Put That Dollar in My G-string Or Else…

After some of the most entertaining conversations with our good friend Jared, we realized this man needs a column all of his own to share his incredible anecdotes and life-stories.  We’re not going to lie.  Some of them sound straight out of movies, but honestly they are so crazy they kinda have to be true.  Alright Jared, let them have it! — Gwen


So, I’m not one to frequent strip clubs. I think there’s something weird about girls giving me blue balls in a room full of dudes…and I have to pay for it?! Plus, call me self-rewarding, but I like the success I feel when earning nudity. Putting in some effort, getting to know her, constantly wondering what’s under those clothes….once the sexin’ happens, it’s like I earned it. So yeah, I like to earn my nudity, and the boastful grin that follows is my badge of honor.

Now, with my personal attitudes towards the exotic dance out of the way, I will go to a strip club for an occasion (birthday, bachelor parties, etc…). I don’t do anything other than drink and talk, and so far it’s worked for me. Several months ago, I was at a strip club for such an occasion. And I got so hammered that I gave my opinion whenever I got approached for a dance, leading to the following sequence:

Stripper 1: Say baby, want a dance?
Me: You’re too old.
Stripper 2: You look like you could some company.
Me: You’re not as pretty as the bartender.

It was rough to say the least. I only mention that story as a prelude to what happened just a couple of weeks ago, for what either has to be one of the most random situations I have ever been privy to, or what shall be referred to from here on out as Stripper Karma.

I was at a metal show with one of my good friends and, after needing convincing, went and met a group of buddies up for a bachelor party. The night goes on, we’re all inebriated to say the least, sending off our good friend in style. So far, so good. Where I’m standing, I have my back to one of the stages, talking with a couple friends.  Out of nowhere, the stripper on stage grabs my shirt, pulls me to her, looks me in the face, and seriously asks me…”Are you gonna tip me?!”  I look her right back and say no. “NO?!”  I tell her I haven’t been paying attention to her all night, why the f**k would I give her a fifty-cent piece let alone a dollar?  So I turn back to my friends, when all of a sudden…

The stripper started choking me.
Let me say that again…
The STRIPPER started CHOKING me.

Now, she weighed 90 lbs…maybe 110 without the coke, so it wasn’t life threatening. But still I had no idea what to think or how to assess this situation. I was never in Boy Scouts but I’m gonna go out on a limb and assume they didn’t teach you how to combat a crazed exotic dancer.  The only thought I had was I’m getting choked out by a stripper…is there a strategy for this?  As I’m debating on what Steven Seagal would do in this instance, one of my friends shouts “YEAH! Choke him, he likes it rough!” Obviously, from first glance, it just looks like a stripper messing with me, but what followed was even more surprising: she finally let go. I was finally calming down…

And then she slapped me.

She slapped me hard too. It was like I stole money from her to pay off debt to a hooker, then told her the hooker was prettier than her. I was pissed. I had the ol’ “I’m-About-To-Punch-A-Stripper Face,” which hasn’t been used since the Old West. As we were leaving, she rubbed her foot on my crotch and told me to have fun in a strip club. I looked at her and said, “I was having a good time, until some uppity stripper decided to put her hands around my throat. I don’t know what the f**k made you do that but lucky for you I’m leaving. I’m going to walk lightly though so I don’t cut my feet on your broken f**king dreams.” Oh sweet vindication…

The next day my group found out the entirety of what had happened, and were shocked to say the least. There really is nothing to say to that. I wonder if this is a growing epidemic. Are men beaten by ladies of the pole for cash? Do they get so frustrated at not getting paid as much as the other strippers that violence is their only option? Maybe she was stressed out at starting classes again, since all strippers/internet porn models are just paying their way through school. I know the Gauss Jordan Method can be tricky, but come on Sapphire…

At least I didn’t have blue balls. That would’ve sucked.

2 Responses to “Put That Dollar in My G-string Or Else…”

  1. Erik says:

    I’m sure you were just trying to be funny, but I’m really disappointed with your tone in this article. You sound exactly like the kind of guy who makes enjoying strip clubs more difficult for those of us who do.

    Perhaps if you took the time to learn and apply a little etiquette, you could make “just enjoying some drinks with the guys” into a less awkward experience for everyone else attempting to be entertained.

    Also, I don’t think a sex-positive site is a good place to make thinly-veiled judgmental comments about strippers. “…maybe 110 without the coke,” and such comments really just make you sound like an ass, with no respect for dancers as people – not to mention the HILARIOUS demotivator you chose to set the tone.

    Next time I see you at your place of work, I’ll be sure to make the most condescendingly “honest” comments I can think of to you when I don’t want your service/product.

  2. Jared says:

    I have no problems with strippers. Just ones that attempt to kill me for no apparent reason. I’m not knocking anybody for going to strip clubs, for that’s judgmental and stupid. I was just recounting an event that happened to be at a strip club, which included thoughts and opinions that I was conveying personally at the time. I don’t see how my friends still didn’t have a good time and I made no scene at the club. I apologize you took offense, but don’t knock me for something that’s occurred in my life. I was angry at a completely random situation. If strippers attempting to strangle you don’t make you form an acerbic opinion, that’s your deal, but don’t try and villainize me when all I was doing was telling a crazy story to entertain the readers. And why would you come to my place of work? And why would you say “next time” like you’ve been at my place of work before? That’s just creepy and off-putting.

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