Last night someone said to me that he's as nervous

as a whore in church.

Which reminded me of a Christmas eve many moons ago when I decided to go to midnight mass.

I had spent the previous holidays totally plastered and decided I didn't want to go that route again, so I had decided to fight the seasonal depression a little.

So en route, I stumped into Tony's Bar and offered anyone that wanted one, a ride to midnight mass. I immediately ignored the three guys that said "we'll be with you as soon as we finish our beers," as that wasn't going to happen. I shrugged and walked out.

The minute I cleared the door, I saw a hooker that I knew as a constant bar patron, as that was where the bulk of her business was conducted.

She said to me, "Pic, if you're going alone, could I get a ride? I won't let anyone see us together."

"Hop in," I answered. "I'dbe honored, and don't worry about being seen with me because you know I really don't give a rat's ass."

So I took a hooker to midnight mass. I didn't think anything of it.

Apparently a few other people did and I promptly got several earfuls from more than one of the pious people that seemed mortally offended by bringing such an evil sinner into their place of worship.

I drew a few dirty looks and a couple of people out and out said something to me about it.

One, a woman, had the common sense to say something to me privately.

I told her that it was what churches are for, sinners.

She blushed and felt pretty low and apologized. I'll give her this, she was decent about it and treated me well after the indident.

The big one was the City Father Stolid Citizen self-appointed leader type that actually had the nerve to come into Tony's and castigate me publicly and then he started to walk off.

Facing his back, I fired a verbal shot. "Two reasons you came into this den of iniquity to talk to me," I snapped. "Either you are running for instant canonization to sainthood to be bestowed on youu before you are even buried, or."

He angrily turned and faced me. Confidently and in a nasaty tone, he snapped, "Or what?"

"Or you been nailing her like a framer with a Senco nail gun and you are pissed because I made you feel guilty. One or the other! Which is is?!"

He instantly turned purple. This was clearly not what he expected.

The barflies were now agape, but recovered and looked to see which way this one was going to go.

"You can't talk to me that way," he snapped back.

"I can and I did. Put up or shut up, you old hippocritical windbag!"

I got a standing ovation for that one, and promptly had a drink and quite a number of chips good for a free drink set down in front of me, which was fine, but what meant the most to me is that I had successfully defended myself against one of the high muckety mucks of the town, and had kicked the living daylights out of him.

About an hour later, a sergeant of the police department came in and walked up to me grinning.

He asked me my side of the story and I told him. It was confirmed by the patrons sitting at the bar. The cop flat out laughed.

"He came in and raised cain and tried to get you run out of town," he laughed. "Don't worry, I'll fix it."

He did, too. A few days later, on New Year's Eve, the self-rightous bastard got nailed for a DUI on the way home from a party, much to the satisfaction of many.

The hooker in question was not in the bar at the time of the blowout, but her sister pavement princess was and word got back to her and the hooker approached me and told me she felt bad about getting me into trouble.

I responded by telling her I was proud to have taken her, which by now I was. My Irish was up over the incident, and I told her it was my intention to take her again next year if she was still in town.

She later did me a favor a month or so later when a certain coke whore tried to get into my pocket. I'll post that here if I remember.

The big payback came a few months laeter in the spring when she left town.

I walked into Tony's and there was a manila envelope there for me. The bartender handed it to me and I took it over to the table and opened it. I read the letter and quickly stuffed the contents into the envelope, went straight home and hid it.

It was a careful hand written verbatum, highly detailed copy of her trick book.

Guess who's name was on it? I would have never guessed the guy was into such sick stuff.