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How to Fuck a Stripper

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WHITE STRIPPERS (BLONDE)
WHITE STRIPPERS (TATTOOED AND/OR WITH PUNK HAIRCUTS)

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BLACK STRIPPERS
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For every gem like Nieratko’s missive above, we get ten clunkers that are entertaining in an entirely different way. (It’s fun to read pieces where retarded people try to think.)

We just so happen to have a “Not Fit to Print” piece here on exactly the same topic as the above article: How to fuck a stripper. Prepare to barf, because this is totally unedited…

YOU ARE NEVER GETTING IN

 

By Gloria Glory

One of the greatest things about dewds is their ability to assume every woman wants them. The greatest things about dewds are that they continue to believe this in places such as Strip Clubs. Let’s get one thing straight as far as we dancers are concerned it’s a JOB – period. Part of the job is finding your stories about eating a hot dog and then going home to take a crap the most fascinating hunk of conversation ever shared.

Well guess what you’re as sexy as a weather report, not a poet laureate; you are your own poetic justice. You would have a better chance screwing Queen Elizabeth after regaling her with your hair gel stories. Ergo, for the men who act like they are doing us a favor or tey bringing roses to a strip club because there was a “connection”, here’s a few reasons why you are doomed.

PLANNINNG TO GO TO THE CLUB:

Let me guess: You find yourself going alone or with all male jock friends who are horrible with women…

Solution: JUST STOP! Call your mom and explain that you are horrible with women, start to cry and then go to bed. It’s better than accidentally overhearing us mention that you are a gorgeous example of an unattractive guy.

YOUR ARRIVAL SUCKS

What you do: Apparently you haven’t called your mother yet so you think you are still in the game. SIT DOWN!

What you do:

Guys who come in and make a “mother fucking ruckus” translates into a “mother fucking fuck us – financially”. It pisses of everyone including the guy jacking off at his table. He even feels superior to you.

 

 

Gynecology row is a Gynecology No! Maybe sitting right in front the stage impresses a girl at a Sting concert but it a peeler bar it tells the girls you think went to a Sting concert.

Just do this: Sit to the side of the stage in the shadows like a sexy Vincent Price. DO NOT make a seen.  How impressed do you think we’ll get you’re in a peeler bar for fuck sake.

HYGIENE

The smell of a guy can be amazing if you’re into him but if not (ie you) your personal odor is as welcome as a waft of a stranger’s pepperoni belch. Cover it up with something, but before you do

ask yourself this: “Did I use a judicial amount of cologne or do I smell like I should be wedged between the pages of GQ? If you reek of shitty cologne go down the street to Planet Hollywood and find your wife.

Why we hate cologne:

The fact that I’m explaining this is making me furious! It REEKS and after smelling 40 different carefully chosen “scents” we’ve done more damage to our nasal cavity than the blow we just did. All your doing is effectively telling the girls that you have the expectations of a horny ten year old and you actually believe hip hop music videos are self improvement tapes.

ORDERING A DRINK

Make it short and sweet. The longer you take ordering while the waitress is there causes a log jam inhibiting you from being the man you think you are.

Complaining about drink prices in a strip bar is like complaining about not getting across the border American in a pot leafed “legalize it” shirt.

Why we hate it:

If you are losing your bald coconut over a $1.50 you’re not exactly going to be peeling out the dead Prime ministers for my perfect ass.

CONVERSATION

This is the deal ender is almost every case. You are in a strip club. Do you walk into a grocery store expecting free food cause your bragging about how much you eat?

Your cock, sex stories and financial success stories are BORING. If you somehow pull a David Copperfield they will figure it out on your date, in fact even Coppefield couldn’t hypnotize Claudia into staying with him.

The solution:

Nothing. If you’re a human yawn there is little you can do in a five-minute conversation while “Shock The Monkey” is playing. Go home and shock your monkey.

WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?!

Actually I want to stick with conversation. Let’s face it this is where men rule. They may have been wired to be aggressors and are individually convinced they would bring home the most from the hunt. Thanks to the implausible lessons of pop culture combined with their equally clueless friends, most guys think they are sexual warriors. Here are some golden moves courtesy of my last month at work.

Anyhow, check out how out of control it’s become.

VIP GUY

1 – This line is from a guy in a VIP lounge whispered into the ear of Erotica “ If I told you who I actually am you would cum.. You have no idea how much I can do for you if  we get along”

WHAT does that mean? Why don’t you just put on a cape, twirl around and throw a smoke bomb on the floor captain enigma?

HITLER LOVER

2 – Here’s a line from a guy who was wearing a suit that looked and smelled like it was “stolen from a rotting corpse”

“I may be Chinese but I love Hitler. Followed by a Zieg Heil. This was his idea of casual conversation. Saying you love Hitler is rich enough but thinking a Zieg Heil will seal the deal is at least 4 Ice Ages ahead of its time.

I’LL BAKE YOUR MOTHER

3 – This one happened during a strippers birthday at a club We brought a home made cake to the club for a dancer(yeah we can be right fucking classy)

Guy: Can you bake me like you baked that cake?

Dancer: I’ll bake your mother.

Guy: What do you mean by that!? (Actually angry.)

SENSITIVE MALE

4 – And Finally, just last night I got:

Guy: Inever get dances. Can I get your number? Or you want to come by my place.

Me: Look buddy, I’m not going to fuck you.

Guy: (self righteous) Who said anything about fucking? Maybe I just wanted to TALK and have some coffee. (then he made this ridiculous “upset” face.

(It was 3:30 AM)

SEE YOU NEVER

Well, good luck. If you can get your shit together and you do pick up, prepare for a life of work stories from your sweet heart about a thumb being squeaked up her ass at work when she wasn’t looking.

It won’t be me.