My Very Own Strip Club

Last weekend, a couple of guy friends and I went to the local strip club to say hi to a cocktail waitress friend who works there. She's one of those hipster girls with dyed black hair and bangs. I think she's rad. I think she thinks I'm a girly priss. Anyhow. On the drive there, Guy Friend #1 asked what I would name a strip club, were I to own and operate one.

I decided on Vagina. Guy Friend #2 improves on the name by adding an exclamation point, so now it's Vagina!, which is just that much better. And we start expounding on the idea, deciding that the girls will, rather than just strip and hold out their g-string straps for dollar bills, do things like splash around in kiddie pools with each other. Maybe just have a quick pillow fight on stage. 'Cause what grosses me out about strip clubs isn't the nudity, the appreciation of that nudity, or the pole dances (which are really pretty hot). It's that it's all the same. Well, that and the old guys that come in alone, get a huge boner and then try and touch the dancers when the bouncers aren't looking. Ew.

If anyone would like to finance our idea, please let me know. Well, I guess someone would have to start reading this blog first. Okay, if anyone is actually reading this blog, let me know. We'll work out the finances later.