Cliffs Notes at the Bottom.
I've only been to a strip club a small handful of times, but the last venture pretty much sealed the deal for me, or incinerated the deal i guess. Much like taking 14 shots of Jim Beam and not being able to smell Whisky for the next 8 years, I get cold shivers whenever somebody offers to take me to a strip joint because of my last trip to: The Outhouse.
I was living in a small hippy college town a la Boulder Lite. School is out for break which means the party scene dies down to a whimper. So me and three friends decide to finally check out the local strip club. We convinced ourselves it would be worth the trip since it was a BYOB establishment, but we should have given more creedence to the club's name, 'The Outhouse'.
Not sure why it took us so long, since we had directions, and my friend 'totally knows where it's at', but we manage to drive around this tiny town for just over 4 hours. By the 2nd hour, it was stubborn determination, and by the 3rd, we all decided that even the wrath of God would not keep us from this place; after all, we have our own beer.
We finally find this small, dusty road that was long forgotten by any maintinence crew and come upon a shack about 5 miles out of town. When i say shack, i mean a mother-[censored]
shack. The kind of place that has ceramic jugs of moonshine labeled XXX. The kind of place that serves mini mayonaise sandwiches for appitizers. The kind of place that sticks the town retard behind the bar to skirt minimum wage. The kind of place that wants you to think of a goddamned outhouse right before you walk inside.
We park, grab our beer and walk up to the front door. The doorman asks for our ID's and before i grab it i sneak a peak inside at the stage. Now, I don't know if she was pregnant, but she was definately missing exactly one tooth right in the front row of her grill, and she sure as [censored] couldn't dance. Watching my friend's dog jiggle through a seizure was more provacative than this ass-ugly belly. I would say belly dancer because her gut certainly looked like it was trying to dance, but it implies some sort of skill and sensuality. Skill was bred out of this bitch several generations ago, and sensuality packed up an left to make room for scientific curiosity, which is the only reason anybody would actually sit in this hole.
We all get a good look by now, and are completely speechless. We just couldn't believe it. Not sure what we expected from a strip club called The Outhouse, but to actually see it was unbelievable. There were a handful of splintered tables, all full of the local yokel's from around town. What i think was the
manager looked like he'd just smoked a 10 pound crack rock in a windtunnel, and one of the waitresses actually had a mustard stain on her wife-beater. A [censored] mustard stain!
Without saying a word to each other, without asking or confirming our strong desire to flee, all four of us collectively turn about-face, jump into the car, and drive home in monk-like silence.
Cliffs Notes: Spent 4 hours trying to find a BYOB strip club called The Outhouse. Got there and saw the feature dancer was either pregnant, or just liked to eat mayonaise out of the jar. Left without saying a word, and am still scrubbing my eyes out with turpentine.
There is really no adaquate way to describe how godawful this place really was. I can only assure that that no part of this re-telling was even slightly embellished. So maybe in some sort of carthartic outreach some of you can share your strip club horror stories; or better yet, the Baller moments.