I've only been to a strip club once. I'll confess, it wasn't a particularly pleasant experience. I've never really liked the idea of strip clubs. After all, I'm exposed to women who find me repulsive and would rather die than enduring my touch every time I leave the solitary darkness of my cramped little apartment. Irritating as that is, having the same experience while the women in question are doing their best to disguise their disgust in order to cheat me out of money has always seemed to me to be an infinitely worse prospect. A bit of vicious insult to an already egregious injury.
However, during my senior year in college a friend of mine started dating another student who danced at some seedy club. He felt a bit insecure about the whole thing and decided to invite his friends to watch his girlfriend dance. I'm not entirely sure what moral support he could have derived from his friends watching his girl grind up against old drunks for dollar bills but, well, the human heart is a complicated thing. So off to the club we went.
It was a seedy, nasty little place. The sort of place that didn't have a liquor license but one could bring one's own booze to if he so chose. I think the idea was that if someone got drunk enough and decided to grope, molest, rape or kill one of the dancers, well, at least it wasn't the club itself that sold the drinks that precipitated the sexual assault or homicide. Curiously enough, although miserable, the club had a certain halo of "celebrity" around it. The proprietress was Busty Heart, a woman who had been featured on Adam Corolla and Jimmy Kimmel's Comedy Central show due to her ability to crush beer cans with the petrified balls of silicone some quack surgeon, far more greedy than he was talented or ethical, had shoved inside her chest. Clips of that episode played on televisions in the club on an endless loop just in case one happened to forget he was in the presence of a star.
Well, the evening was largely uneventful until the "group lap dance". It was sort of a nightly gag where the dancers would run over to members of the audience and do a goofy parody of a lap dance. Just after the dancers began to approach the men in the audience, I turned around to an ashtray behind me to stub out a cigarette...only to feel a crushing weight smash against my spine. It's hard to describe the sensation, almost like someone swung a bowling ball in a bag at full-force against my back. I'm a very slight person and I went flying, knocking over empty beer bottles and overturning ashtrays. It took a good while for me to catch my breath and stand up again, and I suffer from lower-back issues to this day.
Apparently, Busty Heart herself had decided to grace me with a "lap dance" which, I guess, meant charging at me at full-speed while my back was turned and sending me sailing with her rock-hard implants. I suppose, in retrospect, I should have been honored. Though only a mere mortal, I had been touched a bona fide television star.
Sadly, all of the moral support I lent by showing up that night and nearly being murdered by Busty Heart's grotesque Frankensteinian tits was for naught. My friend later broke up with his stripper girlfriend and married an avowed lesbian.
Suffice it to say, I never went to a strip club again.
