whatever the hell today is, tuesday, june 18, 2002 i believe


Well, the gruelling strip club circuit is fraught with perils the likes of which no person who keeps their clothes on for a living has ever seen. I have always been amazed with how these hard working gals manage a keep a prize winning smile on their pretty faces all the time, despite the countless hardships encountered in the high-stakes world of booty gymnastics. I look on in quiet pride and admiration, often with a single manly tear running down my cheek, showing them a look of "you go girl" as they defy gravity, and yes, even physics, on a pole.

Strippers are a misunderstood lot. They are usually in for it only for the money, which can be quite good, especially when wayward perverts like myself seem to forget that the word "no" exists in our vocabulary. Back to my previous point, strippers are often young women in search of money to pay for school, cars, rent and cocaine. This removes almost all the guilt of staring at a girl getting naked, because I know that in some small way, I am helping her reach the first day of the rest of her life. Way to go Julius, I think I will pat myself on the back for my immense generosity and caring.

This is Harvard. I have sent many strippers here, and so can you.

Going to strip clubs is a fun venture, and it grants dateless men the opportunity to use their lame pick-up lines and actually have them work. Since you are paying the girl to grind you like only she and possibly a mitre saw can, she can't very well refuse now can she? (well, except for the time I suggested that we make sinful use of a duck and a puffer, but I was made to understand why that was wrong by the bouncers who had more back hair than a porcupine on rogaine). My favourite line at a strip club is "take it off," and the main reason for this is that you know that it will get done. Therefore, you feel good, you puff out your chest in pride, as if to say to everyone around you, "I made that happen." Of course, there can still be confusion, especially if the dancer is in one of her non-nude dances. In such an instance, "take it off" does not work to perfection. Then, you have to correct yourself.

"Take it off! Now, I know that sounds vague, I do mean for you to take it ALL off."

By the time you finish that speech, the young lady with the 15" heels capable of lodging your penis back into your abdominal cavity forever, has retreated to the pole to do some high-flying acrobats. And you are left without the satisfaction of telling a beautiful girl to take her clothes off, and having her actually do it. Then you go crazy and torch the building to the ground. Thirty hours later you finally succumb to a sharpshooters' bullet after a long stand off with police. All because you had to be specific. Poor bastard.

Strip clubs are an anomaly of nature. They seem to be the only male-only hangouts where you get to see female nudity. Think about it, you are among a sausage fest, yet you don't care because a gorgeous woman has plunged her nether-region into your nose. As you feel the cottony softness, the knowledge that your friend can cut glass with his boner is a distant thought, forever banished to the land of wind and ghosts.

Princess Leia could have been a fantastic stripper, if not for that pesky Empire problem. Fuck.

Basically, it takes a certain special type of person to be the ideal strip joint regular. I believe that people like me, who generally cares for the future and comfort of the stripper ("I cupped my hand like that so your ass would feel cradled and secure and loved") can make the difference, and can restore strippers to their once hallowed position atop the female-employment ladder. This may have been the case during the time of Caligula, I can't remember.

There is a new, terrible and sickening review in the review section. I won't even link it here because it may very well be the worst thing I have ever written. Don't say I didn't warn you.

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