DELTA FORCE
Dan Higgins
By Dan Higgins

    As you all may or may not know, there is a new HUNGRYDUCK on the horizon. Well, maybe not that fucking far away, but it is on Altufievskoe Shosse. I mean, it took me two fucking hundred Ruble notes to get there. Who the hell would put a club so far out? As if there aren’t plenty of sluts in the center of town.
    That’s what I was thinking at first. On the other hand, it says it’s the Hungry Duck and so obviously I was pretty fucking interested in checking the place out.
    You’re thinking, what’s with the name, I mean, is it or isn’t it the Duck? I don’t fucking know either. The thing is, some short fat dude - Vitaly, I think - who manages or owns or does something at the new Duck tried to explain it to me, but I wasn’t really listening. I had my sights set on other aspects to the story, if you know what I mean.
    He told me some story about a split in the management and that the new Duck is the real Duck. I don’t know, though, that shit was a bit too philosophical for me. I wanted to know about the pussy factor. That is the real test of a Duck. I mean, if it looks like a slut, talks like a slut and fucks like a slut, it’s probably at the Duck. Or something like that.
    Don’t get me wrong, this Vitaly guy was alright, he didn’t mind that I had brought a couple brothers with me. But I didn’t come for a fucking history lesson. Who the fuck cares who owns a place if there aren’t any bitches around. Well, were there? I’m getting to that.
    Anyway, so the new Duck is way the fuck out of town, like one of those fucking places where they haven’t discovered electricity yet. And the building doesn’t look too likely either. Everything dates back to the fucking Commies, you know.
    I’m thinking - before I even open the fucking door - that the brothers I came with are going to give me shit forever about this place. I mean, it hardly looked like the place every American man dreams about.
    But hell, I’m thinking, at least we’ve gotta get a couple drinks. I don’t turn down free drinks. Anyway, on the outside the place is still called Vulcan or something like that, but the bouncer told me that I had found the Duck. So, what the fuck, we went in.
    And I suddenly understood the Genius of my man Vitaly. I was thinking, they should make this guy an honorary Phi Delt or something. You see, what the guy had done was given us Westerners a door to a honey pot we don’t see too often.
    The new Duck was splatter painted with neon colors that were all glowing under a spotlight. This shit was the perfect fucking bait to get all those provincial bitches that we so rarely find in the middle of Moscow. I mean, this Duck is the key to as much provincial pussy as you could want. And it’s like I say, who the fuck gives a shit what they are wearing if they are going to get naked anyways.
    I’m telling you, sluts galore. I was in the smelly ass bathroom mouth fucking some bitch before I even had time to get drunk. And she fucking swallowed it all. That’s right. A fucking quickie in the bathroom. That kind of shit doesn’t happen too often. Even to a guy like me.
    But that isn’t even all of it. I wasn’t even close to done. Once I got back out to my friends, I lost the chick - I mean, what did I need with her fucking ripe breath? We start boozing it up and within half an hour the whole fucking place knows that we’re Americans. The word spread like fucking crabs, man.
    Even if the place wasn’t as packed as the old Duck gets, it had the fucking ratios going for it. I mean, guys were outbitched maybe four to one. And Americans, well, we were it baby.
    I got my hand on every fucking chick’s ass there. They tried to resurrect some of those stupid Duck traditions like that fucking Rod Steward song and dance. The waiters run around in familiar Duck t-shirts. But whatever.
    I mean, honestly, it isn’t the fucking nasty sweaty Duck on Kuznetsky. I mean that place is too crowded to have a chick go down on you in the bathroom. But this new Duck is fucking nasty. And that is what counts.
    Let me just say one more thing. My friends didn’t go home alone that night and neither did I. That’s right. Two bitches, one club, one night. What the fuck else can a guy dream about??