First Strip Club Experience

As I sit here at 1:47 p.m. on a Thursday I’m fighting an uphill battle to rid my body of the liquor still in its system.  Although this isn’t a very outlandish story I’m going to write it out and kind of see where it goes.

The night before: My buddy Chip tells me of the $1 well night at this strip club in town. Now with me never before having gone to a strip club and my buddy Chip filling my head with all these wonderful ideas of naked women and cheap booze, I decide that I wouldn’t be doing myself any favors by turning his offer down, so I end up tagging along.

We end up getting to the club at around 10 p.m. and my visions of grandeur are immediately shattered. Between the unattractive women and cum-stained walls I realize that I need liquor in my system if only to start fighting off the inevitable staph infection. As I make my way to the bar I pass a women selling cold beer. She offers my one, I inform her of all the $1 energy drink and vodkas I am about to consume and head to the main bar.

I order up a drink and swallow it in three gulps. I repeat this process three to four more times before I even leave the bar to find my buddies (Chip brought two friends).  In retrospect drinking those drinks was a bad way to start off the night. I think I might have just been mesmerized by the fact that my favorite drink was only $1.

I finally peel myself away from the bar to find Friend 1 talking to the most unattractive “waitress” there.

Friend 1 – “This is ‘Janet’, we should buy drinks from her from now on.”

Me – “I only buy drinks from attractive women.”

She lets me know she doesn’t find me amusing, like an ugly waitress’ opinion matters to me. She scampers off and I continue to drink like they are going to run out of liquor. I wander around some more looking for Chip, as it turns out Chip has a little bit of a lap dance addiction. I think I saw him a total of 30 minutes the entire night we were out. But whatever, it leaves me available to do what I do best: get drunk, get loud, and offend people’s delicate sensibility.

To one Stripper who wanted me to buy a lap dance:

Chubby Stripper – “How ‘bout a dance?”

Me – “How ‘bout a drink?”

Chubby Stripper – “I can’t drink on the job.”

Me – “Oh sweetie, I meant for me, I’ll take a vodka on the rocks.”

She ended up leaving and never bringing me my drink…weird.

To one girl who Chip was flirting with:

Flirty Stripper – “Chip, want another dance?”

Me – “Chip, You promised to only get dances from the hot strippers!”

Flirty Stripper – “I am not a stripper!”

When she says this I think to myself, “So you’re ok with being called ugly, but you don’t want to be called a stripper? Even though you work at a STRIP CLUB, and TAKE OFF YOUR CLOTHES for MONEY.” But hey, whatever makes her sleep better at night.

At about 1:30 p.m. I realized that I had drank way too much and wasn’t feeling very well. I still had $20 bucks on me so I figured I’d buy Friend 2 a lap dance from the ugliest stripper there, she had a flat chest, pot holed face, and everything about this girl screamed crack whore, but whatever I was feeling generous. It ended up taking the stripper ten minutes to finally convince Friend 2 to take the dance, yes, she was so ugly that she had to convince a very drunk man to allow her to dance on him – for free.  Well, halfway to the back room he decides he can’t go through with it (I’m surprised he made it that far). CrackWhore Stripper ends up walking back to me and starts tell me I should take the dance instead. I sternly tell her no, but she won’t back down and by now my stomach is killing me from all I drank.

CrackWhore Stripper – “Take the dance, I really don’t want to give this 20 back to you.”

Me – “Take the 20, Take the 20 AND LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!”

Bartender – “Hey asshole, you’re cut off.”

Yea, yea, yea like that’s the first time.

2 o’clock rolls around and the place closes down and I am fucking shit-house drunk. I stumble out into the parking lot and towards the car, I make it, barely. Once in the backseat I start chanting for McDonalds. Apparently chanting while you’re drunk gets you what you want. We get my food and I eat about two french fries before I throw up in my hat, and the pass out in Chip’s lap for the rest of the ride home.

5:30 a.m. – My alarm goes off. FUCK ME. I throw my phone against the wall and let the phone ring for another 40 minutes before my roommate – Dallas – turns it off, he is quite upset. At about 8 I’m and still so drunk that I can’t get dressed and Dallas needs to help me.

This conversation happens as I am laying on the floor:

Dallas – “Come on man, you need to put both socks on.”

Me – “I only want one on, I need the other as a pillow….. I’m gunna throw up, I need to use your shoes.”

Dallas – “OK, just use my white ones, I still wear the black ones.”

What a good guy – willing to let me throw up in his shoes, although I really don’t think that it mattered much by then since the floor, his bed, my bed, and my dresser were all covered in vomit. Apparently I threw up the night before…a lot.

Dallas and I head outside to do some work. A coworker of ours has a glazed donut. I WANT THAT GLAZED DONUT. So does another coworker of ours, we’ll call him Fatty. Me and Fatty square off and decide the best way to settle this is to fight. Up to this point in my young life I have never been so drunk at 9 in the morning that I thought me fighting a coworker of mine for a glazed donut would be a good idea. I guess there is a first time for everything. As it turns out, neither of us wanted the donut after the fight.

That brings me to now, I’ve just stared to feel a little better. Dallas asks why I got shit-faced on a Wednesday, to that I respond: When life hands you $1 energy drinks and vodka – drink ‘em….fast.

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