A Visit to a Strip Club

By -


Rolling down the highway on yet another drunken, dope-fueled blitzkrieg road trip, my buddy made an unexpected course change. That wasn't surprising, as I seem to gravitate toward people who make such decisions; in any case, the home-made laudanum I had just taken a swig of cured me of any impulses to question just about anything. Although it tasted very much like liquid ass, the effects it rendered upon me were laudable to say the least. Feeling good is good enough.

After enjoying a spell of particularly intense narcotic rapture, I snapped out of it momentarily and asked where the fuck we were going. "Droolie’s”, said my kamikaze pilot/brethren. Oh, OK, as I semi-consciously girded for what was about to transpire. “Droolie’s” is a strip club, but I changed the name to protect the guilty. I've never been a big strip club goer, and most of the ones I've been to were when I was with a friend or friends. I had forgotten my buddy mentioning something about doing a drive-by there on the way back.

I've been in strip clubs that ranged from swank to sleazy, with chicks that ranged from playmate/supermodel/porn star material to skanky, rode-hard-and-put-up-wet scrapas with mouths resembling something the Flintstones lived in, replete with bad and missing teeth and tongues that looked like they were in jail when they smiled at you. This club was somewhere in the middle.

Upon entry, my buddy and I made a beeline for the stage, and after sitting down, a cute blond chick started to jiggle her goods in front of me. Apparently I didn't break out the bucks fast enough for her, because she suddenly started screaming for the bouncers and pointing down at me. Two broad-beamed goombah-looking dudes immediately approached, but instead of trying to bounce me out, they very politely explained that decorating the strippers with folded, spindled, legal tender was mandatory when sitting ringside, or should I say, G-stringside. OK, whatever dude. I grudgingly gave her a dollar, which she grudgingly accepted.

The next one was a smoking-hot brunette that got a fiver from me, partially because she was so incredibly hot, and partially to spite the blond chick. As it was around Halloween, she was dressed up like a cop; the hottest fucking cop on the fucking planet…RoboStripperCop. As I looked up at the marvelous scenery, she looked down at me and said, “So, are you going to behave yourself tonight, or will I have to haul you in.” I replied, “All of the ABOVE.” She got a delighted look on her pretty face and said, “Ohhhh, I’ll catch you later then. I get off at two.” Holy shit, I came to the right place!!!


We had a few more beers and decorated with hard-earned dollars a couple more chicks whose boobs were as fake as their names. As I looked around the club, I saw it was full of shady, gangster-looking characters with serious, conspiratorial expressions on their faces and blue-collar dudes chilling out or saying they are going to take a fuckin’ pipe wrench to somebody.

I was plotting the logistics of my stripper tryst; I had a thick wad of cash adjacent to something else getting thicker, so I was prepared for anything if she was a hooker or not. However, my asshole friend reminded me that we needed to split. No, no, no, no, no!!!! Your buddies are supposed to HELP to get laid!!! Sadly, he was right, we had to get going. Fuck!!!! I said farewell to Ms. RoboStripperCop, who kissed me on the cheek and whispered in my ear in a sultry voice to come back when I wasn’t so rushed.

Popular posts from this blog

The Bridge: Suicide Isn't Painless

By -
Image
The theme song to the 1970 movie MASH is called "Suicide is Painless." It isn't, in ways I will try to explain. First of all, let's look at the act itself. Many suicide attempts are horribly botched. I recently asked an emergency medical technician what was the most unusual call he ever dealt with, and his immediate reply was someone who shot himself in the head with a .45 and survived. Rather than getting rid of his worldly problems, the man made them infinitely worse, not only for himself but many others as well. Several years ago, I watched a documentary film called The Bridge (2006) , which was about the people that jumped from the Golden Gate Bridge over the course of a year; 23 of the 24 (known) suicides from the bridge that year (2004) were recorded. Snuff films and/or anything related to them are far from my bag to say the least, but I felt compelled to watch this documentary, as my only brother killed himself by jumping from a bridge elsewhere...
Read more