Fake it till you make it

I’m cranking AC/DC’s ‘Thunderstruck’ in my headphones at work for a few reasons:

1. It’s awesome

2. It’s lunch time so I don’t have to be on the ear-out (lookout for ears!) for office pricks

3. It’s the song that’s playing when the football players leave the strip club after an all night drinking and cavorting fest and the massive hangover and shock of the sunlight leaves them all…you know

4. Strippers often dance to this song

5. Play it on repeat while I write this post can only result in better writing

Now I just wanna say a quick word about the title of this post. I didn’t use the incredibly lame “Gentlemen’s Club”. It’s stupid and I’ve been in a lot of strip clubs a lot of times and I can assure you there are no gentlemen, myself included, in those places. How do I know? Doesn’t it take one to know one? I’ve never met anyone I’ve known in a strip club.

Immediately following this post I’ve pasted two recent reviews I’ve submitted to Google Maps and Yelp of the two strip clubs I enjoyed the most (but don’t get me wrong, they aren’t the only ones I loved – The one in Montreal was hands down the most amazing lap dance I have ever received and I’m not gonna describe it here because it deserves its own post). Just so, if you’re interested, you can get a more acute description of the phenomenon.

There will be points I make in this post that I will probably repeat in the subsequent reviews. I’m just to lazy to not repeat them and honestly most of you won’t make it through this post let alone have any interest in reading those reviews so it won’t ever really be an issue.

(I’m on my 3rd consecutive play of this song and it does. Not. Get. Old.)

I’m going to presume all of you have seen enough tv and/or movies to know what a strip is like. But here’s a devil’s advocate for that one person out there who is so sheltered that they have no idea what I’m talking about.

Every strip club (and I’m only going to discuss the ones with female strippers because I didn’t really have a good time in the few male strip clubs I went to. What can I tell you? I think penises are gross.) has the following components:

Strippers. Strippers come in all shapes, sizes, races, creeds, gender identities, addicts, clean living ladies, alcoholics, teetotalers, pregnant, not pregnant, inebriated, high, sober, angry, happy, bored, mean, idealists, cynics, spiritual, atheists and pretty much any other type of person you can think of. What I’m gettting at is that, for me anyway (and I know this is NOT true for many men) they are people. They are not objects. Oh yeah, the one thing they all have in common is that they get some degree of naked for their job and do their best or least to pretend to enjoy the company of leering idiots like me.

(Song listen #6 – still going strong!)

Bouncers – same as any bouncer at any other club or bar. Except I think they often date the strippers. Lucky motherf*ckers.

Bartenders: again nothing you haven’t seen before. Except they are usually ex-strippers or soon to be stripping. The strip club bar is not some place you settle down. It is a way station between callings. The drinks are crazy overpriced but that’s not unique to strip clubs.

Patrons: now I know you’re expecting to list my people: fat, bald, ugly, broke, perverts. Yes we are definitely there and we make up the largest percentage of the strip club patron cohort. But more and more lately, these small groups of women have begun to frequent the clubs for whatever reasons they have. Maybe they think it’s a good. Maybe they like to look at boobs, too. I don’t know. I don’t interact with them: I’m there to focus. There’s also the woman who thinks she is badass and cool because she’s at a strip club. These ladies usually front in every aspect of their loser lives and playing a part in the strip club is just another venue for their bullshit. I know I’m hating but I just don’t like them harshing my sanctuary.

So you know the players now. Let’s break down the game.

I’m gonna make this part first person but know that I am implying that there are lots of men out there who have similar opinions and experiences and/or opinions on strip clubs.

Hold on to your butts.

I get to the entry point and sometimes there’s a cover charge and sometimes there is not. There’s always a bouncer and he usually checks your ID and you can see in his dead eyes that he hates this fucking job and the only thing he hates worse is interacting at all with this legion of gross pervert patrons.

So you I go in and grab a seat. I like to be kinda close to the stage so the strippers don’t have to go too far to get to me when they’re done with their set. They usually dance for 1-3 songs. My deal is I watch the set and I will go up to the stage and tip a dollar to the stripper and head back to my seat. I just like to get a closer look. Because I like to be thorough like a nudity scientist and also I’m nearsighted. I really don’t like going up to the stage at all because I don’t like the bright lights to confirm that I am indeed a pervert and I am indeed present at the strip club. I’m not worried about my fellow patrons judging me (well except for the girl groups but I don’t care about them) because my people and I are in this together .

So let’s call the stripper Destiny for narrative purposes. Destiny stops by my table, gives me the best fake smile she can muster and indicates, with no words, that she would like an additional tip. I give a dollar again to the ones I really don’t want to get more time with because I’ve worked in the service industry and I know how hard that work is and how tips are everything.

Now if I happen to be particularly smitten with Destiny, for example. I’ll tip 10 bucks. This usually gets them to take a seat and ask me if I want to buy them a drink. I haven’t declined yet. So we will sit and chat about whatever until she finishes most of her drink and then she’ll walk out of my life forever or, if it’s legal within that jurisdiction, she’ll ask if I want a lap dance. Usually I say no cuz lap dances don’t do much for me and for the price of one lap dance I can usually get to have two chats with two different strippers which is what I like best about strip clubs.

I can hear the rumblings already. She’s just a total fake: fake boobs, fake tan, fake friendliness. She really despises your gross ass. I’m sure most strippers aren’t fond of their clientele. I know ALL of them are only stopping to chat because of financial motivations. That’s their JOB. I don’t give a damn if she’s acting. Give her a goddamn Academy Award. I’m perfectly aware of the transaction : I give you 10 bucks and buy you a drink and you’ll be nice to me and chat with me and laugh at my terrible jokes for about 10 minutes. That is what I want.

And don’t give me any shit about going out in the world and actually having a conversation with a real live female. I’ve dated over 150 women. I gave that up. I’m not closed to the possibility of a conversation with a woman I am attracted to but dating, at least, is not a priority for me right now.

Hot ladies and I mean stripper hot which is it’s own style, don’t talk to dudes who look like me except maybe to order extra fries. And hold your “women love confidence” retort cause I ain’t confident either.

So it’s nice to have a stripper sexy lady be nice to me for a few minutes even if she is pretending. You think Bob your financial planner really likes you? You think the bike mechanic cares about how your week was? Virtually every job that requires interaction with a customer requires pretending.

We as a nation just look down at strippers because this country is infected with a puritanical streaky that considers a decapitation shown on television to be no big deal but heaven forbid a female nipple makes an appearance. If that calamity happens, multiple “religious” organizations get involved and congressional committees get convened.

So anyway that’s what strip clubs are like and why I like them.

Go with god. And make sure to bring lots of ones (they charge like 10 bucks for a withdrawal at the strip club ATM).

The reviews:

Camelot (Washington, D.C.)

This feels like a dangerous review to write in the #metoo era but I’m gonna do it anyway. I first went to Camelot back in 2002 because I had recently been fired and alcohol and hot naked chicks always cheers me up. Luckily DC law allows full nudity and alcohol! Some of you haters might say the dancers here are all fake: fake boobs, fake smiles, fake friendliness. And maybe you look down at a strip club enthusiast like myself because you might presume I don’t get what the deal is. I don’t care that their boobs are fake. To quote Arsenio Hall “if she bought them, I wanna know where so I can buy a pair myself and slap them on to my dashboard in my car and mess with them whenever I’m at a stoplight.” And I don’t give a crap if they’re being fake nice to me. I know they are. That’s the deal. I give tips and pretty women pretend to not think I’m an ugly, fat bald middle aged dude making 34k a year and living with his parents. I’m good with my reality and I’m absolutely good with suspending my disbelief when it comes to these ladies. As far as the place itself goes, the decor is pretty archaic. The downstairs is pretty cramped and hard to move around and the upstairs almost feels too big. The ladies, for the most part, are very attractive and nice. The booze is expensive but if you can find a strip club with cheap booze, please send me their address. I spent so much time there in the summer of 2002 that I even got to try their lunch menu. They had some really tasty Mediterranean cuisine dishes, believe it or not. I’ve heard of strip club buffets and I definitely wouldn’t have the balls for that adventure. And the best part of the lunch shift during the week when you’re an unemployed slob is that if you actually act like a nice person to the dancers They are more likely to be pretend nice to you more than they are with other guys. You can even pretend befriend them! One even offered to tell me how to play women! For some reason I cannot remember (probably some BS placed morality or ludicrous principles) I told her that I didn’t want to play women. I wanted women to like me for me. Man, was I dumb. Also the ladies at Camelot are so nice that if you spend a lot of time there (or money I suppose but I promise you I was not throwing around big money there because I’ve never been rich or even upper middle class) they will actually find out your birthday and gather around you during a lull in the weekday lunch shift and sing you happy birthday. I know it’s all pretend but I didn’t care. A gaggle of lovely ladies singing to me for even a few seconds was probably the highlight of my unemployed summer. Shoot, it might be one of the highlights of my life! Anyhow if anyone is actually still reading this review, thanks for sticking with me and if you wanna create some perfectly sleazy and amazing highlights of your own, make sure to visit Camelot!

Scarlett’s Cabaret (Hallandale Beach, FL)

I went here on a first date with a woman I met through an online dating site. I was shocked that she wanted to go; I didn’t suggest it. But I’m a pretty tame dude so I’ve never usually sat with a woman at a strip club who wasn’t employed by the club itself. I think the strip clubs in southern Florida are the 5th best overall in North America (my personal ranking the Best to the Still Awesome: Las Vegas, NYC, Los Angeles, Montreal, South Florida and Tampa as well). Scarlett’s is a solid representative of southern Florida’s strip club excellence. As for the club itself, there were a bunch of small stages positioned all around the room and what seemed to be like 10-15 women stripping at the same time. It was gorgeous naked women sensory overload and I loved every minute of it. The booze wasn’t so horribly expensive by strip club standards and the dancers were all stunning. Get yourself a bunch of one’s if you’re in Hallandale and go have a blast!

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