Why do men love strip clubs so much?
Tuesday, March 6, 2012 12:00 AM
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Men go to strip clubs to see boobies, and in some cases, hoo-ha. They go to hear the classics, like C&C Music Factory and Crazy Town. They go to spend their money on expensive, watered down drinks and lap dances that are never really a dry hump, but just a giant, never-ending tease. Men’s faces during lap dances are portraits of pathetic, impotent want, not dissimilar to a dog’s desperate pant and furrowed brow as it waits for table scraps that never come. Mainly, the enduring appeal of strip clubs is this: It’s a place where regular men can reject beautiful women.<br />
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You got that? In a strip club, the physics of seduction are flipped. The real money for a stripper isn’t dancing for dollars; that’s a preview of the main course. The real money comes when that stripper hits the bar and tries to get them to buy lap dances. In these instances, men have the power to turn down hotties. It’s the only place where short, fat, balding guys can turn down statuesque, exotic beauties. That kind of sexual power is a profound kick, one denied men at normal watering holes, and it’s a novelty worth the money.<br />
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To the strippers, all men look the same. We look like Lincoln, Hamilton, Jackson, Franklin. Once we’ve picked a stripper, it’s her job to get the man to believe that he’s the only man in the universe. It’s all fun and games, ideally. In the end, the man is a little poorer, but he enjoyed an alternate reality where he was Brad Pitt. The stripper is a little richer, and maybe enjoyed the ability to turn another man into a glob of Silly Putty. More often than not, the man is a lot poorer, and the stripper is a lot richer.<br />
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I’ve gone to strip clubs to be titillated, to enjoy the Big Lie, to drink and smoke and debauch. I love the fantasy of it, and happily tip the ladies with the bouncing ta-tas. On some occasions, I’ve taken the bait, and believed that Amethyst, Sparkles, or Candy Kane actually liked me, wanted me, and so I handed over twenty after twenty. In the past, when I frequented strip clubs often, I have to admit those were unhappy times in my life. I don’t seek them out so much anymore, but it’s always fun during the odd bender, while celebrating an old friend in town or a brief career victory or just “Tuesday,” to slip dollar bills into the thong of a stripper and sip a whiskey neat.</p>
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