Rug Burn Junky on 24/4/2006 at 17:41

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Has it really been (http://www.ttlg.com/forums/showthread.php?t=2241) five years?

Our pentannual reunion was held this weekend, and, as per usual, I have stories.

Are these old musty stories about times that I had had in ye olden college days? Well, plenty of those were dredged up, some of which I had forgotten, many of which were pretty funny, and none of which are suitable to ever be heard by my wife, parents, or most people under the age of 21 for that matter.

But fuck that. You don't want to hear any more of my boring reminiscences about shit that happened ten years ago. This time I get to break out fresh almost-as-it-happened absurdities.

It occurs, as all great stories do, at a strip club. Now, I'm not big on going to strip clubs in general, but hell, it was an occasion, a bunch of us are together for the first time in years, so why not, right? We're there about a half an hour, doling out our singles, and mostly fending off lap dances from the b-list (and more insistent) girls. Since some of us hadn't seen each other in five years or longer, we're actually talking to each other and joking around more than really paying attention to the girls trying to hit us up.

But then, one of the hotter girls, a porcelain skinned redhead, manages to get our attention. Did she do this by being hot, or dancing well? Nah, not really. She takes the stage, and immediately begins working it to the Sean Paul song Temperature.

Evidently, this is a very popular song among strippers. About a minute in, the song shuts off, the DJ switches to something else, and the girl stops dancing. Another dancer starts yelling up at her from the floor, saying "That's my song."

Oh no. There has seemingly been a breach in the all important Code of Exotic Dancing Ethics™, and there was only one way to handle it: a stripper throwdown.

I don't know what dueling was really like in the old days, when one had violated another's honor and the victim demanded satisfaction. I do have to imagine that Alexander Hamilton was not wearing three inch clear plastic stiletto heels when he was taken down by Aaron Burr, but other than that this had all the makings of a duel for honor.

At this point, all hell breaks loose. They start taunting each other, mostly about each other's dancing skillz and general "skank ho"-ness, and 20 seconds later there are two near naked girls clawing at each other onstage, and both of them end up doing damage to the other's already skimpy outfits. Dollars go flying up on the stage fast and furious, and it's not long before the whole thing is broken up by the bouncer who comes running in to tear them off of each other. I don't think that that will ever by topped as far as high comedy in a strip club is concerned.

Ironically, the redhead was the only one there that I had even pondered getting a lapdance from. What had been "Eh, I'll take it if she comes over." then became a mission for me. Unfortunately, she then spends the next half an hour getting lectured by the manager, and having serious high level discussions with other dancers. But soon thereafter, she's walking the floor, in an obviously surly manner trying to get someone to buck up for a lap dance. Almost everyone waves her off, a little leery because she is clearly, how shall I say, CRAZY AS ALL FUCK. Does that deter me? Of course not. I immediately have one of my friends get her attention for me and wave her over. She's obviously in a state. Mascara slightly running out of the corner of her eyes, and she keeps looking over at the other girl with an angry gleam in her eye.

But then, two things happen. One, she is so angry that she REALLY gives it her all. I'm serious, this wasn't a lap dance, it was an assault-by-pelvis. And two, because of the tension with the other girl, she's happy that she can talk about the whole incident, so I become her knight in shining armor for the next five minutes or so, and she loosens up around us. My friends and I all start joking around with her about it. One of the other girls that's on her side comes over and between the group of us, they both made a decent amount of tips in the next half hour.

Before leaving, they let us know that if any of us wanted to spring for an eightball, we could meet up later and party with them. We politely took their numbers, and said maybe we'd call later, but as tempting as the offer of spending an evening doing coke off the tits of a couple of batshit insane angry townie strippers was, we somehow never give them a call.

Which was all well and good. Because the rest of the weekend never really let up, though, unfortunately, for the most part, I was relatively well behaved, and the only laws I broke were traffic violations. But don't worry, it'll all be in my autobiography some day. ;)

Low Moral Fiber on 24/4/2006 at 19:30

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Great story.

I don't have much to add other than the one time I gave in to attending a strip club with my friends, the women had bullet wounds. It was fuckin grizzly and they were old and put the "rot" in "erotic".

daniel on 24/4/2006 at 20:38

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eightball...?

Ultraviolet on 24/4/2006 at 22:30

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I've heard similar stories from many people about Japan, if that counts as anecdotal coroboration of plausibility.

PigLick on 25/4/2006 at 02:06

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I'm a dirty dog