Day 594
I wonder if I should start telling more stories here. I mean... Look... I'm kind of a horrible person. I do horrible things without thinking about the feelings or even the existence of others, I do inappropriate things at the worst possible times, I speak with no concern about the repercussions of them, and generally act like a raging jackass the vast majority of time.
And the thing is... because of that, I end up with a boatload of great fucking stories. Some are just quick little things that are no longer than a joke. But I don't tell a lot of them here. I get drunk and tell stupid stories all the damn time. But I rarely ever put them into text. Should I? Or have you all heard them in person and just want me to shut the fuck up most of the time?
Let's start off with one and you can tell me how it goes.
So we'll call this one "Joe Does Something Stupid At A Strip Club #47".
Circa 2005 or 2006. Summer time.
It was a Friday evening and I hadn't my friend Jason in about a month. It's odd how you can go from hanging out with some people almost daily to only seeing them every few days to every few weeks to a month or 2 between hanging out. You just drift. Sometimes for good reason, sometimes just because life gets in the way. In this case, it was more of the "good reason".
Now, don't get me wrong... I love Jay. He's a great guy. He's more pretentious, shallow, vain, egotistical, narcissistic and a bigger fuck-up that I've probably ever known 1 person could be while still not being done with undergrad by 24 even with skipping his senior year of high school to go to college early. But I love the guy. Yeah, he's kind of a douche. And if I hadn't been friends with him since I was 15, he's the kind of checking-himself-out-in-the-mirror-too-much, sweater-wearing, skinny-jeans, popped-collar, pretty-boy doucherockets that I'd probably normally want to punch on any other occasion if I just came across him while out and about.
The kind of guy that couches every decision that he makes, from the clothes he wears to the girls he dates to the places he eats by asking the question "what could possibly make the 6 year old version of me want to ball-tap me the most?" and following that question up with "what will make me the bigger douchebag frat-boy stereotype?" while trying to play it off as "maintaining an image for the future of his career". That career being some kind of investment banking.
Yeah... you all know the guys I'm talking about. The kind of guys that seem like they're always about 1 "shown up by this other guys business card" away from going all American Psycho and ranting about Huey Lewis for an hour or so. The kind of guy that WOULD actually care about how shiny his axe is before he cuts your god damn head off when he snaps.
But yeah... he's that kinda guy. Totally high strung. His idea of relaxing is to run in triathlons. More power to ya, but fuck that noise.
So back to the story here... well, this was before any of his stints in rehab for pain killers, and we were both still drinking far too much, though this has not apparently changed for me, and occasionally indulging some green. And on this fateful night, we were planning to engage a little of both.
So like most people living about 20 miles too far from a city to actually enjoy it on a regular basis, we would end up kinda driving around, trying to figure out what the fuck we wanted to do for the evening, and eventually got the bright idea that we should go to a strip club.
Jay had never been to one. How he'd made it 24 years at that point without it is mind-boggling to me. Though in his defense, my brother has hit 29 without doing so either, so stranger things HAVE happened. But as I'd already been long ago desensitized to the talents (or gyrations) of strippers, I felt it my duty to be the one to break his nudie-bar cherry. I mean... hell, I'd broken his brother's nudie bar cherry, and about 2/3 of my other friends. So I might as well get his too, right?
It made sense in my head.
But this was no Blush or Cheerleaders, hell, it wasn't even Erotica. No, this was this little shithole dive place out 22 way the fuck out in the middle of nowhere. The Beehive. Oh jesus... while I still haven't seen a knee brace there, this place DID make the Tennyson look at least middle-class. The kind of place that makes you want to take a shower the minute you leave. The kind of place that, at least in those days, still sold Nitrous out of a big tank to 18 year olds to do whipits by the case. So while I love me some really trashy women, this place pretty much scraped the bottom of the barrel back in those days. I have a feeling it does about the same now, but it's been a few years since I've been there. It might have changed, but I doubt it.
So walking into this place with this pretty-boy, yuppie-wanna-be was kind of amusing just for the expression on his face. Yet it somehow got even better.
Walking in and sitting down, he immediately got the attention of most of the dancers because he looked like he had money. These girls had the proper stripper attitude. You might have legs, but you're still just a walking wallet or a mealticket if you're cute enough and desperate enough.
But that's when things go amusing. This was a BYOB establishment. Even in the days before you were allowed to have booze in a fully nude club. But you actually couldn't bring booze inside. They simply turned a blind eye to getting hammered in the parking lot and they had a pretty simple in-and-out policy. They just remembered you. So that's an indication on the number of people that came through the door on a given evening. And sitting in the car, we had a bottle of Tangueray gin. They had a pop machine. And we gave birth to a drink that I still make on occasion. Gin & Mt. Dew. The drink that wakes you up and fucks you up. The Four Loco before Four Loco.
So while sitting there, drinking our hooch and watching some girl with a C-section scar gyrate on the stage and throwing dollar at her more to make her go away than to show appreciation, something fairly odd happened for a shithole strip club in the middle of bumfucknowhere. In walks 4 girls. Not other dancers. Not some meth-head trash. No... actual normal looking, 20-ish-looking girls. The clubs age restrictions were 18+, so it was not entirely uncommon to see younger-looking people there since they were broke college kids on break or recent highschool grads that were getting their first nudie-bar experience.
And not entirely shockingly, they decided to start talking to us. The rest of the patrons were 40-ish dudes with more hair on their shoulders, ears, and faces than on their heads and enough extra weight around their waistlines that small objects might begin to orbit around them. So I assume we were the "safe option" to befriend so as to not get hit on by men old enough to be their dad and weighing enough to be both of their parents and their family pets at the same time.
We quickly find out that it's the one girls birthday. And she's just turning 18.
This should have been my first red flag. It really should have been. But when I found out she was a contortionist and saw a quick demonstration of a human pretzel in her chair... well... my larger head stopped doing my thinking and my privilege took over the decision making process.
As I watch Jay excuse himself to go make another drink in the car and notice him come back with 4 drinks. For the girls. Now, I'm not one to really give a damn about contributing to the delinquency when it's not at my house. So I could care less. And as I'm getting flirted with by an 18-year-old contortionist, I'm not about to complain about her getting a few drinks to see about dropping some of those inhibitions.
Skip ahead about an hour and the girls want to leave. And they want us to leave with them. They had taken 2 cars. Jay and I had come in mine. 2 of the girls want to leave and go home. The other 2 want to keep going and hang out with us some more. I'm not complaining yet. The 2 that want to leave hop in one of the cars, leaving Jay and I and the other 2 girls with 2 cars. I get in mine and instead of Jay coming with me, the contortionist decides that she wants to ride with me. Jay takes the initiative and decides to go as the passenger for the other girl.
We stop and pick up some beer at some 6-pack shop on the way back to Jason's house. And as we're sitting there, each paired-up group in different rooms, on different couches, still bullshitting a little bit and not yet getting down to any sort of business, that's when she drops the bomb.
It was her birthday alright, but she was turning 17, and not 18.
I look at her as though she's just grown another arm and as my brain takes over the decision making process again, screams at my penis "see, fucker!? I told you there was a red flag here! Next time you should listen to me."
And that's when I get the fuck out. I didn't even say anything. I just got up... stopped... stared at her for a moment... shook my head, and walked right out.
I never even got the girls name. And I know she didn't get mine. I sent Jay a txt as I was leaving to tell him "dude... jailbait. get them gone. I'm out the door".
And that was my lesson in never actually expecting a shithole strip club to check ID's on girls. I can only wonder how many girl danced there that might have had their ID's checked in as stringent detail as the girls they let through the door to watch them.
So yes... I know I'm a horrible person. And I know I'm going to hell... I accept this. I'm just hoping that my life from here on and be used as a warning to those that follow me. Keep this lesson in your back pocket. So even when the hot, 18-year-old, blonde contrortionist with 3 friends walks into the strip club and then tries to come home with you... check her ID before you leave.
But apparently it happened when she was a teacher at some highschool. 
But I'm curious about something else. If these are just the ones that are getting busted, how many aren't? 
it's actually kinda sad that the 175 million-to-1 odds of winning are actually lower than the amount you would make by winning it. In fact, you could actually go and BUY every single combination of tickets to guarantee a victory and, assuming you're the only winner, actually win back your investment twice over. You could spend 175 million dollars to buy all the tickets and end with a guaranteed return of 350 million if nobody else wins. 
This is one of the rare times that I actually play the lottery. Cause most of the time, it's just a tax on the stupid. But maybe if I win, I can just buy a Bengals cheerleader... oh wait... I'm of age, she won't be interested. 
Oh, look at that... Spike Lee decided to start a fucking crusade against that dude that killed that black teenager in Florida because the guy had not yet been arrested. Understandable... I mean that. Cause when it seems like it might be a racial bias, I can totally see using celebrity to get some justice. But see... this is the problem with people that are TOO fucking radical about their views and so wildly militant in their beliefs. They don't think before they do shit.
HE POSTED THE WRONG ADDRESS!. And some elderly couple have been getting harassed as a result. Simply cause they have the same last name. 
But don't feel too bad, Spike... on the way back from Philly a few months ago, every GPS system available told us that there was a Bob Evan's at this one location. 5 different systems. And they were all wrong. We ended up at some dude's house.
I just want to take the time to wish DoNotGoGently the best of luck and demand that she go kick some ass at IMsL this weekend. She left for San Francisco this morning. She's probably about to get on the plane right now, actually. 
Now that I think about it, I vaguely remember seeing a TV show about having a porn star mom on HULU a while back. I never watched it though. .jpg)
I look at her as though she's just grown another arm and as my brain takes over the decision making process again, screams at my penis "see, fucker!? I told you there was a red flag here! Next time you should listen to me."
And that was my lesson in never actually expecting a shithole strip club to check ID's on girls. I can only wonder how many girl danced there that might have had their ID's checked in as stringent detail as the girls they let through the door to watch them. 