Posted 13 December 2007 - 08:12 AM
Why I Hate Strippers and How I punched another in the mouth
Strippers are people who are paid to get naked and entice other people. They are, by far, the worst of the people I've met through the club. They like to pretend that they are the most free-spirited, enlightened people on Earth because they've managed to convince themselves that whoring themselves out in the pursuit of dollar bills is not sleazy, but liberating. Apparently being able to squat over a Goliath cactus and not even flinch is a mark of freedom and not degradation. Strippers also tend to be full of themselves, so convinced of their beauty that no man should deserve her, unless he pays his way into her skin-tight miniskirt.
Now, I'm a charismatic guy in most regards. Being able to make people feel at ease and make them engage me in conversation is actually my hallmark as a promoter. For the amount of hatred I gather here for my pompous attitude, I'm actually a humble, affable, easy-going guy in real life. So when you run into someone who regards you as inferior due to your ability to stay clothed, then you tend to develop a dislike for them. Not to say all strippers are, for lack of a better term, bitches, but a vast majority of them are people you'd rather throw yourself in front of a truck than talk to them for more than two minutes.
Now, with this arrogance comes the idea that these naked women can have any man they want, just to prove that they can. They can, and do, go for promoters and men with girlfriends. When you are in both of those classes, it makes you the holy grail of stripper achievements. Money goes away as the primary motivator and jealousy takes over. They see you as a trophy. An achievement. A temporary plug for the gigantic hole in their... self esteem. Dismissing them makes them want you more. Ignoring them completely makes you irresistible. It's a fun game, I seriously suggest you all try that whenever you meet professional disrobers.
This covers why I hate strippers.
To refer back to my earlier point, being a promoter with a girlfriend is a challenge for these women. They'll do everything in their power to get you. I've even had drugs slipped into my drinks (as has the DJ, but thats another story).
One night, I'm doing all my usual duties at the club. I'm walking around, socializing, handing out free passes, and convincing girls to enter the best chest contest. I hop on the mic to do the announcement bullsh*t, and leave the DJ booth with Jose. He points out that there is a group of strippers eyeing us when we exit. Great. I look over and realize one of my girlfriend's friends is in the group. Jose notices this too, and uses it as an excuse to get acquainted with the strippers. I take him over there and introduce him. In a hurry to get out of there, I tell them about the contest and make them promise to enter. My personal feelings come second, making other people happy is the first priority. And naked girls make people happy. I excuse myself to get a drink.
Jose comes over to me at the bar, and tells me that one of the girls asked him for my number. When he tells me he gave it to her, I nearly choke on my Jager and damn near punch him in the face. He tells me to relax, and f*cks off somewhere while I scramble for an exit strategy. I quickly hide in a dark corner of the club, and not a second too soon because as soon as I get out of there, she and her friends move over to the bar, two feet from where I was standing. I slip out the side and find another good hiding spot.
Soon, 3am rolls around and we have to get the contest started. Jose grabs the mic and I get on the video camera to start taping. Of course, the entire group of strippers comes out and enters the contest. The entire time the show is going, the one stripper who got my number is eyeballing me and stripping for the camera. She comes up to me at one point and grabs my head, pulling me into her chest. I push her off, and she whispers into my ear.
"I want to f*ck you right here."
Okay, stripper. At this point, I'm pissed off to the point that I'm ready to kick a field goal with this bitch's vagina. I'm ready to cut off her titties, sew them together, and send the resulting silicone ball to an underprivileged inner-city school as a kickball. I'm ready to... well, you see where I'm going with this.
Cut to the aftermath of the contest. The entire club is about to riot because these strippers f*cking owned the competition. The floor is damn near coated in dollar bills, and I'm still standing there filming it. The crazy bitch stripper (let's call her Sasha) wins and immediately comes running at me. She tries to jump and latch onto me, but at the last second my intoxicated dumb ass ducks down, sending her flying into a group of girls standing behind me. The girls all start pushing and bitchslapping each other, and a f*cking riot finally breaks out. 50-100 guys and girls all brawling and sending chairs, beer bottles, and tables flying. I take cover behind the catwalk and realizing I could be partly to blame for all this, slip outside and have a smoke.
I walk back inside after the police leave.
Stripper Sasha is still there. Great. She comes up (in full view of my girlfriend) and starts talking stuff about how sexy I am and how she wants to f*ck right here. I know she's drunk and won't listen, but I say I'm not interested and tell her I'm taken. Finally getting a good look at her, I realize she's actually pretty hot in a stripper whore way. The only thing that would break the deal if I didn't hate strippers would be her nose. It was upturned, in a Ms. Piggy fashion. Not horribly so, but enough to make me think of the singing pig when I was talking to her. The following thirty seconds:
"You know you want to f*ck right here, AJ."
"No, I'm really OK. My girl is right over there, and I love her."
"Come on, she can join in!"
"What, are your f*cking ears jammed with dollar bills too? I'M NOT INTERESTED."
"Okay, I get it. But can I at least kiss you on the cheek?"
Only because she's my girl's friend, I say OK. This crazy nutty bitch grabs my head, and I can see her tongue slowly moving towards my mouth. I turn my head just enough so she kisses the corner of my lip, and in the corner of my eye I can see my girl, f*cking FUMING because it looks like I'm about to make out with Ms. Piggy.
I push Sasha away, and for added emphasis, turn on the microphone. I bring it slowly to my lips, and yell:
"Listen you crazy f*cking nutty f*cking bitch. If I wanted to f*ck Ms. Piggy, I'd paint myself green and have people call me Kermit. But until I magically turn green, get the f*ck OFF ME."
Of course, for the next two months everyone at the club called me Kermit.