Sand, Daggers, and Pythons....not necessarily in that order!
Or even if you do luck into the possibility of some fleeting pleasure, like say if some nymphomaniac telephone operator with the muscle control of romanian mud slappers agree to a little strip air hockey, it'll be over before it starts cos some cab jockey slams his chequer up your hatchback. and the cab is owned by some pinuata spanker from a Santoria cult who starts shaking chicken bones at ya and gives you a boil on your neck so big, all it needs is michael jordans autograph to make it complete.
Bristo....RIP, long live MC Bristo II