and i thought leaving with no money was bad.

so i realize that i'm in danger of turning this blog into a stripper-palooza, but:

1. who the hell cares!
2. piss off if you don't like it!
3. if you have a problem with reading about strippers on a regular basis, we probably aren't that close anyway.
4. if you have a problem with reading about strippers, you clearly have horrible literary tastes, so who gives a damn what you think.
5. a wise man once said...write what you know.

so i'm on the wire today, and come across a dandy of a story involving an extremely unfortunate gentleman and his tragic strip club episode. let me paint this picture for you. there's a middle aged guy, caucasian, kinda soggy around the midsection. short-sleeve white button down shirt. (think michael douglas from falling down.) thinning hair. dockers. you get the idea. so he's gone out for a night on the town. trying to escape the misery that is his marriage. brought his bowling ball bag, cause that's what his wife thinks he's really doing. little does she know that instead of his ball, the bags contents actually include an identical white shirt to change into, which will be void of the impending cotton candy stripper scent, comb and hair product, cause getting your hair messed up is really all that happens at strip clubs, and the secret can of old spice body spray, just for good measure.

so he's jazzed about his evening. the possibilities are endless. he gets to the club, exchanges two twenties for 40 singles. the waitress brings him his watered down coke. he takes a seat at the main stage, just as his favorite stripper "angel" is on her way up. she's got her mood music playing...def leopard, poor some sugar on me, classic. so she gets into her routine, she on the pole, he's hucking dollar bills like they're food rations, he works for UNICEF, and she's somali. everyone is having a grand old time. then out of nowhere one of her stripper shoes (not to be confused with hooker heels) flies off her foot, smashes the ceiling mirror, shattering it. the shoe comes down on our unsuspecting patrons head right before a hail storm of glass shards. I COULD NOT MAKE THIS SHIT UP IF I TRIED. so he gets his head split open by the shoe. if you've ever seen one of those things close-up you can imagine how bad that looked. his face gets cut up by the glass, and he's out the better part of his 40 bucks. you try explaining that to your fucking wife.

so he's suing.