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I've been craving some big fun for a while now, and that was it, I tell you.
It began with a phone call earlier in the week, with Chris tMOI asking if I could come and hang out with him while he was in Hamilton. Sure I could! He's only like my best friend, right? So last night, myself and Ron, the Donut King, wander off up to Doug the Pedophile's new apartment thing. He, being a stubborn ass, didn't want to go and see Chris. Doug comes up with his own reasons for lots of things. During our short conversation that night we learned that in Doug's eyes, Chris is bad while jealousy is good. Interesting. So, after getting the car gassed up, we turn around to let Doug out back at his place.
Probably the best thing that could have happened that night. Well, in the beginning, anyhow.
See, Doug problems with not only reality, but with bars in general. Especially, the dreaded STRIP BAR... and that's where we ended up going.
Yes, the strip bar. Where hooting and hollering is not only accepted, but expected! The strip bar, where the girls want your money, and you know it. These girls are doing their best to look good for us and themselves... and they get rewarded in the monetary gains which they seek. It's a win/win situation, it really is. Girls who think it's ‘degrading' don't have to work there. Girls who realize it's actually empowering (and look somewhat decent), do. But more of that later. Onto the experience.
It's a curious place, the strip bar. Alcohol and naked women. And sometimes, tv. If you could see the stage from the toilet, it may be the most perfect place on earth. Only thing really missing is good food. I mean, really... friends, girls, alcohol, yelling and screaming, public humiliation of horny guys... it's a class act.
We began the evening in Stoney Creeks ‘Million Dollar Saloon', a place which wasn't bad at all, especially compared to Brantford standards. There, Donut made the mistake of ordering a pitcher of beer ($15.50), and not specifying what kind. Now, I'm not big on beer as it is, but whatever the waitress brough over was simply terrible. We sat through maybe... 3-4 dancers, when we realized we were pretty hungry. So, after tMOI informed me how he loved going to the strip bar with me because I just shout stupid things out (which really, someone needs to do to make it fun), we took a trip to the local Taco Bell. I sucked it down at fairly high speeds, my combo #1 + nachos. We made fun of Donut because he won't eat lettuce, tMOI went to take a piss twice, and we went out for the next bar.
This one... oh boy... this one was really something. The name was The Sundowner, and holy shit... best I've been to, I tell you. Me and Chris are lucky that Donut's such a stripper freak. This was like nothing we had ever seen. Girls just everywhere. He said there were 80 dancers there. I could believe it. And As you may or may not know, often times the majority of strippers are substantially less than attractive (hence the drinking of alcohol, and me being tanked when we got there). This, this was just not the case. They were actually good looking! And they had red- heads, oh yes. And girls with short hair too. Both of those are A-grade stripper qualities for me, and yes, for girls in general, of course. The only thing you can add onto that to make a girl physically perfect is shortness, large breasts and piercings, but hey. The place had two stages, each with a continual dancer. No waits, always a show. That's a very foreign concept in Brantford, let me tell you. Normally here what happens is that you sit through a dancer to have a period of rest and relief for your eyes, because I mean, you don't want to let the girl know she's trash, right? She's doing her best, she just may have nothing to work with. But the girls at the Sundowner had quite a bit to work with. When tipping came up, the stages were always lined with walking hard-ons.
But anyhow, now to the personal pleasure part. Me and tMOI drained 3 pitchers between us through the night. I think it was three anyhow. He had an extra bottle too. The points of interest really were at the first bar, where the girl layed down, put her legs behind her head, and started smacking herself on the ass. That was cool. Hmn, then of course Taco Bell is always a highlight... then at the Sundowner, hmn... a show with two girls in knee socks and kilts... a humiliation of a guy about to get married (a stripper sprayed whip cream down his shorts, on her ass, his nipples)... a fantastic short haired red-head (who right now is on the main page of the sundowners website)... double girl shows at half the tables around us... and of course, watching Donut go up and tip, and get denied because he wasn't offering enough. That was funny shit.
Now what was I saying about strippers having power? They have awesome power! They control everything as soon as you walk in the front door. Where you look, where you sit, what you do, what you spend. Everything. They can make you forget your own damn name, and hypnotize you with their hips or eyes and convince you into spending every last dollar you have on their hard bodies. They tell you what you can do and what you can't, and regulate the flow of money in trade for such ‘privelages'. I myself have never had a private dance. The only reason I'd ever consider getting one would be to have a chat with a stripper. I'd personally just like to know the popular consensus of the girls about their profession. How they got started, their favourite part, least favourite part, etc. I think it'd just be fascinating. I could ask Donut, but of course he'd wander far off topic to something about his penis or something. But anyhow, in the private dance, you pay per song, and the benefits get continually greater. I believe there become more touching privelages after each song. It differes stripper to stripper. And that's where the power of stripping comes in. It's really a pro-feminist thing. The men are controlled by their cocks, and the women control the cocks. Simple math.
So right now, I'd just like to send out a big thank you to you good Canadian strippers out there. You know who you are, you're the girls who go out with high energy to loud, angry industrial music and generally kick some major fucking ass. You're the girls who make like $100 in tips after your last dance. The girls that the guys actively look for for a private dance... not the stink hoes that come to your table and peddle their sorry wares. You, girls, are what makes the world go ‘round... and on the behalf of all titty-bar patrons, I extend a great word of thanks.
So I say again; there is no shame in stripping. There is the capacity to make a hell of a lot of money doing it, and it's a necessary service for ugly, drunk, or bored guys. I just wish more of you attractive girls doing it would choose to reside in Brantford.
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