The One Word Which, When Appearing On A Strip Club Marquee, Requires Full Attention

[SlamShut]

Right. So.

This happened back about five months ago, late October. Friend of mine, let's call him Joe (because, after all, that's his name), calls me up and asks if I want to come hang out for the weekend. Joe's an old buddy of mine, lives in Richmond, VA (for those just familiarizing themselves with the SlamShut Universe, I live with SlamWife in the outskirts of Washington, DC, in a lovely little burg called Occoquan).

Now, on this particular weekend, or on the Friday preceding it, I'd just finished having some rather painful dental work done, so I was sporting a rather prodigious Everything-From-The-Neck-Up-Ache, and more importantly, a Plentiful Perscription Of Potent Painkillers (Do Not Take With Alcohol Unless You Want Them To Work Really, Really Well).

So I tell friend Joe that I'm in no shape to drive, and Joe, being a friend indeed, tells me he'll drive up, pick my ass up, and drive back down. Well ain't he a peach.

So Saturday afternoon rolls around, and I've got me bags packed, and Joe picks me up toot-smart at about 3:00 PM. We drive down to Richmond.

Now, about a mile or so up the road from Joe's house is a place called The Paper Moon. The Paper Moon is the largest strip club in Richmond, and by virtue of that, arguably the largest and fanciest one in all of Virginia (which is not known for having great titty bars-- the rules are rather Southern and stringent, but we'll get to that later).

So we're ambling past the Paper Moon in Joe's truck, and as we pass by, I read the marquee posted on the front of the building through a Vicodin-induced haze. And after reading all of the promises of carnal delight offered therein, I urgently asked Joe to pull over.

(Actually, what I did was scream "HOLYFUCKINSHITDUDEPULLOVERPULLOVERNOW!!!" And he did, asking "What'sa matter? You have to puke?")

As we pulled to the side of the road, I opened the door and jumped out, and ran back to read the sign again, rubbing my eyes like a sleepy kid staring at a room full of Christmas presents. Joe followed quickly behind, and stood next to me, scanning the sign and saying "Man, what the hell is wrong with you-- it's just the Paper OOOOOOOOOOH." The "OOOOOOOOOOOH" part was when he got to the last word on the strip club marquee, and full understanding set in. He'd seen what I'd seen-- The One Word Which, When Appearing On A Strip Club Marquee, Requires Full And Immediate Attention. There on the sign, after the fifteen or twenty other words promising the same nudie thrills as always ("Over 4O Different Girls! Private Dances! Richmond's Finest Adult Entertainment! Open 7 Days A Week!"), it said this:

"October 26-30: MIDGETS."

Well.

So.

We stood there, scratching our heads, and formulated a plan: first Joe's house, settle in, eat a nice meal, then hit the Alehouse, have a few nice beers, then hit up the English pub for a few more, then slide over to the Paper Moon and enjoy the finest in vertically-challenged burlesque entertainment.

The sky was purple and orange and filled with promises of trouble, or at least it seemed to me, because I was on painkillers.

...

Okay, that's enough for tonight. It's 2AM. I've got a DVD to watch and a few beers to quaff before bedtime (again, for those new to the SlamShut Universe, I work a schedule that would drive most folks insane, but I have tomorrow off). Rest of the story tomorrow.

[Sgt. Awesome]

I wanna hear more of the story about Slammy at the midget stripper bar. I hope it has an explosive finish.

[DarkJedi]

Dude, it involves stripping midgets, Slammy and some guy named Joe.

I'm sure there will be an explosion of some sorts going on somewhere...

[TrixieB]

Damn, Slammy... You are my hero!! I mean it, I really love you!! I'd love you any day of the week and twice on Sunday.

You have no idea how bad I needed to hear (read) that story at 6:30am with my coffee on what will undoubtedly be the funnest day ever. I have to go to Child Support Enforcement Court (at least I am the plaintiff and they won't be carting my ass off to jail or anything) and then to the dentist.

Thanks, Slammy, baby!!! *Smooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooches*

[fastcar]

Make sure you ask them what would happen if they were to take on a lion.

[omicron]

[Comic Book Guy voice]Greatest. Story. Ever.[/Comic Book Guy voice]

So far......:smirk:

Omi

[Bokchoi Cowboy]

[Comic Book Guy voice]Greatest. Story. Ever.[/Comic Book Guy voice]

Omi



http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v432/webdev/OmiCBSG.jpg

[Jakester]

That'd be funny if you didn't have the slash pointing the wrong way.
'\' is for DOS. '/' is for Unix.

[Bokchoi Cowboy]

What are you talking about?

[Trazalca]

Jake? Are you referring to the tags? :confused:

[Cncrman]

psst...Jake, your geek is showing.

[Jakester]

At least you understand, CSM.

It's not 'C:/DOS'
It's 'C:\DOS'
The '/' is a directory separator in UNIX, but for Win/DOS, it's the '\'

Fucktard.

[sickness]

Okay. This has gone far enough off-topic. Can we get back to the midgets??!

[Jakester]

When Yukface wakes up, then we can get back on topic. Until then, don't fuck with the backslash.

[Bokchoi Cowboy]

Where the hell do you see a backslash? (other than the one in your pants...)

[Cncrman]

He meant in Omi's posts about the "Comic Book Guy".

Geez, people...stay focused here. Someone mentions naked midgets and all you boys lose blood pressure to the brain.

[neglet]

Tee hee hee. Jakester said "Eunuchs."

[SlamShut]

http://news.bbc.co.uk/olmedia/955000/images/_957612_king150.jpg
CAN'T WE ALL JUST GET ALONG?!?

[Jakester]

Boki, you fuckwit, it's that fucking shirt that yellow dude is wearing that YOU posted.

[Bark]

Things to look for in the sequel. Where will this go?

-Midgets
-Drugged up Slammy
-Location where Slammy is unknown to local law enforcement
-Nudes
-Alcohol
-Prescription Drugs
-Strict stipper joint rules
-Large and fancy strip joint environment

[Bokchoi Cowboy]

Boki, you fuckwit, it's that fucking shirt that yellow dude is wearing that YOU posted.

Er...I don't understand the Dos or backslash reference, the shirt talks about YOU being the Comic Book Guy's secret identity....

[Jakester]

Boki, you sux0rz.

[Bokchoi Cowboy]

Boki, you sux0rz.

J4k3sd3r, y0u 4r3 such 4 fuck1ng 4ssh0l3! G01ng 0n 4nd 0n 4b0ut s0m3th1ng stup1d l1k3 th1s. 1 d0n't kn0w wh3r3 y0u g0t th3 1d34 th3 t-sh1rt s41d 4nyth1ng 0th3r th4t 1t d03s.

[Cncrman]

d00d, j00 r b0th 707@l |\|00bs.

J3$u$ 1$ t3h L0rd H@x0r!!

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v713/Cncrman/churchsign.jpg

[Jakester]

Marry me.

[DaForce]

*yawn*


Has this story started yet?

[Bokchoi Cowboy]

d00d, j00 r b0th 707@l |\|00bs.

J3$u$ 1$ t3h L0rd H@x0r!!





http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v432/webdev/fingerJ.gif

[SlamShut]

*yawn*


Has this story started yet?

I'm waiting for the bitches to quit screaming at each other. Besides, I'm kind of busy with other shit today. I'll try to put aside some time to finish the story later today.

Until then, watch a giant turtle monster do a trick.

http://img380.imageshack.us/img380/5777/gamera9xz.gif

[Cncrman]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v432/webdev/fingerJ.gif

Wtf? Where's Buddy Christ's middle finger been? That's sort of brown...

None the less, I got a great laugh from it Bok.

[omicron]

ah nice change to the shirt there, Bok.

I am honestly highly anticipating the rest of the story.

Oh and Slammy, forget about turtles, Monkeys are where it's at.

Omi

[TrixieB]

OK... I have just returned from the funnest day ever and I want the rest of the story, damnit!!!

I sat on a very uncomfortable bench in the most depressing courtroom from 8:30 to 12:15, just to have the judge agree that everything had been worked out to everyone's satisfaction (Kid's dad got paid up on the child support and is making regular payments) and tell us that we are free to go. I was afraid to step out in case they called us, since they seemed to be going in no particular order. So, by the time I got out of there, I was starving and I had to pee... bad.

I finally got out of the court house, picked up some lunch and got home minutes before the bus dropped the kid off. Then we took off for the dentist... never my favorite thing. He told me four times that the kid needs braces (like I didn't know), but thankfully there were no cavities or anything else major.

Anyway... I need to know what happened with the midgets!!!!!!

[Trazalca]

Let's see.
A story with one helluva setup is posted, with a promise to be continued
at a later date.
Within hours, insanity, bickering, and full-on impatience ensues on the
thread on a level that's kinda like watching beer ferment.
Yep. The SLAM-man is definitely back without losing his touch. :smirk:

Btw, I LOVE the Gamera pic. It's kinda hypnotizing...

[Kaeos]

....Within hours, insanity, bickering, and full-on impatience ensues on the thread on a level that's kinda like watching beer ferment.

Hmm.. *sniiiifff*

Yup, so much for that "new board" smell.

[DarkJedi]

I caught myself staring at the swinging Turtle for a good 5 minutes before realizing that I have more productive things to do....


Okay, not really.....but I clicked on a new page anyway.

[SlamShut]

Right, so, okay.

So friend Joe and I fade back to his house, have a drink, and decide that cooking at home is outside of our nightly job description. So we take care of a few things 'round the house, then hop in the truck, head out to the Alehouse, and order up some chow (burger for him, nice pile of chili for me), and a raft of little beer samples from the cute little bartendress there.

The Alehouse, by the way, is one of those "Nine Thousand Beers On Tap" joints that has bizarre concoctions like chocolate stout (which actually tastes like chocolate) and some weird South American beer that the Cute Bartendress swears involves natives chewing something up and spitting it into vats as part of the beer-making process (Nice, huh? Gimme three).

As we're chatting up the Cute Bartendress, she starts asking us about our evening's plans, as it's only about six or seven PM at this point. I'm already feeling enough buzz from painkillers, nine kinds of beer, and South American Indian spit that I chuckle and say "we're heading out to an Adult Entertainment establishment. We've been made aware of an attraction that cannot be ignored." To which the Cute Bartendress replies, "Oh! You're going to see the midgets!"

Now, the Alehouse is clear on the other side of the city from The Paper Moon, so her even being aware of The Paper Moon's midgety goodness comes as no small surprise. We chuckle, and I ask "So you know about that?" To which the Cute Bartendress replies, "Yeah, I went to see them last night. There's two of them. One of them smells like apples."

I don't know about you guys, but when a Cute Bartendress tells me that not only has she seen midget strippers, but knows that one of them smells like apples, well, that's fucking sexy. And I was unable to restrain myself from telling the Cute Bartendress this fact. "You know what," I said, "the fact that you know what a midget stripper smells like, that's fucking sexy."

So friend Joe and I finish our meal, order up a glass each of the beer we liked best, and settle back for a bit. A few minutes later, Cute Bartendress materializes with a friend of hers-- Cute Barback (if you don't know what a barback is look it up... okay, it's like 'assistant bartender'). Turns out that Cute Bartendress and Cute Barback are both nursing students, and want to know what time we're going to the Moon.

Now, I'll take a moment here to offer some explanation-- some loyal SlamFans are reading this and thinking "Holy shit-- is SlamShut using the midgety goodness to score some strange? Will SlamShut cheat on SlamWife, who has stood by him for over twelve years and endured his endless bullshit, tolerating repeated entreaties for sex involving motorcycle helmets and Chewbacca sound effects? COULD IT BE SO?" The answer is a resounding 'no.'

Taking quick stock of the situation, I decided that going to see midget strippers would be fully SlamWife Endorsed, but that taking Cute Nursing Students too see midget strippers would probably end at some point with me coming home to find all of my shit in boxes in the front yard. So, after a quick convo with friend Joe, we politely declined the offer, with Joe filing the Cute Bartendress' digits for later use.

Quick fast-forward here-- we finished at the Alehouse, hit the English pub, then, at about ten o'clock, set our sights on the Paper Moon. Between the pub and the titty bar, there was a cell-phone call to SlamWife, in which I joyously announced that we were headed to see midget strippers. The announcement was met with the usual SlamWife response, which is a sigh, a shake of the head, and a "tell me all about it later."

Now, strip clubs in the state of Virginia are a curious proposition-- technically, they don't exist, because full or even topless nudity in a bar is against the law in this state. But like all things concerning outdated legislation, the good citizens of Virginia have Figured A Way Around The Law. And that way is... wait for it... it's a dirty word to any red-blooded, titty-bar-loving American male... pasties.

Being a citizen of the Northern Virginia area, my friends and I usually go to DC for our titty bar action-- there's practically no laws restricting what goes on in DC titty bars, and it's a lot more relaxed and fun. But in Virginia, most titty bars you go to have the girls all wearing these ridiculous colorful little silver-dollar-sized beanies over there nipples. But at the Paper Moon, it was a different story.

At first glance, when we entered the Moon, it appeared as though the Girls Of The Paper Moon had just decided to ignore the law-- there were two stages, one big and one small, with three or four girls strutting their stuff (normal-sized girls, mind you), with chests proudly bare, and apparently unencumbered by any pasties. It was only after purchasing a couple of beers and setting into a couple of chairs pulled up to the main stage that we noticed that all of the girls appeared to be showing nipples... but they all had the same nipples. All the same pink-brown crinkly oval-shaped nipples. Nice-looking, to be sure, but the fact that they all had the same nipples gave the experience a slight "Village Of The Damned" vibe. The explanation was simple: the Girls Of The Paper Moon were all wearing fake nipples, over their real nipples. Incredibly real-looking fake nipples. Like movie-special-effects-real-looking fake nipples. I'm talking fake nipples so real-looking that if I wore one on my forehead, you'd say "Dude, you have a fucking nipple growing out of your forehead." Which I don't, really, which is why it would be notable and amazing.

The other thing about Virginia titty bars that is important to now and germaine to the story is that there is ABSOLUTELY NO CONTACT WITH THE GIRLS WHATSOEVER. There's even signs all over the place reminding you. And if you even get too close, a burly bouncer will drag you right out of the joint. In other titty bars I've been too in other states, the custom for tipping is that the girl will wear a garter or a g-string, and you tip them by sliding the currency under the elastic, next to her skin. Hoo-ha, good stuff. But not so at the Moon-- the custom there is that you 'tent' your dollar (fold it in half lengthwise), and place it on the perimeter of the stage. The girl will then reward your philanthropy with about thirty seconds of booty-shaking just for you. Big fun, huh?

But the important thing to notice about this is that it is completely possible to tell exactly how much skrilla these girls were making per dance, multiply that by how many appearances they made onstage per night, and come up with a pretty accurate number for what they were walking away with at the end of the shift.

[Continued next post]

[SlamShut]

So we sat by the stage, tossing down the dollars, enjoyed the contorting flesh, and counted dollars. Here's the sad part-- each girl was making six, maybe eight bucks per turn onstage. That's it. Only the guys right up on the stage (in what the club DJ referred to as "the prime real estate," where you MUST TIP or relocate) are putting down the dough, and each girl was walking away with lunch money. Six or eight bucks. Now, let's multiply that by the four or five turns onstage that each gets per night, and it becomes clear that these chicks are walking with maybe fifty bucks for the night. I made more than that waiting tables on a lunch shift at Red Lobster. That's some sad shit right there. And keep in mind, this is, as explained before, arguably the largest strip joint in the state.

So two hours or so goes by, and Joe and myself are getting testy-- where's the fucking dwarves? We paid a fucking cover, and we wanted to see some fucking nude hobbits, for pete's sake. I decided to visit the bar and make an inquiry. I left my seat, and by this time, the painkillers and multiple beers had left me in a state where walking across the floor had begun to feel like walking on a mattress. I purchased another couple of oat sodas, and politely inquired about the main attraction.

Actually, what I did was hold up my empty bottle, make the universal sign for "two more," and when paying for them, hollered/slurred out "AY-WAIRZA-MIDJITZALREADY" over the booming music. The bartender checked his watch, then yelled back "TEN MINUTES."

I returned to our spot in Prime Real Estate, and related the news to Joe, and we went to go split up some more twenties. It was show time.

Ten minutes went by.

Then...

...the stage was cleared of normal women, and the lights went dark. There was a moment of hushed silence, and then the opening chords of Rammstein's "Du Hast" thundered out of the darkness (I must tell you-- as a Jew, nothing gets me hornier than frightening German techno music with angry teutonic singers shouting like nazis). A pair of blinding klieg-like spotlights burst open onstage, and the DJ announced the main attraction, which came sauntering out of the backstage area: Little Tina, and Luscious Lady.

I couldn't tell you who was Little Tina and who was Luscious Lady, but there were two of them, just like Cute Bartendress had said-- one was dressed like a nurse (odd bit of serendipity there), and one was dressed like a dominatrix. Neither was more than three feet tall. The dominatrix-looking one was actually kind of cute, in that "aw, look at her" kind of way. Remember that one episode of Seinfeld with Kramer and Mickey working on the soap opera, with the "heightening" jokes? Remember the one blonde little lady that Mickey wanted to get with? She looked a bit like that. But the other one, the one dressed like a nurse... Jesus Christ. She looked like a fucking orc.

They reached the stage, and immediately tore off their tops, revealing their little midgety boobs. They wer eboth squat and chubby, but the dominatrix was kind of cute, in a I've-had-nine-or-ten-beers-and-a-handful-of-painkillers kind of way. But the other one sent chills down your spine. Her breasts were gnarled and misshapen, and she had this evil grin which still haunts my dreams. But when those tops came off those dwarf bodies, the Paper Moon fucking exploded.

What had previously been a rather sullen and sedate crowd seated in the tables out in the darkness became a shouting mob, louder even than Rammstein. They rushed the stage, and it fucking rained money. Joe and myself were tossing dollars like they were confetti, and cackling like hyenas the whole time. I was laughing so hard I thought I was going to give myself a hernia. Joe and I managed to keep the dominatrix in front of our spot for a good while, by supplying a steady stream of dollars. "Du Hast" faded into some other song which was indistinguishable over the din of the crowd. Dominatrix chick moved to another spot on the stage, and we were treated to a close-up of Nurse Horror. And it should be noted at this point that neither of the little ladies had bothered with with Realistic Nipples that every other girl in the house sported-- these two appeared to have covered their mommyspigots with ripped pieces of wet toilet paper. It just added to the ick factor.

So three or four songs went by, and at this point, the dollars on the stage had come to resemble a pile of autumn leaves, a fact which had to have made the Moon's regular working girls feel about an inch tall (who's the midget NOW, bitch?). The little ladies started to wind up their act. The music dropped back a notch or two, the ladies started to gather their tops, and a Paper Moon employee appeared with a push-broom to gather their haul. At this point, the promise that I'd silently made to myself at some point in the evening rushed to the fore of my mind: I wanted a midget lapdance.

I took my remaining somethingteen dollars and raised them over my head in a crumpled fan, and looked straight into the dominatrix's eyes, and screamed "LAPDANCE!" She shook her head in a surprisingly shy manner, and turned away. I shook my dollars defiantly, took a step towards her, and screamed loud and long: "LAPDAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANCE!!!"

At this point, I was grabbed by my shirtcoller and yanked back. Why hello there, bouncer. We were both quickly escorted/carried from the club like schoolchildren who've been caught reading porno behind our textbooks, with me hollering "LAPDANCE! SMELLS LIKE APPLES!!!! LAPDAAAANCE!!! " the whole way, still waving my fistful of cash.

Outside, we smoked a cigarette leaning up against the truck, shaking our heads, laughing and just saying "Midgets, dude" over and over. After a few minutes, we hopped in the truck, went home, and drank a bottle of rum. And now, when friend Joe and I hang out, whenever there's a moment of silence, one of us will just shake his head and say "Midgets, dude." And friend Joe has still yet to get a proper date with Cute Bartendress, so to this day we still don't know how she knew that one of them smelled like apples, when we couldn't get within three feet of one of them without being tossed like softballs out of the club. We just chalk it up to the fact that when women go to titty bars, they get away with murder.

THE END.

[neglet]

"LAPDANCE! SMELLS LIKE APPLES!!!! LAPDAAAANCE!!!

I vote this be the official motto of the Lounge.

[KingVoyeur]

The Greatest [stripclub] Story Ever Told....

and the DJ announced the main attraction, which came sauntering out of the backstage area: Little Tina, and Luscious Lady.

I couldn't tell you who was Little Tina and who was Luscious Lady, but there were two of them, just like Cute Bartendress had said--

We had a midget stripper named Tiny Tina come through here a little while ago, I wonder if she was the same one...

[omicron]

I now love Slammy even more, if that's possible. :lol:

Omi

[Bark]

The Greatest [stripclub] Story Ever Told....

It's a good story, but I found Space_Tycoon's story of unloading during an eastern-European lady's lapdance to be a notch above. Perhaps if Slammy had gotten the lapdance . . . :D

[KingVoyeur]

It's a good story, but I found Space_Tycoon's story of unloading during an eastern-European lady's lapdance to be a notch above.

I think that was before my time. SPILL IT!!!! :D

[SlamShut]

It's a good story, but I found Space_Tycoon's story of unloading during an eastern-European lady's lapdance to be a notch above. Perhaps if Slammy had gotten the lapdance . . . :D

Nothing feels as good as typing out a 1500-word story, and then hearing "I've heard better."

http://trazise.blog.hr/slike/1610868008.jpg



I'm always up for a good lapdance horror story, though.

So come on, Tycoon, let's have it.

[Bark]

Someone has to "keep it real". :D

Like I said Slammy, it's a good story. However, Space's story was one that revealed his weakness and embarassment, but he told it anyway! Bonus to him for that.

Sorry KingVoyeur, it's not my story. It's Space_Tycoon's. Ask him about. It's great though, IMHO. :D

[sickness]

Personally, Slammy, I thought Midget Strippers was right up there with the best of them you've told and as good as or better than most stories that have been told here. There really was something missing around here when you were gone, man. Hell, things got ugly from time to time just talking about your banning as a tangent to something else. And I'm not talking about in the immediate wake, either. The last time was at least November maybe December. You really were missed.

[Bark]

Slammy, I can be bribed. I need two things:

1. Bring back JackSparrow.

2. Give me the 411 on the DC-Metro area strip joints. As you can see, I'm up I-270 near Frederick, MD.

As far as Space's story, I found it at the old boards:

Link to story. (http://64.34.170.134/Cinescape/ubbthreads/showthreaded.php?Cat=&Board=UBB142&Number=190460&page=&view=&sb=&o=&vc=1)

Umm... I'm just curious about something...

Today, I decided to have a few lap dances at one of the many strip clubs here in Mississauga. No, I won't say which one.

Anyway, I thought they were going to be your average, run of the mill dances, albeit with a fine young Hungarian lady. A little bump-and-grind here and there... but much to my surprise.... there was an unanticipated, unexpected, yet not entirely unwelcome... happy ending. http://messageboard.cinescape.com/cinescape/ubbthreads/images//icons/shocked.gif http://messageboard.cinescape.com/cinescape/ubbthreads/images//icons/shocked.gif http://messageboard.cinescape.com/cinescape/ubbthreads/images//icons/grin.gif http://messageboard.cinescape.com/cinescape/ubbthreads/images//icons/grin.gif http://messageboard.cinescape.com/cinescape/ubbthreads/images//icons/grin.gif

Okay. Look. I'm not a creep or anything. I know the difference between what goes down behind closed doors, and what happens in public. But by that fourth dance, I was just unable to control myself. My Manhood gushed forth with its precious, life-sustaining fluid.

Is that really bad? Am I a pervert? Was that an act of prostitution? What the hell!? I need guidance. http://messageboard.cinescape.com/cinescape/ubbthreads/images//icons/confused.gif

Okay, I'm ROTFLMFAO when I read this. I think it may be the attempt of defense, "Okay. Look. I'm not a creep or anything . . ." :D

[Trazalca]

I have to disagree.
ST's story was good, but it was delivered in several posts to get the whole story.
Slamshut's was delivered as a whole, uninterrupted narrative that placed the reader into the story. For storytelling skillz alone, he's got my vote.
It's an issue of better storytelling, not just the story itself, IMHO.

[Bokchoi Cowboy]

I agree with Traz on the immersion-into-the-story angle. But I will go one further:

Slam appears to be a strange attractor of misadventure. He can't help becoming involved in crap that many of us would become:

1. Divorced over

2. Dead of alcohol poisoning

3. The boyfriend of a cellmate larger and more desperate than us.

The allure of his stories is living vicariously through his experiences.

Space, whom I respect more than he probably knows, just doesn't live in the same universe of odd that Slam inhabits. Granted, he has shared some pretty interesting stuff, but it doesn't make one really want to exchange places with him, even for the momentary thrill of it all.

There is danger and intrigue in the Slamverse, but out in Space it is cold.

[Bark]

Well, Slammy does tell a better story, but in all fairness, he is an attention-whore.

We wouldn't have it any other way. :D

[Space Tycoon]

Justin Raimondo is famous for the saying, "On the Internet your crimes live forever..."

Boy, do I know what that means now.

A thousand years from now, when the world is ruled by Zeta Retculeans and populated by human-cyborg slaves, that thread will still be there, somewhere, stored away on some antiquated hard drive. :ohwell:

I'm almost hoping for an "Armageddon" asteroid....

[Space Tycoon]

There is danger and intrigue in the Slamverse, but out in Space it is cold.

Which makes it all the better when I take my revenge.



Cause, you know, revenge is a dish best served cold.



...And, like, it is very cold in space.



Well, I tried. :(



And I'm spent.

[Space Tycoon]

Okay, I'm ROTFLMFAO when I read this. I think it may be the attempt of defense, "Okay. Look. I'm not a creep or anything . . ." :D

Well, you can forget about reading any massage parlour or dominatrix-related stories.

Those stay in the vault.

[Bokchoi Cowboy]

And I'm spent.



Drip....






























Drip....



































Drip.....






































Drip.....

[omicron]

Forgot to add the 'roll over and beginning snoring' part, Bok

:D

Omi

[Space Tycoon]

Question to self: "Was it good for me too?"

[TrixieB]

OK... no sooner had I finished reading this story (and laughing my ass off BTW!) than my 13 year old, 8th grade daughter comes in and says, "My G string broke in class today." Um... HUH?!?!?!?!?

It took me a minute to realize that she is talking about orchestra class and the string on her viola!!!

Sent me into a whole new fit of giggles.

[Space Tycoon]

I know this stripper who says she's been pole dancing since she was 14 years old... :eek:

Not cool.

[Bark]

Well, you can forget about reading any massage parlour or dominatrix-related stories.

Those stay in the vault.

Oh come on. (No pun intended.) You're my brother! :)

[Jakester]

I don't understand why stripper chicks get grossed out when a guy spooges during a lapdance. It means she did a good job. And why would anyone think you're more of a perv for spooging than for having the lapdance in the first place? The general point of those things is for the chick to get you sexually excited. She did her job. Very well.

Basically, what's the fucking problem?

[neglet]

I don't understand why stripper chicks get grossed out when a guy spooges during a lapdance. It means she did a good job. And why would anyone think you're more of a perv for spooging than for having the lapdance in the first place? The general point of those things is for the chick to get you sexually excited. She did her job. Very well.

Basically, what's the fucking problem?

Well, if you spread your spooge too soon, that's a definite problem with your fucking.:smirk:

[Jakester]

Too soon? I didn't know that there was such a thing.

How does a real man know when his woman has an orgasm?

A real man doesn't care.

[omicron]

Why do women fake orgasms?

Because they think we care.

:wink:

Omi

[kah]

Maybe we are just bored and think if you think we're done, you'll just give up and finish?

[Bark]

I have to disagree.
ST's story was good, but it was delivered in several posts to get the whole story.
Slamshut's was delivered as a whole, uninterrupted narrative that placed the reader into the story. For storytelling skillz alone, he's got my vote.
It's an issue of better storytelling, not just the story itself, IMHO.

I love ST in a totally non-gay way, and his story is kickass, but you have a point. Therefore, I will ghostwrite his story in one place! ST, if I get details wrong or if you think I'm being a dick, let me know. I don't mean to tear you down. I mean to build you up.

I'll write this in the first person, from ST's POV.

Ahem.

Today I decided to go to one of the many fine gentlemen's club here in Mississauga. It started out as a typical experience, overpriced $7 beer and ladies in various states of nakedness. Some were performing while others were soliciting patrons for private dances.

After a while, I figured it was time to accept an offer. After all, this is how they get a good portion of their income. A particular young Hungarian lady caught my eye, and I hers. We went to the designated spot. I was expecting the usual, run-of-the-mill, bump-and-grind dances, and that's what I got at first. However by that fourth dance, I was in for quite a surprise!

This girl was aggressive. She took it beyond the usual level, with just the right rhythm, cadence, and pressure. This was quite the change from some other encounters. Many ladies have no sense of exactly how much pressure to apply or for how long. There have been times before this that I thought I was going to be permanently disfigured from bad lap dancing.

However, this Hungarian beauty knew her stuff! I knew I was going to lose it, and I should've told her to stop. That's what I should have done, but my mind was clouded with the beer I drank, the pleasure I was feeling, and it was happening so quickly, I couldn't. I just went with it, drenching my Lee's tan cotton khakis (Waist: 36; Length: 32) with my precious, life-sustaining fluid.

She hadn't noticed, but I informed her of the incident. At which point she sensed it was time to leave. "I'm sorry. Vas I too aggressive?" "Oh no," I said, "you were just fine..." :D

I think it was almost time for her shift to end anyway.

I could have stuck around. The casual fit of my reasonably-priced attire and the absorbency of my underwear kept the physical evidence out of view. Instead, I only stayed long enough to pay up, finish my beer, and leave. I headed straight home for the shower.

Later in the evening, I went to a local pub to down some more pints. The young lady bartender mentioned how good-natured I seemed. "'Yeah, I've had a pretty good day," I answered.

The encounter was unanticipated, unexpected, and yet not entirely unwelcome. I don't feel that bad about it. I know I should, but I don't. Besides, I hear some strippers take such an encounter as a compliment. I guess it's another step towards irredeemable decadence for me.

I'm beginning to see why humans invented the concept of shame. Maybe this is how full-blown corruption sets in. You get away with something nasty once, it just gets easier to do worse things later. Until one day you wake up to find you've become something despicable.

On a side note, I once got offered a pearl necklace (and more) in Mississauga on a different night. I declined, but only after exerting some willpower. :D

Well ST, is the story accurate? I want it to be because I love it!

[American]

Drip....


Drip....


Drip.....


Drip.....
You, sir, can clean off my computer monitor. And make it quick..7-up and electronics don't mix.

And you better see a plumber about that leaky faucet

[Space Tycoon]

Well ST, is the story accurate? I want it to be because I love it!

I usually don't agree with editors. Back when I was with the student press, I associated the editing process with root canal. :angry

But I think you pretty much nailed it, Bark. Might keep you in mind for when I get my memoirs published; "Ascenscion to Greatness: The Life of Space Tycoon, esq."

Now let us never speak of it again. Or for at least 24 hours, anyway.

[SlamShut]

Slammy, I can be bribed. I need two things:

1. Bring back JackSparrow.

2. Give me the 411 on the DC-Metro area strip joints. As you can see, I'm up I-270 near Frederick, MD.


1. I've been thinking about the same thing. Give me some time.

2. There's really only one place that you need to know about: The Royal Palace, in Dupont Circle. The Palace is the dirtiest, nastiest, skankiest fuckin' titty bar in the district, and I've been a loyal patron since I was 18. It was also the place I went to on the night before I got married.

What makes the Palace unique is this: within the local DC strip club scene, the Palace is usually the one of the first places a girl with no experience can get hired, and is also the place they come back to once they're too old to work the other joints. It's the bottom of the ladder. Girls will start there, work their way up the ladder, and eventually work their way back down. So the girls who work at the palace are a heady mix of clumsy, shy girls who barley know what they're doing and aren't even sure they want to be stripping, and worn-out older chicks who get most of their tips through intimidation.

Case in point: a few years ago, there was a woman who worked there whom my friends and I referred to as "Aunt Bea." She looked like Aunt Bea. She had to have been in her early fifties, graying hair, a bit plump, and nothing on her was tight. She'd come out to do her dance, and not a single guy would tip her. Then after she danced, she'd come out and work the crowd, often just walking up to you and propping her leg up on your table, opening her garter, and barking "TIP ME." Which we would. Out of fear. It was like getting yelled at by Mom.

One final note: I did go to the Palace on the night before my wedding, but any special treatment I might have gotten was spent out a long time ago. When my friends announced that I was getting hitched the next day, the girls we told all said "yeah, sure-- just like last time, huh?" The problem was that we'd been using the "hey my buddy's getting hitched tomorrow" rap for about a decade in there.


3. By the way, who are you, anyway? What was your name on the old board? Were you a Lounge Rat? I swear, I need a cheat-sheet to keep all the old and new names straight.

[sickness]

Bark == megamanx1 == MegaManX (in the latter days of the old Cinner boards).

[Bark]

Space: I would be happy to ghostwrite/edit your story.

Slammy: That place sounds awful! I can't imagine why I should go there. Aunt Bea just wasn't sexy, IMO.

Sickness: You are correct sir.

[sickness]

See? I was paying attention in school!

[Flyboy]

Slamm,
As a newby, I gotta say I loved your story. The way you told it was great! I sat down at my pc for some relaxation while I ponder some B.S. at work and you made me forget it all (for a micro-sec).
Nice job and thanks!

[kradey]

I sure did miss you, Slammy.

Midgets, huh? So wrong, and yet so funny.

[TrixieB]

Kradey, baby!!!! You finally found us!!!

Smooooooooooooooches, chick!

[sickness]

Slammy's back. Kradey's here. Tstone. Leiter's at least reading us. Droogie, too. DaForce3 is here minus the 3. Kirk is here. Jakester is making us feel dirty as always. Photoshopper Extraordinaire Bokchoi is here. Some mystery poster from the last joint who is NOT Osirus is here. The list goes on and on. All we need are Jack, Abestreet, UNCLEAgent (who I've at least seen logged on a time or two), Bladelover and this party is a-rockin!

[Sgt. Awesome]

If the lounge is a knocking, come a knocking! Unless you can hear Jake... then you might want to run.

[Meathead]

Justin Raimondo is famous for the saying, "On the Internet your crimes live forever..."

Boy, do I know what that means now.
Don't worry, Space, my ass will be around a LOT longer than that story...

[Space Tycoon]

Don't worry, Space, my ass will be around a LOT longer than that story... That makes me think of that Simpson's episode where Homer moons Mr. Burns onstage with a big happy face painted on his ass:

Homer: "I'll never show my bare butt in public again,"

Lisa: "I'd like to believe that this time, dad. I really would."

If I ever become famous (which may yet happen), someone will dredge up this story and use it for their own notoriety.

Or, like an idiot, I'll just get drunk and tell them myself.

[Bokchoi Cowboy]

Or, like an idiot, I'll just get drunk and tell them myself.

Like you need to be drunk to tell this story.....



Good one Space!

[American]

I sure did miss you, Slammy.

Midgets, huh? So wrong, and yet so funny.
Glad you found our new hovel, Krads!

Now all we need is Osirus and Jack to show up and the band's back together

[Jakester]

How do you know Os isn't back?

[sickness]

Because he's up to date here. I know that jerkwad Osirus isn't back. :D I wonder what NotOsirus (ID) has to say about all this.