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?
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 clientÃ¨le 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
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.