-pee type of way.