China Club
"Ever been to the China Club?"
This was his customary opening line. During his first coming out as a twenty-year old, it had been a most impressive badge of honor. He and the line aged ungracefully, until one day John Cena looked up from his coffee and replied to it with a 'what?'
"China Club. Big place in New York."
"Yo, I think that place got busted down. Cause I ain't heard of it."
With that, Paul Heyman felt embarrassment flame to life. These kids, with their modulars, with their pants and their haircuts! They had never been to a club in a nehru jacket, trying to scrape their coke-addled lover off the floor of a club just to get a decent blowjob!
"Say kid; you uh...you swing this way?"
"Yo, what way, man? Oh, does my twisty straw bend like that?"
"Twist-twisty straw? Are you talking about your walking stick?"
"Yo! I could tell you all about my mic. It's turned all the way to eleven, man!"
The words sent Paul into a dizzy spell. "Ya know what? I think I'm gonna turn in."
"Hey, yo, man. It's your loss." He promptly adjusted himself in the most interesting way.
Paul downed the rest of his martini. Business had just decided to pick itself up.