Our Brush With Greatness.
By Martin Felcher

It all started with a trip out west. Harlan and I were in the men's room of seedy casino in downtown Las Vegas, Nevada. After about 2 beers, we headed for the men's room so that I could releive myself, and Harlan could begin vomiting as usual. We were down nearly 50 dollars and my palms were already starting to sweat. We stepped up to the wall on each side of an average looking Latino genleman, who we would later find out was one of the greatest men to have ever lived.

I'm pretty embarrased in public bathrooms and I almost literally climb into those wall mounted urinals to make it impossible for anyone to get a glimpse at my grotesquely underdeveloped penis. Not like I think anyone wants to see it, but everybody looks, and I can sometimes hear their snickering as they glance over at mine, and then relax with confidence. It's really tough not to sneek a peek, especially when you're standing right next to a guy like this so I faked a yawn and, leaning my head back, took a quick look at what was going on next to me. I couldn't beleive my eyes. Sanding there, with both hands on his hips, a good two feet away from the urinal, staring straight at me, was Lance. All 14 inches of his enormous, uncircumcised, Columbian member in plain view. He looked down his nose at me and nodded as if to say, "That's right, little man. Look all you want. How could anyone be self concious with a tool like this?" I couldn't beleive it. I still feel like less of a man today after having seen it, and this was only the beginning.

We follwed him around the casino for about an hour. He was throwing thousands of dollars around like it was nothing, guzzling vodka like water with beautiful women on each arm and at least 9 more slipping him their phone numbers as I watched. He immediately became my idol. I was in awe of him.

He wore a rust-brown suede jacket and tight fitting black pants. He had on one of those silk shirts with the really big collar that you wear with the top three buttons undone. The kind that only really cool guys can wear with a lot of gold chains and a pair of cowboy boots with the pointy toe and the stailess steel tip. The guy even had on one of those pimp hats with the huge brim. If I tried to wear something like that, i'd get my ass kicked. He just strutted around in this getup like he dresses like that every day. He had rings on each finger that were each about the size of a matchbox car. They were made of gold and diamonds in the shapes of all different letters; an L, a K, an F. I would later discover what those letters spelled, and it would change my life forever.

It must have been obvious that I was watchng him. I followed him around like some kind of lost puppy with my mouth gaping open in amazement. He was invinceable. Men cringed, and women swooned as he slammed down stack after stack of 1000 dollar chips at the craps table. It didn't matter if he won or lost, he always had that look on his face. It was that same on I had seen in the men's room. Sort of a half smirk, half snarl of confidence.

After a while, I completely lost Harlan. I found him later behind a dumpster covered in gravy with his pants around his ankles. I have no idea how he got there and he still won't tell me what happened.

On his way out of the casino, Lance passed by me. He had two women with him, a fat cigar in his right hand and a fifth of Chivas Regal in his left. He looked right at me and in the deepest voice I had ever heard he said two words; "Lucky Surf". My blood ran cold.

For obvious reasons, Luckysurf.com is our hero. Not oly that, but every time someone from this page signs up for their site, we get one big fat dollar. We've got about 12 so far. Do us a favor and sign up at the link below. It's ABSOLUTELY FREE, it will help us out a lot, and you can win a MILLION dollars just for doing it. What have you got to lose?

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