I like a nice pair of arms just like every other set of hooters with a cooter, but I don't want a rippling mass all shined up doing one of those weird tummy rolls. Well, unless he has an accent. Then we might be able to talk. Sure there are benefits to all those gleaming, flexing muscles. Like, he can pick me up and toss me about.
Besides, I am under the impression most of those strippers are gay. Of course, that could be something I made up. Although, I am pretty sure I read that in a magazine somewhere. Or maybe I read Channing Tatum used to be a stripper and I always thought he was gay. Shit, this is how rumors get started. Regardless, back to strippers.
They always play the crappiest music and it makes me feel as though I am having a flashback to the early nineties. There is something unnerving about watching a man gyrate to I'm To Sexy by Right Said Fred. Actually, there is something very unsexy about it. And as they strip down, eventually they are left with a a stethoscope around his neck and a pair of ball huggers. *cringes* Of course, he could be the cop and have a pair of aviators and ball huggers. Or a fireman and a fire hat and ball huggers. Basically he is left with some sort of accessory and ball huggers. I don't like ball huggers. I like those boxer briefs the guys are wearing these days.
There are other things I don't like about the strippers to, the main one. The scary scary women. It's almost as though all sense of rationale and modesty is flung out the window. I'm sorry, but if I wanted to watch a fifty year old woman flash a young man her floppy tits and try to grind up against him, I would just head on down to the Wheelhouse Pub (local dive bar).
Granted, it is amusing seeing the fine ensembles the ladies pick out to watch the studs strip down. If you love a gal in sequins, hoop earrings, hot pants and far too much make-up, head on down to the peelers.
I've gone to the girl strippers many more times than the guys. It is a far calmer environment. I like amature night, I like to give the girls starting out support.
I'm sorry, but this just doesn't look like a good time to me:
(Please note the ball huggers, the woman's outfit and hair, leftover food, her fab earrings, the strippers burned skin, her creepy smile and the funked out move the stripper is doing.)
Cab Money to the strippers: 23 dollars
Dinner and a couple beers: 39 dollars
One flashy outfit from Zellers: 42 dollars
A picture of some old woman at the rippers shoving money down a college man's underwear -Priceless
1 comment:
I went to the Male Strippers once. Actually twice. One of those times was by accident, but this is not by blog so I'll just leave it at that.
Here is my advice to you:
If you are ever forced to go due to some wacky stagette or 50th birthday, here is the trick to keep you out of harm's way.
Look interested, but not too interested. Look like you're having a good time, but not too good of a time.
They like to pick on the uncomfortable ones (for a laugh) and the over excited ones (for tips).
So smile, clap and pretend that you're OK with what's going on around you. But don't take it too far and flash him your tits or rub your hands all over his buttery torso.
Otherwise you just might lose an eye, T-Beers.
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