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Posts Tagged ‘Strip Club’

This week’s UCB and first of the quarter goes to John Mauriello, despite a challenge and a half set forth by Scotty B involving making home made Four Loco and possibly by own death.  I actually really am considering the challenge, just waiting for the right group of people in Lisanti Land to be down.  It seems like something I would need Micheala for.  John gets 1.5 points for the inaugural UCB.  He suggested I write just how I feel about strip clubs being I was just recently at one for Kooky’s send off.

A Right of Passage

Not condoning what goes on there, going to a strip joint is an American male right of passage when he turns 18 years old. It goes like this, you turn 18 and buy a pack of cigarettes, a lotto ticket and you go to the titty bar.  Yeah maybe you don’t smoke and could give two shits about the lotto.  You buy it because you can, end of story.  For the same reason it is why you should go to the nudey bar.

When I turned 18 I actually did not go to a strip club, per say.  Well I guess I sort of did.  My friend Jay and I (whom would later stab me in the back, et tu brute,  I guess I should have been aware of the Ides of March.  That is a story not for this blog, ever. You will just have to come to court for the skinny on that one) used to hang out at this run down dive in Asbury where I believe Porto is now.  It was called club seduction and it was the raunchiest strip club I have to this day ever been inside of.  They used to let us in under age and serve us alcohol.  The girls dancing were either over weight or anorexic, a few even had track marks on their arms.  All the while pimps would be propositioning us with their girls, drug dealers pushing and every other type of degenerate one could imagine to lurk about such a place.

We never went there for the strippers but the fact that they served us alcohol and the odds of us getting stabbed was rather high.  One night the cops raided the place and we bolted.  I found myself running through the streets of Asbury at 1 am.  Those of you who are lost, Asbury Park, NJ was one of the most run down dangerous towns in the state back then.  Not to mention 80% black, 15% Mexican and 100% bad news especially for two rich white boys.

Rage

After Seduction was shut down for illegal solicitation so ended my strip club days.  It was no matter cause I went off to college anyway.  I got back into town for winter break and my old friend rage tells me I have to come with him to this awesome club.  Skeptical I found myself at yet another strip joint.  Rage owned a convenience store and had plenty of money.  We walk in the door and the bouncer pounds him out.  Then upon entry all the girls cruising about trying to sell lap dances kept coming up, giving him hugs.  Apparently Rage had been spending some money there.  As it turns out the dude would drop around $250 a night and the strippers always tried to go home with him.  When I asked why he never took them he replied “fuck that they are dirty”.  Yet it did not stop him from getting a lap dance from them.

The Stripper Pole

This is one of those things I have never understood about strip clubs: the pole.  When was it decided that it was sexy to watch a woman swing around a six foot pole naked upside down?  I think it is rather entertaining to watch and a skill in its own right.  Come on how has something so bizarre become common place.  I love it even more when non-stripper women who on any given day would demean a stripper will go crazy on a stripper pole any place they find one outside of a strip club.

The Desperation

That is what these places are: dens of desperation.  I always find myself in a state of confusion in such establishments.  If I was in a whore house it would make sense.  Watch what each girl had to offer then buy one for the night.  At a strip club you go into a back room where you pay a women upward of $40 to $100’s of dollars to rub her nasty cootch all over your cloths.  If I drop $100 at the bar I am sure to pick up a woman who will do a lot more then that for me and we will both be satisfied in the morning.

The girls, oh the girls.  Is your self esteem so low that you need to dance for men for money, naked?  Sure the pay is good, but it is also good being a bar tender and one would still get similar attention as a pretty woman.  How is one ever to expect to amount to anything respectable in such line of work?  I may be lonely, but when I walk into a place like that it makes me feel even more alone.  Then again I have never really had a hard time meeting women.  Maybe for some men that kind of attention makes them feel good.  Hey bud wake up, your paying for that attention.

Quarter Rapped Dollar Bills

What is this you ask?  You take a dollar bill and you rap it around a quarter so that now you have a device you can whip a the stripper while she is dancing in attempt to bruise her body.  I went to a strip club in Oceanside once with a guy who literally would stack six quarters and rap them up then beam it at the girls tits.  Had he not regularly dropped hundreds of dollars there I think he would have gotten thrown out.  Recently I had a stripper sit down next to me and say “I drank a  green tea, a latte and a red bull and now I am really horny”.  I was taken aback at first then replied “Wow if I had all that caffeine I would be bouncing off the walls, not horny”.  She did not see the humor in it.

All I can say is that strip clubs in general are a waste of time and money in my opinion.  The occasional visit is a bit enjoyable thanks to the combination of the patrons and strippers. For whatever reason I seem to find my way into one on an annual basis.  One time by accident.  I was in San Francisco visiting Mauriello (For more on that trip read Talk About a Miscommunication) .  We got into a cab after a party had broken up early.  I asked the cabby to take us some place we could meet some pretty girls.  Misunderstanding my request we were dropped off in the strip club district of that town.  When in Rome….

Even Grandma Loves to get all over the pole. Ohhh baby what club does she work at.

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This town is freezing.  I was very grateful to have even woken up and not have died of hypothermia in my sleep.  We had a slow start after the previous night’s gallivanting about.  I love nothing better then a good breakfast.  John brought me to this quaint little crepe place in his neighbor hood that was absolutely to die for.  They made like 15 different crepes, and then an assortment of other breakfast items.

I got what they called a California crepe stuffed with egg, avocado, mushrooms, green peppers, tomato and green onions, served over freshly cut home fries and a side salad.  Everything was super fresh.  It tasted amazing.  Then my tea was brewed from the actual leaves, no tea bag and I had to use this tiny strainer to pour it into my glass.  It was a most splendid eating experience.

From there we decided to do a little good old-fashioned hill bombing and street skating.  After all San Francisco is one of the great skate cities in the world.  I personally would put it just second to Barcelona.  “When in Rome…”.  We cruised to Ocean Beach where there is less traffic and an agreeable number of very long hills.  I am talking easily 15-20 city block bombs that took around 5-8 minutes to get to the bottom of.

Before getting into the skate session we took a quick peak at the surf, which courtesy of 40-knot onshore wind was complete trash.  The wind was so strong we could not even stand on the dunes to look at it directly because of the sheer volume of sand blowing around.  Street surfing would have to do.

Now I have not skated since John was living at my place over the summer and I must say I was a bit apprehensive about getting wrecked or run over by a car for that matter.  John had a good handle on the situation.  We took the street trolley up the hill in between each run.  These hills were massive and would have taken way to much time and been too exhausting to walk up.  First bomb I took very conservative just feeling things out.  By the last one I was power sliding all over the place, hitting banks, ollieing gaps and just having a ball.

When all was said and done John had a broken bearing and I had just about completely worn out the bushings on my trucks.  I would say it was a successful day of skating.  Neither of us got hurt nor hit by cars.  John even saved the world from a renegade pink stripped Victoria Secret bag that was blowing all over the street.

After the skate we just sort of kicked it the rest of the afternoon.  Did a little moseying around town.  That night one of John’s friends from school was having a party.  We planned to make an appearance.  When we got there the host had already passed out.  Turns out the event had started at 1pm.  There were still a hand full of good time seeking enthusiast about the place and John’s boy Whiter this crazy dude from New England, whom was drunk as a skunk, just brought three 12 packs.

Phone calls were made and a new venue was quickly acquired.  Whitter shows up out front of the building with this red 80’s ford pick-up truck.  The truck was suppose to usher eight of us to the new spot.  Being the gentlemen we are the girls got to ride in the cab while John, myself and one other dude laid down in the dirty, rusted bed with all the beer.  My first thought was this is a very bad idea then my adventurous spirit kicked in and I jumped in and held on tight.

Now we had no idea where we were going or how far it was.  All I know is we were getting bounced around in the back of the truck being operated by a very inebriated driver for what felt close to ten minutes.  The tuck comes to a stop and we get out in the middle of one of the swankier neighborhoods in the area.  I am talking fancy high rise apartments with door men.

Immediately I am under the idea that there is no way we are going to be let into any of these places.  Sure enough we walked right into the lobby of this gorgeous building that the rent had to be at least $4,000 a month, got in the elevator and went up to the top floor.  The apartment our group ended up at was a luxury one bedroom.  Expensive kitchen appliances, big flat screen TV.  The dude had an electric drum kit, 88 key electric piano, and two really decent guitars in his bedroom.  This kid was loaded.

The party was your standard house party.  Everyone there was super nice and I found it pleasure to make all their acquaintances.  Upon seeing the keyboard this chick visiting from Idaho claims she is a classically trained concert pianist.  Our host put her to task.  “Im a little drunk so don’t expect much” she said.  As soon as she sat down on the keys she started wailing Bach and Mozart.  It was rather impressive to say the least.  After that a group of us had a little jam session that was terrible, but with a few cocktails in us I guess it was an adequate jam.

On the tenth floor of the building was this outside lounge area that gave a 360 degree view of the entire city.  I went out there to check it out and it was exhilarating.  You could see everything.  The tall buildings of downtown, the Golden Gate Bridge and the ocean.  Must be nice to have that kind of money.

By about midnight the party was done.  John and I not quite ready to call it a night hailed a cab.  I get in and tell the driver “Take me some place we can meet pretty girls”.  The driver was an Indian guy and did not have the best grasp on English or just misinterpreted what I had in mind. Next thing we know we found ourselves in the middle of the XXX district of San Francisco.  The cabby looks back at me with a shit eating grin and says “There are very many pretty girls here”.

I almost died laughing.  Not wanting to spend any more money on that cab we got out.  At the very least there was probably some rat hole dive bar we could drink a beer.  As John and I are walking around this gaudy neon light driven block he mentions to me that he had never been to a strip club before.  I personally am not a fan of such places, although they can be rather entertaining more for the actual patrons then the girls.

I told him to pick one.  Every man aught to visit a nudie bar at least once in his life.  It is sort of a right of passage.  I always thought it was something everyone did when they turned 18.  We walk into this trashy little place called the I Club.  There was a $15 cover but being it was late and a Monday night the bouncer let us cruise.

Just as I expected it was a sleazy dirty bar with average looking and in some cases over weight strippers.  Luckily for us it was just a topless club or I think it would have traumatized the poor kid.  I went and cashed in $10 for singles and gave John six.  That is how those girls earn their money, ugly or not I was not going to cheat them out of their bread.

We stayed for three acts and then bailed.  I must say although not the hottest strippers I have ever experienced they were some of the best dancers.  The place had an eight foot high pole and two of the girls managed to climb all the way to the top and then slide down it upside down with out breaking their necks.  After 15 minutes we had seen enough and bailed.

John looked at me and said I will never go in one of those places again.  I patted him on the back and said that was a very good idea.  I think that may have been the lowest level of human degradation he had ever been exposed to.  I know I always walk out of such venues with a little less respect for mankind on a whole.  All I can say is I have been in San Francisco for less then 48 hours and already have had a crazy series of adventures.

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