Birds of prey, gentlemen. A hawk has some elegance to its mauling; strippers can only be referenced as vultures. I know this. Every male in the strip club industry knows this. In fact, every dancer knows this of themselves, therefore it's apparently time to let the customers know what their role is and isn't.
First off, don't monopolize a stripper's time. The broad is only in the building for seven hours, so don't think she wants to sit at the bar with you for sixty minutes and all you do is buy her a couple drinks. You're not that interesting, dude.
In fact, everything in life has good quality and bad quality, grade A or grade F, diamonds or cubic zirconia, a list of people who can get in the door and those who must go somewhere else, etc. What I mean is for you to want to sit with some yoyo broad for an hour to begin with means there is a bottom on the 'human scale' and that bottom is probably you, especially after you don't give her a few dances after all that time. Wake up, dipshits. If you were intriguing as a person, other people would have picked up on this of you by now and they would suggest spending time with you, yet there you are in the strip club on day shift 4 outta 7 days of the week. Holy fuck, dude, how lame can ya be?
Now onto the guys who are regulars of some dancer, you fucking geniuses, you. You guys come in once or twice a week and basically give this stripper hundreds of dollars for sitting there to talk with you. She laughs at your jokes, tells you about her brothers and sisters, and once in a while even leans on your shoulder so she has just one more person in the world who will listen to her bullshit about what a dick her boyfriend is . . . and here you come, asking her why she doesn't just leave him, how she could do so much better and she's too good for that, blah-blah-blah; basically you licking her ass without the exchange of fluids. Then oh-so subtly you slip in that she should just be with you because you know how to treat a lady and would take care of her forever.
And let me take a wild fucking stab in the dark and guess what happens after that . . . She looks away for a moment then back to you, grabs your hand and tells you that it's not a good time because her life is in such turmoil right now, but she's glad to have you as her friend. Well let me translate that for you in stripper language: it simply means that overall she thinks you're a loser but is confident the money you have is a winner.
How about you guys who come into strip clubs and treat the establishment like a soft brothel rather than an exotic dancing venue? You know who you losers are. You get a couple drinks, sit with a broad for twenty minutes then ask her how much to meet up at your place. Now, strippers certainly don't posses a canyon of morals to begin with, but for them to up their whore-status on a whim, you're going to need several hundred dollars ready, which begs the thought of why you didn't call an escort service (cheaper) to begin with. I hate to stick up for strippers because it goes against my code of ethics, but some chicks actually only want to take their tops off for easy money and not sell their pussies, so believe it or not, some strippers DO take their work home with them, just not with you. Morons.
Then there's another form of customer who comes in expecting sex. To speak euphemistically, we'll call them recruiters. Holy Christ, these ones are fucking parasites, and I wish every stripper who is approached in this manner handle it just like this:
Even you guys coming in and simply wanting some head is totally stupid. Holy fuck. Why pay $100 for a blow job when there are crack whores out there? This is simple economics. I mean, for ten bucks you can hold in your hand one crack rock. Hold it up to the light and examine it all you want. I mean, it only ran you ten bucks. Throw it on the ground, spit on it, piss on it then rub it in your taint for a few seconds, who gives a fuck? It's a crack rock, not a collector's coin.
From what I hear, you don't really want to smoke it (even despite everything I've mentioned to do with it.) My point is, simply buy a crack rock from a dealer at the club you're at for ten bucks and on your way home, pull over to the side of the road and show it to a crack head. Hell, let her smell it even after all that, I don't give a fuck.
I just find it weird that guys pay $100 for a blowjob with a condom on when they can save ninety with a crack rock in their hand, put on the same condom and have a total waste-of-life crack whore do it for way cheaper. In addition, if you're out at four in the morning, that bitch won't even have any teeth so now you got yourself a gummer, and those are hard to come by. Either way, getting a blowjob with a condom on is so fucking useless.
Bitch, if I were to pay for you to suck me off, I think you better not only go down raw on my dick, but also gargle the load, spit it in the air and catch it so I can smile and remember the first time I saw 'The Breakfast Club.'
