Updated version...
Little Red Riding Hood and the Texas Chainsaw Strip Club (Redux)So I sat in the BMW glazed with sweat and cheap perfume splashed with glitter. I massaged my cheeks and jawbone, sore from the lockjaw laughter marathon. My gut wrenched with two acute side aches, like running extra laps in gym class. My whole urinary tract sighed in relief after nearly exploding like an over filled water bed. A pure comedic experience, with just a sting of empathy. There is always someone to laugh with, and moreover, someone to laugh at. I can't say I've ever laughed this hysterically, and felt so bad (for an individual) at the same time. I will say this, I will never be able to walk into a strip club ever again without recalling the events of that night. And to share that moment with a great friend, well, priceless...
We walked into the strip club and I noticed her almost immediately. This Christina Aguilera look alike with partial black dreads and milky white skin attracted the most attention within the club. She was wearing a very small, white bikini top to match her very small A-cups. With the pink sarong around her waist, you could barely see that she was wearing a white G-string, but it was there. Definitely the hottest girl in the club, at least by my standards.
We sat at a table next to six guys celebrating the demise of one, or what you would call a bachelor party. They were already pretty liquored up, but continued to add insult to injury. Little Red (As we appropriately nicknamed her – It'll make sense later) had yet to hit the stage and was making her rounds throughout the club. Going from here to there, never staying long. Until the dollar signs in her eyes brought her to the table of seven. We watched as she used every trick in the book to rob these malcontents of all there singles. Dollars flew around quickly along with the drinks. She spent approximately forty five minutes with these marks, sitting on laps and grinding them just the same. I'm almost positive the bachelor got the most lap time, as it should have been (Lucky for him..).
Meanwhile on stage, a very tall, (partially because of the whore boots she was wearing) muscular, black woman was tearing it up on stage. Very athletic, and versed in the art of the pole, she earned her well deserved singles. The only thing was that she bordered the genders, in the sense that i'm almost positive that her dick just might have been bigger than mine. After her Cirque de Soleil performance she made her way to our table, asking my buddy if he wanted a private dance. As he declined graciously she palmed his head with both hands, as if to snap his neck. But instead, like a slow motion horror flick, her giant slug like tongue made a slime trail from underneath his chin, along his cheek, ending just above his temple.
(Don't worry his Hep C test came back negative)She followed that up with "You don't know what your missing". She walked away, and i swear i saw her adjust her balls between steps. But i digress...
And then like the voice of God, Little Red was called upon the stage which was centered between the party of seven and us. Now here's where it gets good...
She strolled slowly to the stairs of the small stage. Sexy as hell, and all amped for her three song set. As her first song began, it was time to lose the sarong to finally get a full view of what we already knew to be a perfect ass. To no surprise that party booty hit the prime time much better than expected, but as she turned, confusion set in. Now with limited lighting my first thought was... What is that design on the front of her white G-string? As I squinted it almost seemed wet, so my next thought was... Oh, maybe she was all hot and bothered like a feral cat, from the last forty five minutes with the bachelor party? Then it hit me (and my buddy at the same time). Aunt Flo was visiting and she brought cousin Red. No swimming - red tide is in. Maximum Ovarydrive. “Red Dawn” was showing at the Y followed by “The Hunt for Red October”. It's shark week. Rudolph is guiding the sleigh. The Red Wings have a home game. Paul Revere is making his ride (I really had to think about this one). There is a crime scene at the fork in the road. Throwing eggs at the Easter rabbit. Okay I think that's enough euphemisms, you get the picture.
Needless to say, at this point I'm comatose with laughter. But like a train wreck we can't look away. Now here's where it go's all down hill. Through the drunken fog of disarray the table of seven began to catch on. After realizing they all had been “Superbad-ed” their exit could not come any sooner. So, as I'm on the verge of wetting myself, I turn my attention from the now empty table, back to the stage where little red had yet to figure out that she's blotting quicker than an old lady with a stack of bingo cards. She then began her strip tease completely oblivious that there had been a murder on beaver creek. She threw the G-string to the side of the stage, and my empathy for her kicked in, although the laughter was much more overpowering. She finally realized the situation after her 3 song set, when the next dancer arrived on stage and informed her of the communist attack. She crumbled in embarrassment, and needed help to get off the stage. That's when we made our way out to the BMW...
