NC-17-rated anthropology: inside the “den of whores” III

DISCLAIMER: there’s less talk about “greased vaginas” and more talk about me being completely unimpressed with ingrates who we save from themselves. ugh.

as always, your hero has vowed not to journey to certain dens filled with certain whores unless it’s either “for a special event” or “for science”; unfortunately for all those concerned, such a special event, in the form of yet another bachelor party, occurred recently, and thus we were once against off to the land where the men have random handfuls of beers and the women are… well, “women” is perhaps not the right word. “classy ladies?” “prostitutes?” i don’t know. what i DO know is that apparently every single person i know who wasn’t already married is getting married between the years 2008 to 2010. i feel old.

anyway, this journey’s discoveries:

the clientèle

see how these guys are dressed? that’s correct, they are NOT wearing the appropriate outfits for going out in the evening to stare at naked ladies

-let’s start this off with a commentary that i will call “on sales pitches, part one” for reasons we shall return to later. a colleague of mine had a classy young lady ask him if he was interested in a dance (he wasn’t, as we were basically there ensuring the bachelor was having a good time and not much more) and then begin to chat with him about random topics (which may have been a sales pitch, but not an overt one) … when this middle-aged man sidles up, wraps his arm around said classy young lady and inquires as to whether or not we’ve gotten a dance from her. look, guy, here’s the thing: you’re creepy. it’s bad enough that you are, yes, one of those “sad, middle-aged guys who are posted near the stage/bar, staring intently” … but it’s worse than you want to tell me how good a dancer is. you’re old, she’s not your girlfriend, you’re PROBABLY not going to fuck said girl and i know for a fact that i have less than zero interest in how sexual arousing you found her dance. but look, here’s the deal: if you want to be creepy, do what you did the rest of the evening and hover around that classy young lady and get dances and ask her about her work schedule. just leave me the fuck out of it.

-so we’re there and we see this guy come in dressed like a surgeon (or at least the plastic apron and hat), and there’s not much you can add to that other than “and our fucking minds were blown.” i mean, it’s not Halloween and this guy is certainly NOT any kind of a doctor. does he think he’s going to impress the rest of the clientèle by posing as a rich, successful doctor? does he think he’s impressing the classy young ladies? we simply could not figure this out, which is probably to be expected, since there’s no logical explanation.

-at one point, a classy young lady was trying to scare up dances and told us that other clientèle had, when she was at their table, lunged forward and licked her exposed breast. this is a) just flat-out terrible and b) something that prompted me to note, quote, “i’m sure she’s surprised that people would behave so poorly in such a classy establishment.”

the staffing and the whor- i mean, the classy young ladies

Rob Zombie
aside from his whole “i’m a director now” career choice, this man once made a lot of excellent music for naked ladies to dance to. still trying to figure out that “Educated Horses” title, though

-song selection is probably more important than people realize. sure, if you’re good-looking (or “good-looking for a stripper,” if you prefer) and surrounded by horny old men, you can probably shake it to whatever and still make some money from the sad, sad men. but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t take a LITTLE effort (at the very least) to pick your songs. for example, Linkin Park’s “Lying From You?” this is a good stripper song. and i think we all approved when this one dancer comes out and puts on Rob Zombie’s “Living Dead Girl,” a tune that rocks no matter what’s going on. but dancing to Will Smith? WILL SMITH? this shit is unacceptable.

-and now, a commentary that i will call “on sales pitches, part two.” so it’s late in the evening and this tired, older classy lady (whom is the subject of some jokes that are just too complicated to explain here) sidles up to us and does a couple of things: requests money despite not having danced or done anything else (this is simply illogical) and requests we tip another classy young lady who has recently completed a dance (this is simply… weird). ma’am, here’s the deal. i stay away from the stages so as to not have to tip dancers i don’t watch dance while i help work out the celebrations of others (and study all this for science); i do this so that classy ladies like yourself will not expect a dollar or a cent from me. okay? okay.

-also, if you are that token “gross stripper,” seriously, you need to stay away from me. oh, and also, if you’re the token “ridiculously fat stripper who’s really just way too fat to be a stripper,” my god, please don’t ever be the first thing i see when i walk in the door ever again. it was incredibly awkward.

-so there’s always a couple of older, tired-looking classy ladies there and this makes me wonder: what career do you transition into from being a stripper? like, when you’ve been doing this from age 18 and now you’re 40… where do you go from there? because you shouldn’t still be in their dancing, but the only answer that anyone can think of is “prostitution.” so is that it?

random thoughts?

-okay, let’s say you’re heading home and you realize that one of your colleagues (not the bachelor) is too drunk to drive home safely. so you explain this to him and he argues with you terribly because he’s ridiculous, and then you and a friend drive that drunk’s car to that drunk’s house before returning to collect your own cars to go home. now, is it appropriate for this drunk to complain about all this the next day? THE ANSWER IS NO. FUCK NO, YOU INGRATE.

conclusion: things we learned

janklow and friend
it turns out that if you take photos of us looking like “douchebags,” it still violates the “no cameras of any kind” policy at the den of whores, though you may still get said awesome photo

-to be completely redundant, naked ladies make guys do pathetic things;
-keep your sales pitches related to yourselves;
-if you ever have to be taken home due to your extreme drunkenness… well, maybe show a little gratitude? that might be nice.

NC-17-rated anthropology: inside the “den of whores” II

DISCLAIMER: not only is this topic a little redundant, but i don’t even use the phrase “greased vaginas” in it this time. so if that’s what bothered you LAST time, well, rest easy!

so redundancy aside, once again our elite research team (myself, my loyal enforcer Smiles, a assortment of married men and our local “swordsman”) assembled itself for the purposes of going after more research on what i called last time “the sordid side of things.” our destination varied slightly because, you know, we’re major science dudes and, thus, we ALSO need access to discounted chicken wings and, for myself, a lot of televisions showing a constant stream of football so that i can avert my eyes from all that disgusting naked flesh.

actually, in fairness, this particular strip club has been good luck for me; the last time i was taken there, i spent the entire time watching the football game while my fantasy opponent for the week kept text messaging me repeating things like “oh man, fuck you, Addai is killing me, fuck you, good luck next week.” that’s right: i’m such a nerd that i can take a tale that involves naked dancing women and make the only relevant story my fantasy football team’s success.

awesome, awesome Joseph Addai
Joseph Addai scoring a touchdown: more or less interesting than naked ladies?

we also took a couple of unpaid interns with us who had never engaged in such a scientific study before, which was worth its weight in ridiculousness as, well, when the youth of America get totally hammered and demean themselves, it can be fairly funny. hey, if i could have found a three-legged dog named Cody, i would have brought him as well.

our discoveries?

the clientèle

-remember the part about how “i always get depressed to see these sad, middle-aged guys who are posted near the stage/bar, staring intently?” yeah, what was immediately spotted? two guys fitting this exact description, one of whom was a fat dude in a yellow hat, and one of whom might have been Deepak Chopra. seriously. and apparently, they had THE seats for middle-aged staring guys, because these two seats rotated through a small collection of them: all sad and paunchy and clumsily desperate to put those one-dollar bills you know where. (the answer, as bellowed by our loyal semi-retarded janitor, is “IN THERE” combined with a crude, crude hand gesture.) this is still sad, but i think Deepak Chopra was at least legitimately medically examining a couple of these dancers; his stare was THAT intense and i will bet you that if any of their hairy axe wounds was diseased, he WOULD have seen it.

-also spotted hanging out in this classy establishment: this fat guy who was a) balding and b) rocking a mullet, thereby achieving what was identified by Smilez as a “skullet.” i suppose this is one of those “just when you think these dudes in here couldn’t get any sadder” moments, but in fairness, this guy seemed pretty jovial, so i guess we should at least assume he’s not terminally depressed at this point in his life. though i suppose having access to both a) cash and b) women essentially selling themselves for that cash will give a man with a skullet that kind of feeling.

terrible, terrible haircut
yes, shockingly, when you have a haircut like this, you might just have to pay naked women if you want them to touch you

-so not that this kind-of, sort-of makes fun of anyone we went there with… but if you take a guy to such a club who appears to have some social awkwardness AND some money to burn AND who have never been to such an establishment before… well, hell, those whores are going to swarm on him like flies on shit. and yes, that’s EXACTLY as classy a metaphor as i want to use in this circumstance. let’s not try to put a beautiful gold coating on such a circumstance, okay?

-actually, most people didn’t look like massive douchebags this time, but there was this one guy there in a 1980s-style tracksuit (i think i described him as “Run-DMC over there”) who i am pretty sure not only was a douchebag, but also is a guy i could beat up. i grant you that i’m totally tiny and just get a little aggressive when i am drinking and surrounded by things that anger me, but i swear, i think all 148 pounds of me would have won that fight. as i think i said riding around in a car in Baltimore this one time hammered and trying to hang my head out the window Joker-style, “i’m just saying i will fight that guy right now. i don’t care.”

the staffing and the whor- i mean, the classy young ladies

-to take a small break from making fun of the whores, i actually want to make fun of the non-whore staffing, starting with the security. so here’s the thing: it doesn’t really do anyone any good to have a metal detector if the door staff is nowhere to be found while a crowd of guys (we try to roll deep, you know) cruises through it and all of them are setting it off. and i want to point out that i further prepared myself by leaving behind all possibly objectionable items (wallet chain, cell phone, the majority of my “work knives” and “murder knives,” the latter being an inside joke i guess the internet isn’t up on yet) … and in the end it was for no reason at all. but hey, security, way to make a guy i was with who’d been doing nothing but drinking at the bar and being disgusted by the whores turn his ball cap around. way to be on the job!

-also, about the guy that hangs out in the bathroom and offers you soap, towels and, yes, candies: so, i get that you’re there to make sure guys aren’t jerking off in the stalls, but a) isn’t it going to be hard to catch them when you’re on your cell phone the entire time? and b) i hope you appreciate that i tipped you. i don’t know why i did this; all a guy who’s hanging out in a bathroom does for me is make it awkward to urinate. and i didn’t even get any of your candy!

terrible, terrible jobs that involve bathrooms
i don’t care how nice the bathroom is, i don’t care how nice the uniform or supplies are; this whole “bathroom attendant” thing can’t be pleasant for anyone involved

-so here’s what’s classy: a luxury sedan (which i assume is paid for with the hard-earned money those sad middle-aged men have been stuffing into the garters and panties and whatever else you can put money into) in the parking lot of a strip club … with a baby seat in the back of it. look, we all know you’re here to pay for those college classes/drugs/ill-advised baby had at the age of 16, but come on, let’s not spoil the illusions for those of middle-age and social-awkwardness, okay?

-so while i am generally disgusted by the pseudo-prostitutes working in these establishments (i mean, come on, they’re heavily greased up and often filled with plastic surgeries and/or massive quantities of drugs), i do like to take the position that i respect their hustle, because it’s not like they’re ROBBING people. and generally these “ladies” seem pretty sharp at said hustling, as evidenced by their romancing of middle-aged men with or without skullets and those naive young men reference above. but that being said, here’s the thing: when guys send said “ladies” over to harass your hero janklow, who is NEVER going to give them a goddamn dime, if you don’t realize that fact and stop wasting time (and money, as i have often heard that time = money) on said janklow ASAP … well, frankly, it decreases the amount of respect i have for you.

random thoughts?

-alright, the headbutting thing. so a colleague of ours (who was quite hammered and also possibly familiar with the cannabis sativa) came out, and the last time i saw him was when i was heroically drunk and DEMANDING headbutts. we know how that worked out; i got a huge lump on my head that i wanted to cut open and look inside (i didn’t) and everyone else got a good laugh. note, however, that these were controlled, intentional headbutts. that didn’t happen this time when, after declaring myself “too sober” to want headbutts, i got a surprise one from a guy twice my size. and another. and then another five, bringing our total to “seven too many.” front-of-the-head headbutts aren’t that bad, but when they’re to the side or, worse, the back of the head … well, fuck that. the second-to-last one was this superman headbutt out of nowhere to the back of my head, and let me just say this: i think part of my brain exploded. that shit hurts RIGHT NOW. and not “right now when i’m writing this” (Tuesday) but “right now, as in, i’m betting it’s still sore on Friday when this gets published.” no more headbutts!

-this club had a $5 hamburger special. i am sure it would have been gross and diseased, but you know what? i really want to know what a $5 strip club burger is like. why didn’t i order one?

terrible, terrible hamburger, possibly
found this searching the internet for “strip club burger”; it actually appears to be worth $5, though who knows if this actually came from a strip club’s kitchen or not

conclusion: things we learned
-as always, naked ladies make guys do pathetic things;
-you can apparently get $5 hamburgers at the kind of place you’d NEVER want to order food at;
-headbutts (and, additionally, violent choking) at the hands of huge men are painful and, frankly, should not be repeated if you can help it. seriously, i think i’ll be paying someone for personal protection next time.

NC-17-rated anthropology: inside the “den of whores”

DISCLAIMER: i intend to use the phrase “greased vaginas” in this post, so i just want you to know that if that’s the kind of thing that bothers you, well…

so as we all know, i am opposed to nudity and sex and anything that can be described with the term “whoo-ha,” but still, on occasion, i like to do a little serious, scientific research into the sordid side of things. last time, we took a look at artificial vaginas and who exactly was fueling that business (it turns out that the answer was “no one,” which, frankly, still confuses me), so this time i decided to make my update late on the grounds that i’d be taking an expedition into the den of whores itself for reasons of science: our local strip club. and by local, i mean “that one that my co-workers go to that i generally refuse to go to.” but when you venture to such unchartered, fearsome territory, be it the Amazon rain forest or the “famous” McDoogalls’, you’ve got to plan ahead, and so, in order to accomplish this, i took several steps to ensure the success of this expedition:

step 01: carefully wrote out a last will and testament (“i leave all my guns to my sister…”) in case i was swallowed and devoured by a massive, feral greased vagina;
step 02: gathered the necessary supplies together: some money to ensure safe passage from the locals, a lighter so that i could sterilize my body with fire, and one of those lasers like in the movie Congo, just in case i find myself tangling with a race of weapon-using primates who seek to kill me to protect a diamond mine;
step 03: assembled an elite team composed of myself, my loyal enforcer Smiles, a couple of married guys (you know, for charity reasons), a guy who has had sex with 50 times the women i have (which when you do the math, mysteriously comes out to a total of 47), and a local yokel whose “bachelor party” would be the cover story for this scientific study.

so, fully equipped, what did we discover?

the clientèle

terrible, terrible human beings
above: typical strip club clients, apparently. i don’t care how readily they take your money, guys, those dancers don’t actually LIKE you

-i always get depressed to see these sad, middle-aged guys who are posted near the stage/bar, staring intently, handing off their money to ladies who, you know, “really like them, no, really”: i don’t know what happened with these guys’ lives along the way, but it can’t have been good. that said, i would be disappointed if there weren’t any of them there … and luckily, the first guy i saw in there fit the bill to perfection: chubby, wearing a weird yellow-and-tan outfit, gleefully smiling at these girls trying to sweet-talk his money away from him (and succeeding). seriously, these guys have expressions like dogs do when you wave steaks in front of them, and it’s a little sad.

-things that, if you wear them to a strip club, label you a douchebag: shirts with popped collars or “HOLLISTER” emblazoned on them (though this applies everywhere); sandals or flip-flops (because, really, have you SEEN the bathroom in such a place?); shirts that we can’t tell if they’re jerseys or sweaters from the Cosby show (seriously, we can’t figure this one out at all); the whole “making it rain” thing (which we will now discuss below).

-as to “making it rain,” here’s why this typically doesn’t work: it’s not done to impress the girls, because a) they’re not impressed by anything because the drugs have dulled their senses and b) it’s really about impressing the other GUYS in the bar with how much money you can afford to through around … and you don’t want to have sex with the guys, right? anyway, it seems to me to always be done by young guys with $37 in ones, and no one is impressed by $37. hell, 13-year-old kids get bigger allowances than that. and no one ever makes it rain with large bills. and if you are in one of those rare clubs where some millionaire DOES make it rain with thousands of dollars… well, quite frankly, doesn’t that millionaire seem like a douchebag rubbing his wealth in your face?

-guys, look, do me a favor: don’t bring your wives and girlfriends to places like this. i know, you think it’s a nice way to get to go there without getting in trouble with your wives/girlfriends, and, hey, maybe there will be some super-erotic lesbian adventure involving your girl and a stripper, but, no, please, don’t do this. what happens is that your girl immediately feels awkward for reasons that have nothing to do with the dancing naked ladies, but rather, with the clientèle i have been mentioning. or, actually, there’s another possibility: you’re the fat ugly redneck with his arm around his fat ugly redneck wife/girlfriend, who’s sitting there with a bored, distressed look. because, hey, you’re basically telling her “these are the girls i’ll be thinking about when i climb up onto your bulk and pound you out tonight.” and, come on, how do you think that makes your white trash lady feel? no, wait, my fault, i forgot that they don’t have feelings.

the staffing and the whor- i mean, the classy young ladies

terrible, terrible human whores
classy young ladies abound where men have handfuls of dollar bills!

-before anyone says i cannot call these women whores, bear in mind that one of them, on non-consecutive occasions, declared that she “needed double penetration” and -and i swear this is a factual story- made her asshole “talk.” i believe it said “look, it’s saying goodbye to you!” and i don’t think any of that was prompted AT ALL (though someone may have paid her money for a dance prior to that “talking asshole” thing, so maybe only 50% was unprompted). there is only inaccuracy if you DON’T call a woman like that a whore.

-my favorite moment was when i turned around, saw the “MC” was wearing a bow tie and a dress shirt, and remarked to one of my team members, “see, what he’s doing there is showing us that we’re in a classy establishment.” look, i’m sorry, maybe i was funnier at other times, but i liked that one. i was also doing materially about how i disagree with Robert Plant in that while he says women’s souls were created below, i don’t think they have any, but that wasn’t fresh, topical material, you see.

-i have to admit that while my married colleagues are looking at these naked ladies and saying “hey now,” all i do is try to figure out what drug addiction they have. for the record, i think only two of those ladies were methamphetamine addicts, and there is some dispute about one of them, though i attribute that to team members directly giving her money and not wanting to think said funds are going to pay for drugs. the rest, i gather, all prefer heroin. remember, the key is to examine their expressions not when they’re trying to upsell their vagina-themed dancing to you, but rather, when they think they’re NOT actively on display.

-so listen, whores, here’s the thing: you don’t all need breast enhancement. and the main reason i say this is because if you don’t NEED it (and i can only think of one such case of NEED, and i am pretty sure she was working her way towards that purchase, which is sort of a catch-22 when you need the fake breasts to get the money to pay for the fake breasts), you run the risk of achieving nothing more than getting a bad breast enhancement that we can make fun out. common problems include: blatant and bad scarring, nipples that are “too high” (which might seem odd, but which is immediately apparently), overall excessive “fakeness,” and, frankly, ruining breasts that are already perfectly acceptable.

-other things that make the whores unattractive: stretch marks (very classy, of course), long-winded “tramp stamp” tattoos that discuss the names and ages of your children (i cannot even imagine why this idea would occur to someone as a good one), having what a colleague of mine referred to as “a tail” (seriously, it was a tail bone that appeared protrude 4-5 inches from this woman’s back), taking cash in order to show their naked bod- oh, wait.

conclusion: things we learned
-naked ladies make guys do pathetic things;
-bars packed to the gills with sad men and greased naked ladies don’t smell very good;
-it’s always funny when two naked girls draw a massive, neon phallus on your co-worker’s back.

mistakes may have been made

NC-17-rated anthropology: they’re artificial, not fake or synthetic (who knew)

DISCLAIMER: this is not a TSA story, this is a pervert discussion.

a little-known fact (insert tired “little-known because no one reads what i put on the internet” joke here) is that in the process of rummaging through your personal property and skid-marked underwear and rotting meat in order to keep you, yes, YOU safe from international terrorism (like Al-Qaeda and COBRA and so on) is that i have come across, on many occasions, sex toys and other dirty materials. these range from what i consider “normal” (dildos and vibrators not containing bombs, standard porno) to “less normal but expected” (double-ended dildos, those anal bead things, 300-pound-ladies porno) to “just fucking crazy” (dildos larger than my arm, those “puffer” things, anything marked “sex grease,” Eastern European punching-in-the-face porno). actually, fuck it, there’s no normal, i’m a huge prude and all the above is too much for me.

ANYWAY, there are two things i haven’t seen in a bag, and that’s where this question comes in: blow-up dolls and artificial vaginas. now, the first seem to be to be either a gag gift or the kind of thing a guy who made $10 million during the internet boom pays five figures to fuck a REALLY nice version of (i think they’re called Real Dolls or something like that). the latter, however, is what confuses me: i’ve never seen one in a bag*, yet these things are supposedly a marketable product – they started making them years ago, they’re STILL making them, they apparently make all kinds of them, and yet i don’t know anyone that would admit to owning them, and i’ve never seen one. however, since i’ve seen every last goddamn embarassing thing, you’d have though i’d have busted one by now.

these bunnies are there for your protection, but if you click on them, they should give you a horrifying idea of what i’m talking about here.

i attempted to do a little internet research on this matter, but it turns out that “fake vaginas” and “synthetic vaginas” aren’t the preferred terms; that would be “artificial vaginas” or “pocket pussies.” actually, the former makes me think of some kind of medical replacement for real vaginas destroyed by, say, boating accidents, and we’re clearly not talking about that. after some very misguided web search results – i know too much about bull semen collection now, and, no thank you, i want nothing to do with “BUILD OWN ARTIFICIAL VAGINA” – i have given up on proving how many of these are getting sold. still, if they’re still making them in large amounts (note that i just assume these are large amounts), wouldn’t that mean all of us should know SOME guy that owns one of these?

i followed this up with some field research, and here’s what i learned (without even being punched in the face one time!):
-100% of men don’t want to talk about artificial vaginas, and they don’t own any artificial vaginas, and if they DID own them, they wouldn’t admit to it (shocking);
-100% of women think men are totally gross (and i concur).

none of this is making any sense of the matter for me, though, beyond that i agree that these things are gross: either every guy has them, or none of them do, or some guys do and some guys don’t. there’s really no more information to get without breaking & entering, so i guess i’m just going to have to remain confused here. i would add “if anyone’s got any sales information or tales of people that own these things for a fact, let me know” here, but after this i think i’m done talking about artificial vaginas for the rest of my natural life (and if i come back as a zombie, well, i think i’ll still be good).

final note: so, what’s the deal with modeling these after “some famous pornographic actresses’ vaginae,” anyway? it’s not like you’re going to some prostitute ranch in Vegas and having sex with a woman who occasionally appears in porno films, you’re doing a lump of plastic that CLAIMS to be modeled after their vaginae. and it can’t be like sex with them (or any real person), and i don’t know how you’d compare the real versus the fake vaginae (unless you’re a major fan). is there really a sad guy out there fucking one of these things and pretending this is “just as good” as fucking Jenna Jameson or something? this just seems pathetic, as in, moreso than “normal artificial vagina fucking.”

*to be technically fair, i saw one in a bag one time, but the person (i didn’t check the name) was clearly a representative for a company that SOLD such things and thus i’m not counting this example. everything else i’ve noted as having found appeared to be … used in some capacity.