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Baltimore Absurd |
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Baltimore absurdity by Richard Hoffman Contact: rhoffman@suckme.com |
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December 2004 August 2005 February 2006 |
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Tuesday, August 23, 2005 |
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Strippers This is a post I've been mulling around in my head for a while, but I think I had a sign last night. A young blonde entered the store, and she was shall we say...gifted with a chest that would make Jesus stop what he was doing and say "Sweet ME! Will you look at those sweater monkeys?". Anyway. I enjoyed the scenery but didn't think anything of it until Matt rang her out, and walked over to me. Matt: She was a stripper. Me: Maybe. I guess. Matt: She was young, had huge implants, was showing them off, and she had a scary boyfriend. Me: And? So what? Matt: And she paid for her entire purchase with a one dollar bills. pause Me: Oh. Hmm. Well...she could have been a bartender. Matt: 'You're a moron' look I've had my fair share of experiences around strippers. Back when I lived in Seattle, I briefly dated a cocktail waitress at strip club. It's amazing how quickly a bunch of naked women can become mundane. I saw them a couple times a week for a few months, got to know them...and strip clubs were ruined for me for years. I suppose I could still go into one for the fun of it, but I always crack up at the guys who go in, drop a hundred bucks, and go home alone. What's the point of having a (usually) attractive woman crawl all over you if nothing is ever going to come of it? More to the point, is this something you want to experience while surrounded by a bunch of your (male) friends. That in and of itself seems a bit creepy to me. Funny story about a stripper, though. Back when I worked for Micros, I was sent down to Atlanta to do a job. I was teamed with a guy who I had just met, Mario Acosta (couldn't remember his name for the life of me until I found it in my rolodex recently). Anyway. Mario was the nicest guy you're ever going to meet. Total holy roller, but of the breed that Jesus had in mind when he got the ball rolling. Non judgmental, totally friendly, didn't impose his beliefs on others (in fact, rarely mentioned it, and never out of context). I loved the guy. Mario knew a guy, Greg, who he had worked with before, and was planning on meeting up with one Saturday afternoon. Knowing that I didn't have any friends in Atlanta, he invited me along. So, Greg, Mario, and I went bowling, grabbed some great Cuban food, and an after dinner cocktail. Greg mentioned that he was meeting his friend Gretchen for drinks, and invited us along. Gretchen was an awesome chick, the picture of southern hospitality (and southern belle good looks). With a few doses of liquid courage, I pull out my "A" game, and start working on her, making (I believe) great progress. Around 9:00 or so, she said that she had to go to work, and asked if we wanted to come hang out. With a wink at me, Greg said sure, and we followed her in. To Atlanta's (in)famous Gold Club. Greg begins laughing his ass off, as do I (after the initial surprise wore off. I hadn't thought too much about who goes to work at 9:30. I assumed she was a bar tender. Seems to be a common theme). Mario...well...Mario was completely and totally nonplussed. But he was a trooper. We offered to take him back to the hotel, but he insisted he was game. Patting him on the back (and paying his cover charge), we led him in. I thought the mans eyes were going to bug out of his head. I'm not sure he had ever imagined so many naked women in one place, much less seen them. "The road to hell, eh, Mario?" I asked. "Si. But look at the SCENERY!" he replied. I gave up on Gretchen after she got drunk. She was a complete and total tosser when she was loaded. Pity. Every girl in the place descended on Mario like sharks after a dying whale. I'll always have the image of him holding his left hand in front of his face, pointing at his wedding ring, and crying "I'm married! I'm MARRIED!" every time a girl asked if he wanted to buy a dance. Great times. I did see the the most erotic dance ever that night. And she chose the most unusual song. I'll never listen to Train's "Drops of Jupiter" the same way ever again. Final thought: When I'm Dictator For Life, there will be a law banning all use of cliched names for strippers. Or anyone else, for that matter. # posted by B-More Absurd @ 5/4/2005 06:04:00 PM |
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