Think of every stripper you've ever encountered who didn't have to say shit; you simply knew to take her keys away from her. She was already irrational and angry . . . and now she's drunk, yay. It's a rare gem of truth when this is actually admitted by this shrew.

Picture that same drunk minx. Now envision what it would have been like had she not had some everlasting taffy in her purse to cloak the stench of her abused alcohol consumption.

Don't speak to a stripper, but look deep into her eyes for 3 seconds. They're not real, therefore she's lying. Blasé.

Some strippers are heifers. Draw a coin slot on her forehead and I guarantee you can get some bubble gum out of her tummy. Tell a normal woman she's practically Karen Carpenter and she'll still never eat a full meal in front of you. Not strippers. They want more beer and cake because dim lights and a purple, lacey corset can negate their fraudulence.

Strippers with permanent eyebrows, wow, what a luxury. You know they're fake since her labium isn't even that perfectly aligned, in addition to empirically telling me hairy women get naked in public.

Fake eyelashes are ridiculous. This ostentatious act requires a big, fat "F" for fakery. Couple these with obnoxious amounts of eye shadow and that partnership only makes nerds jizz in their pants. Less frills, please. It's not a costume party.

See, it's hard for a stripper to acquire a legitimate tan while in a bar for 8 hours then on the couch for 6, and finally under the covers for the final 10 of the day. If I were a graffitist I would label this "tagging" an old train.

Even on holidays strippers can't stop lying for 15 minutes, therefore perpetually selling their chest nuggets as perky instills a joyfulness within them because it's the #1 selling lie they can achieve. Fake tits make me jizz in my pants, but all it really does is tell everybody she can mildly tolerate herself now, as oppose to six months ago when she wanted to OD.

Birth control, IUDs, Depo shots, we've heard it all: their lies. Adversely to that of when a bell rang in the movie It's A Wonderful Life an angel supposedly got its wings, we can safely assume when a stripper becomes impregnated two angels become amputees.

We all know a stripper or five whom all date this guy. Four of them won't tell their fathers about beau, Jigga, which is ironic since daddy is the primary ineffable reason for mudsharking to begin with.

I have no idea why strippers pursue this idea of wanting to be just as tall as men. It's like they physically want to align with us, yet rarely attempt it mentally. One would argue stilettos are "classy," but that word and "strip club" should rarely be used in the same sentence.

"Wow, you have lost a lot of weight. Are you exercising?"

"Wow, you have lost a lot of weight. Are you exercising . . . or can your trick afford lipo?"

Nobody on this planet would look at Angelina's lips had she not glossed them after every purge. One has to wonder why women want their lips fatter but not their asses. Normally I'm not trying to fuck your face . . . not trying to jizz in my pants, either, but it happens.

There's no reason your cheeks need to be that fucking rosey, unless you're trying to conceal blemishes . . . or age lines. Either way, you didn't look like that when you awakened so cut the shit. Are you stripping or juggling at a kid's birthday party?

I suppose this is a decent concept. It makes it look a bit nicer when men hand you money, but you're still a fraud at our mercy no matter the designs on this perfunctory front.

Ahh . . . Red toenails = jizz in my pants. Can I pee on them?

You'll usually find a blade in her bathroom drawer. Instantaneously you'll think she cuts herself, but it's likely some Miami Vice method in which she prepares a dinner of cocaine. When asked what it's doing there, the reply: "I sharpen my eyebrow pencil with it." Ooooohkaaaay, baby, sure . . . I remember back in school when everyone did that.

The good 'ol stripper pole in the basement. If you find a woman has one in her apartment/rented house and you're there for purposes of dating, you should immediately exit whence you came . . . It's in her blood. I suppose she had said she was a waitress.

If her teeth kinda glow in the black lights without having to speak, she's a liar every other second of the day. She's also a heavy smoker, which in stripperland means heavy drinker, which combined means narcotics and pill addictions. Choleric temperaments will ensue any sort of relationship one has with this stripper, unavoidably resulting in screaming, punching, serrated blades and a police dispatch or two . . . Yes, I can conclude all of this merely from teeth whitener.

Many strippers have a polyhead in their homes/trailers; naturally it gives their wigs somewhere to sleep. Strippers hate their hair . . . hate it so much that they walk out from the styling salon complaining every time. Automatically know there's a cold horse somewhere without its mane whenever you see a stripper with long hair, but long hair is prettier than short so it's more likely you'll jizz in your pants, making it okay. Fuck horses.