Fuck a Duck

When I had come, I stood up and away from him, tossed out a “Surprise, Donald! See you back at the resort,” and left him there, panting and moaning.

I returned to Parliament House thirsty, but happy and decided to go to the resort’s strip bar for another drink.

Entering the bar, I did a double take. Donald was dancing a pole in just a G-string.

He saw me, but it was several minutes before he was able to leave the stage. “Couldn’t get enough of me?” he asked with a smile.

“Got that right. But how did you do it?”

“Do what?”

“How did you get back from the park before I did? There some quicker back route between Disney and here than Interstate 4?”