Hooters and Strippers

Friday was the guy’s night out after a fairly long week of work. He headed to Hooters for wings and beer. There was lots of drinking and eating of the unhealthy and breaded deathsticks known as chicken wings. They are so good but you can hear your arteries hardening as you dip them in ranch and devour. Our waitress was Luscious Lisa and she is quite funny. She has claimed that she was 1/22 Metis or some such crazy percentage. The last time I was there I thoroughly enjoyed the ludicrous conversation between her and Mr. Bengal about how they were both an extremely unlikely partially Metis. Too funny!

Any how, we decided to head to the Crazy Horse to view some exotic dancing and this leads me to the point of this posting. Why do some men feel the need to pay upwards of $10-15 for a colour laser copy of a promotional poster that the stripper (sorry, dancer) is giving away? And do the girls feel exploited in any way? Why are strippers so appealing to a portion of the male population? It is not like they are going to let you take them home just because you are throwing loonies at them or giving the girls some singles. Now all this being said, it is fun to go to the rippers and watch the other people that are there with you. For instance, the boyfriend/girlfriend townies are always fun to watch. I can just imagine the conversation they have while driving in from some hick Saskatchewan town.

Now I know that we all like to believe that the girls are “just trying to put themselves through college” or some such shit but this seems unlikely. Drugs are commonplace in the industry and a portion of the girls strip to keep the dope coming. A guy I know used to manage a strip bar in Vancouver and he used to tell me the stories about brutal and disgusting the business can be. I believe the quote he used was “meat grinder”. Nice image.

Will I go again? Almost certainly. Will I enjoy it? Yeah, probably. Does this make me a bad person? Hell no! Besides, I keep hoping I will see Elizabeth Berkley or Demi Moore. You never know.