Once again it has been pointed out to me that I need to stick w/ what I do best, which is telling (hopefully) funny stories, usually to my own detriment, and recounting tales of days gone by. Why folks seem to enjoy reading them Im not entirely sure, but if that's what keeps people coming back, then I am more than happy to give them what they want. That being said, I am dipping back into the story well this week to share a tale that occurred during my very first week in Missoula, right on the tip of what would be an occasionally-miserable, often-hilarious, eventually soul-crushing experience known as law school.

As is prone to happen during the first days in the new forced awkward interaction stages of things such as graduate school, there is an inherent expectation to be social. Months/years later you look back at said expereinces and shake your head, realizing you never spent another minute w/ many of those people, but in the beginning you do as must be done. Just the way these things generally go.

This is NOT one such story. In fact, it was a direct reaction to such an evening.

The first Friday night of orientation, a group outing to one of the local watering holes was had. Just an hour into the evening it became very clear who was/was not used to functional social interaction, leading myself, Lou* and The Beav* the seek entertainment elsewhere. (* – per usual, all names have been altered so as to protect the sweet and innocent) All three being new to town, we asked around and we're told that the place we were looking for was a joint on the south end known as The Elbow Room.

Not knowing any better, we all saddle up and head down, not sure quite what to expect. I promise you, none of us expected a double wide trailer with soft spots in the floor, but whatever. We went w/ it anyway. (Seriously, you can Google it. Such a place exists.)

The reason we went w/ it? Upon arriving, we found the place to be absolutely hopping, and by hopping I mean a whole bunch of western Montana transplants hippie dancing on the outside w/ a single Asian girl in middle straight tearing the place apart. Our shock at such a display must have been apparent b/c w/in two minutes one of the bouncers came over, proud-father smile on his face, and nodded towards the dance floor.

“Yeah, she's a stripper from Kalispell, comes down every so often, always puts on a good show.”

That's literally all he said before disappearing again. Over time, I've even started to wonder whether he really existed or if he was just an ethereal deliverer of information. I have no idea, and at this point I really don't want to.

The three of us stood and watched her destroy one guy after another on the dance floor w/ the kind of gusto usually reserved for cougars at a wedding or fat kids in a bakery. Long hair whipping around, hips popping, shoulders gyrating, we immediately named her The Wolverine. She was rabid, and she was completely unashamed of it.

Our fascination lasted for a song or two before morphing into the realization that one of us had to get out on that floor w/ her. It prolly wouldn't go well, she wouldn't most certainly dominate us, but it didn't matter. We were at The Elbow Room w/ a stripper from Kalispell on the first weekend of law school. This was the kind of story we'd be laughing about for the next few years.

After a few minutes of back and forth, The Beav and I decided it would most assuredly be Lou going for the kill. At first, he was having none of it, yelling, shaking his head, complaining about anything he could think of.

“Twenty bucks each!”

That got his attention. He starts watching her more closely, bobbing his head w/ the music.

“Double or nothing I drop to a hand in the middle of it and hump the air?”

No hesitation. “DONE!!!”

At that point, Lou is on board. We get him a shot and a beer, both of which he pounds. He gets more into the music, works his way to the edge of the dance floor, prepares to make his move…and The Wolverine strikes. Literally pops back into the guy she¬†was dancing w/ so hard he stands bent at the waist on the dance floor, trying not to vomit, waving off her attempts to spur him on.

After that, Lou was out. Just wasn't going to happen. To this day I wonder if he ever would have made it down to a hand had he gotten onto the floor, but that's long since past being the point. He got punked, publicly, and we have never let him forget it.

The reasons I chose this week to share this tale? Just a few weeks ago, I had a Wolvering sighting at the Bikini Cantina that stopped me in my tracks. Try explaining to your friends why you're suddenly standing on wooden legs, g

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