Current mood:	enthralled
Current music:	Strippers - Body Count

Baconin' 2: Electric OMG TITTIES
"STRIPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPEEEEEERRRRRRRSSSSS!!!!
I WANT MUH DICK SUCKED!"
-- Body Count (Nobel Prize Winners in the field of FUCKING SHIT UP, 1994)

So, as those of you on my friends list saw, I made an impromptu trip to Tulsa on Saturday night. Some of the Woman's friends were having a bachelorette party for a girl that's getting married in two weeks, and they really wanted her to go. However, she had worked really hard all day and was damn tired, so I decided to rack up some SERIOUS brownie points and drive her up there.

Yet, my brownie point account is very, very much negative right now.

How did this happen, you ask?

Well, gather round kids, Uncle Daddy has a story to tell.

I drop the woman off at the party, not going in due to the fact that it's an innie party, and I most definitely have an outie. I'm totally respectful and somewhat fearful of female ritual that is the bachelorette party, what with its phallic shaped EVERYTHING and wedding night gifts and male strippers. Hot, oiled, MALE, strippers.

*cough*

Anyways, I call salvation, he's droppin' off his ex and her baby, I hang out at borders, go to see cancerbox blah blah blah who cares there's way more interesting shit than this to get to (sorry Scott :) ).

We're all out on the patio at cancerbox's, and salvation says "So, you ready to go to some tittie bars?"
The thought hadn't even crossed my mind, I was figuring I'd have a beer and leave for my parent's house, and just call the night a good samaritan deal. Totally forgetting the "NO STRIPPERS" rule handed down by the woman, I immediately say

HELL YES I'M ALWAYS READY FOR STRIPPERS

We talk a bit more, then hop into Clint's car. Hit the gas station for an ATM, and then ask for a $20 changed into $1's from the female clerk.

Her: "Goin' to the club?"
Me: "Hell yes, it's almost tittie o'clock and my alarm is set"
Her: "You should try *insert name of trendy strip club we wern't going to here*"
Me: "Is it smelly?"
Her: "Nah"
Me: "I don't do that classy shit"
Her: *laugh of total disgust*

Now, I've only been to a couple of strip clubs in my life, and they're the usual "girl on stage that will shake titties in your general direction for a dollar" type places. It's better than going to a regular bar because once you run out of shit to talk about, you can always strike up a conversation about the girl on stage.

This bar was a little different though.

We pay the fucking $8 cover, then go get a good seat on perverts row, because that's the only fucking seat in the house as far as I'm concerned. Joke around a bit, then I start noticing something.

These girls, they're like, ALL OVER the guys by the bar. I'm not talking like seductive "my boobs are a foot away from you" shit. Oh no.

This shit would've made Cirque De Soliel performers blush.

In addition to the usual pole in the middle (which damn, some of those girls could *WORK*), there was a horizontal bar all around the edge of the stage, attached to the ceiling. You stand up with dollar bill in hand, and one of the following things happens, in order of boneroscity from least to most:

• Girl grinds lower horizontal bar


• Girl grabs your hair, forces you into her chest (the titties all on the somewhat small side for my tastes) and shakes.

*interlude* now remember. All this is just for $1. One single US dollar.*/interlude*

• Girl grabs upper bar, swings herself upside down, and humps the ceiling


• Girl grabs upper bar, swings HER LEGS AROUND YOUR HEAD, and grinds not an inch from your nose (Smell the magic, boys.)




• If she falls, it *will* break your neck, but since there ain't any blood up there anyways, you've already lost motor functions.




• Girl does action just described, while rubbing herself.


• Girl pushes you back into your chair, does a handstand in your lap, while curling her legs back around your head/shoulders.




• If she's good, she'll reach a hand up and do the aforementioned action. If she's REALLY good, she'll do that AND feel her breast with the other hand. I was not aware there was a "Stripper Fu" martial art, but some of these girls must be motherfucking monks in their spare time to pull this shit off.
  




• Girl does amalagmation of any of the aforementioned things, then purrs in your ear.




• Now I have a massive, massive ear thing. The Woman is very much aware of this, and uses it to her advantage. However, I wasn't actually thinking anyone at the strip club would get near that region. I don't believe I have ever *spooged money* before, but it happened then. It was just like "TITTIES!" *purr* *black-out* and then there were $1's scattered everywhere, a pocket feeling much emptier, and a smiling, thankful girl when I came too again.




• GIRL BENDS DOWN AND HUMS ON YOUR FUCKING CROTCH.
  
  
  
  • Is this even legal? We started calling this move "The Pimp Pager".
  
  
  
  

ALL FOR A FUCKING DOLLAR. ONE DOLLAR. ONE. UNO. ONE. DOLLAR.

Needless to say, I was having a HELL of a good time, as was Clint. I havn't laughed that much in, fuck, I don't know when.

So 2am gets near, and the last call annoucement comes up, and I'm thinking "Ok, guess it's probably time to go". Then second last call comes up, followed by:

"And remember, we're open 'til 4am, with breakfast buffet starting right after last call!"

I audibly squeeled with joy.

By 2am, Clint has run out of cash 'cause he's a po' ass motherfucker. I was still doing decently though, so I started spotting him. It was a really funny feeling, somewhat like being at the arcade and spotting your friend a few tokens so he can get in on "one more game" 'cause it was just so much fun when 2 people were playing. Except in this case, the game was full contact, and it had titties. Oh, did it have some titties. Hell, some of the moves were even reflective of fighting games (+5 points to all of you who just remembered the Strip Fighter series for TG16/TurboDuo/PCEngine).

Back to breakfast. Now, I'm a fat man, there's no questioning that. I'll eat some pretty fucked up shit. But breakfast at a fucking STRIP CLUB? Even I have limits.

Limits that are quickly forgotten by the lack of will power my fatassedness provides.

I wait for a somewhat unhot girl to hit the stage, then it's back to the buffet. Eggs, hashbrowns, sausage, bacon, biscuits and gravy, the WORKS. I'm a little leary of pork products at a strip club, so I get a heapin' helpin' of eggs n' hashbrowns, and a slice of bacon, because I must have bacon.

I MUST HAVE BACON.

I sit back down on perv row, eat my breakfast, and watch some girls.

I'm eating breakfast while watching nude girls dance.

One more time, with emphasis.

I'M EATING BREAKFAST WHILE WATCHING NUDE GIRLS DANCE.

A quick aside. Since I havn't gotten to post it yet, codemonkeyasm, salvation, subgirl, my 16 year old cousin, and I were all involved in an incident known as THE BACONING. It all started when we wrapped corn on the cob in bacon and grilled it. We then wrapped a brautwurst in bacon. Then a twinkie. It was awesome. Since then, we have been obsessed with wrapping things in bacon.

So I'm sitting there enjoying and stuffing myself, then it hits me.

I look at the bacon.

I look at the $5 bill in my pocket.

I look at the girls on stage.

I look at the bacon again.

I look at the $5 bill in my pocket again.

I look at the girls on stage again.

I look at the girls on stage one more time, 'cause I really like doing that.

When I was young, I played a lot of The Incredible Machine. Thanks to this, when I see a random collection of multiple objects, I have a tendancy to put them together in my head to form some sort of massive world-domineering evil machine of DOOM (or else I want to roll them up in a ball, thank you very fucking much Katamari Damacy). As I said before, these girls will do some CRAZY shit for $1.

I wonder what they'd do with the bacon for $5?

The answer?

A lot.

A lot of things that really, really can't be under health department guidelines.

A lot of things that you have to stand in front of them so the bouncer doesn't see them do.

A lot of things that would have me becoming a lobbiest for the pork producers of America if I could get prepackaged bacon knowing that it'd been through the "Stripper Process".

It was after this that I realized that I wasn't just in Tulsa. I wasn't just at a strip bar, I was at

THE HAPPIEST PLACE ON EARTH

Clint had to hand me his plate once when a girl came around that he REALLY liked. Hoooooooooooo lordy was she ever good to him. The second she was done, I was on my feet and said "CLINT, TAKE YOUR FUCKING PLATE NOW.". Nothing's better than making the girl about to perform acrobatics using your general personage as the pole laugh. It's like giving her an extra $2. Or at least, she makes it seem that way.

We left around 3am. I went home $30 poorer, but richer in ways that I couldn't even begin to explain.

So, if you're ever in Tulsa, gimme a ring. I've got a place you *gotta* see.

Note: WE DID NOT GO TO NIGHT TRIPS. I havn't listed the name of the club here just to keep the post general, as well as not wanting what could possibly be heaven itself to have to undergo health inspections just because some dumbfuck with a sick love for bacon decided to make a blog post. Lots of people know where this happened though, so if you want to find out, just ask around. I'm sure there are going to be pilgrimages there starting very, very soon