I went to my local small-town strip club last night with friends. Here are a few things I noticed:
What’s the fuck is up with strippers dancing to butt-rock??? Let me let these sluts in on a little secret…Nickelback, Hinder, Limp Bizkit, Korn and Creed are about the least likely of all types of music to give me an extra large veiny boner and in turn empty my pockets of all Washington’s to store between your jelly and the elastic strap holding the whole production together. Nickelback has been part of the death of real rock music and I don’t want it fraternizing with my sluts dancing on a pole. Hinder (Nickelback Light) is no better. Also, all these juggalo skanks need to realize that when I checked my huge fucking wall calendar this morning, it said 2007! Limp Bizkit, Korn and Creed were some of the worst parts of a much rather forgotten era that never needs to be revisited unless it’s on one of those crappy VH1 “I Love the Late 90’s/Early 2000’s” episodes where the D-list comedians ruin their careers even further by trying to make obvious and witty remarks over tv clips.
Next, I would love to see the dictionary of stripper names one of these days. It’s probably like two fucking pages long. Bambi, Candy (sometimes with an ‘i’), Cocoa (if she’s black), Diamond…have I covered them all yet??? I think this place actually had two Bambi’s. Let’s not just get the seminal juices going, but also the creative juices. Maybe call the person that named “Bjork” and see if they have any other spare crazy fucking names they could loan you. It might be more interesting than Shasta.
Now I know where these creep ball sexual deviants I see on NBC’s Dateline: To Catch a Predator actually come from. There was a fat 18-year old loser still wearing his Arby’s uniform sitting in the front row feeding out money like a loose slot machine. This guy showed no emotion and had a creepy mustache. He’s probably already serverly fucked in the head from looking at the other 80% of the Internet, which is all pornography or other things in the same ballpark and wanted to try his luck with a REAL smelly snatch in his face. When this guy shows up on Dateline with a 6-pack of Smirnoff Ice, condoms and a cucumber at the house and the camera crew walks out, I’ll be able to tell everyone that I knew that fucker was gonna be on this shit. And it just makes those women that much more of mega-skanks to know that they rub their stinky roast beef (maybe Big Montana?) up and down his fat, acne-laden face. “I’m thinking Arby’s!”
And what about the DJ? Did you get turned down for employment as peep show mop man? You get paid nothing to be there and play the shitty music and you barely make any tips to cover it anyway. I’m not gonna pay some hair metal burnout to play Nickelback or Motley Crue’s “Girls, Girls, Girls”. Doesn’t the sleazeball owner of the club know he can just buy a computer that will shuffles all of those loser bands up? It would probably cost him more to buy the program then to keep the burnout employed, working off of zero tips and the dream that one day he might actually get to bag one of his disgusting co-workers. It’s pretty bad when he can’t even get some cat from these single mothers.
Anyway, I highly suggest you get drunk and high before you go to your next local strip club. It makes it that much better. Unless you live in Dallas, LA, NY, Miami or 5 other places where you might actually want to fuck any of the girls onstage.
Peace out like a trout.
-Mr. B
The last time went to a titty bar, this actually pretty (under black lights) redhead was dancing to a Motorhead song….I wanted to fist her….for her pleasure, of course.
And the DJs are needed, who else is gonna say, “next to the stage is Candi!! Get out your dollars, shes workin hard for you!”
And did you ever notice after being there a few hours, the only tits you wanna see is the waitresses, because its the one your not supposed to see.