I'd like to start this installment by thanking all those patrons of strip clubs that actually buy dances and champagne rooms. All of you who make it possible for the other 65-75% of the worthless assholes who plague clubs everywhere to enjoy looking at their (nearly) free boobies and ass.
Girls aren't going to strip for free.
OK, some of them will and do, but those kind are generally the ones you don't want to look at in any state of undress. The kind of degenerate skanks that will rip off their top because someone asked them to, or offered them a hit of smack. Basically the kind of ugly, tatted up rags that go to Insane Clown Posse shows and run around with their sad, lackluster mams swaying about unpredictably.
No one with any sense of pride or decorum wants to see that.
So thank you, strip club spenders. By providing hot chicks with a living, you're enabling boob shacks to exist, which benefits all the other broke scumbags out there who need spank material for their incredibly pathetic lives.
This opening allows me segue seamlessly into "identifying strip club denizens, a useful guide to sad, fucked up people."
Let's open this stinking can of abject human garbage and see what there is to see...
-Sad Lonely Old Man Mk 1: SLOM's are pitiable creatures. They have nothing and nobody in their lives and rather than sit alone in their dens and watch death incrementally creep up on them, they feel an obsessive need to be around other people, preferably hot young women.
These poor bastards just want to talk to someone, really. Many of them never even see the inside of a strip club or witness a shaved pooty because they can talk to and be around an attractive younger woman by going to a local watering hole. It's the interaction itself, not the context thereof that they are interested in.
Any chick'll do. It wards off the crushing sense of impending oblivion and ball-rot that so many of them feel.
-Sad Lonely Old Man Mk 2: The Mark II version of a SLOM operates exclusively in strip clubs. Merely annoying and depressing a local bartender isn't enough for them anymore, they've moved beyond that.
But they still don't go to clubs seeking sexual contact with these women, that's the mission of a DROP, whom we'll meet below. No, SLOM 2's crave close proximity with young dancers but deep inside some part of them realizes the inherent creepiness and vulgarity of a 20 year old girl sexing it up with a 70 year old man and as such, they just like to be around unhaggard, pretty women because it makes them feel young again.
Still pretty sad in my opinion. Read a fucking book, dude.
-Dirty Repulsive Old Pervert: DROP's are the herpes of strip clubs. You can't get rid of them. Even when they die, three other new ones rise up to take their place. Like a titty club hydra.
DROPs' sole purpose is to molest and bang as many girls young enough to be their granddaughters as they possibly can for as little money as they can get away with. They're not choosy about looks, body, personality or hygiene, they just want sexual contact for fixed-income prices. Most of these guys would just as happily haunt playgrounds and rape random schoolchildren if they thought they could get away with it and strip clubs inhabited by needy, legal aged drug addicts in thongs offer up the next best thing.
The DROP Mk 1: This old codger has simple needs, just let him finger your ass a bit or suck a titty while you grind on him through his pants and he will dump a load in short order. His Depends will catch his dribbly shame and he will leave the club with a leer and go home to watch Matlock reruns or shit about World War II, satisfied with his day.
The DROP Mk 2: The DROP 2.0 can't get off from grinding and enjoys having strippers molest him for money until he's ready to go home and assail his wobbly grey member with a variety of simple household appliances.
The DROP Mk 3: Takes his creepy dick out 22 seconds into a dance. It's like a slug in a worn tactical vest, clammy yet ready for engagement and slimy on one end.
The SAW: Socially Awkward Weenies are those poor fuckers that nature granted no obvious gifts to. They're not good looking, they're not built like a Roman God, they're not clever enough to have made millions of dollars off of something, they're not good liars, they're uncomfortable as hell around the opposite sex.
The absolute pinnacle of carnal interaction they can hope for is to cream their Star Wars boxers during a lap dance and go home and continue their assault on the Lair of the Hell Witch Dragon.
To be continued. Thought I'd put a salt lick out for yinz fuckers.
If you feel cheated and mislead by the title or content of the installment, I humbly suggest you go fuck yourself with a dirty barbecue fork. I work hard for you cunts.
Your Most Embarrassing Uncle,
Mr. Herdy
