|
TreSwank -> First Night at a Strip Club (7/17/2006 1:44:36 AM)
|
I cannot believe that my friend dragged me along to this cheesy, alcohol-fueled, flesh exhibit. Don't get me wrong-Treswank was very excited about visiting his first strip club, but this experience turned out to be one big stinker!
Apparently, in the pseudo-liberal shithole that most of us know as Connecticut, women can't take their bottoms off in adult-venues that serve alcohol. I sure as hell didn't know that, before I asked a seemingly coke-addled "Sapphire" (yes, they've all got cheesy fucking stage names) to show me her snapper. That, by itself, put me in one foul mood.
The second big letdown of the night was an argument that I had with a bitchy, twenty-something hussy by the name of "Honey". When she sat down in the seat adjacent to mine at one corner of the stage, I made eye contact and gave her my signature, disarming and charmingly boyish smile, just like any other nice, all-American guy would do. Little did I know that the unscrupulous broad would take it as a sign to attack.
"You've got a cute little smile", she said on the approach. Amazed at her lack of orginality and the stifling odor of stripper sweat drifting off of her body, I just replied with a casual "I know". "Would you like a private dance?" she asked me, with a disgustingly feigned deferential air. It turned out, upon further interrogation, that these so-called private dances (lap dances in popular lingo) cost thirty bucks, and consist of a three or four minute grind session.
"Can I at least get a finger or two up in there for thirty bucks?".....................................I knew that she'd say no, but I wanted to gauge her reaction. My friend seemed to be a little bit taken aback by my insolence ("That's not cool, man"), but I wasn't ready to stop anytime soon. "You mean to tell me, woman, that you'll dance show me your tits for a George Washington, but I have to pay THIRTY DOLLARS for a grind-session, and you won't even let me use my fingers?"
I've NEVER seen such a slutty looking stranger get so riled up in my life. What's even worse, is that the goddamn bouncer (one big, italian looking, son of a bitch) asked my friend and I to leave, after "Honey" had called me a "fucking asshole", and a"smart-ass little queer." What a fitting way to end the night. At least TreSwank learned a few good lessons from his stripper fiasco:
1. Strippers enjoy shitty, maudlin R&B music and hip hop that would make anyone with good taste dry-heave in the nearest bathroom.
2. After being asked if I "partied" three or four times in a row, I realized that strippers LOVE cocaine.
3. I DO NOT get along with strippers!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Does anybody else have any insightful stripper facts?
|
|
|
|
