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It began, as all true American horror stories do, with a text that came in during the witching hour: “She took the dog.” That was it. No punctuation. No context. Just those four words, carved into my phone like a ransom note from Hell. My old friend Danny—journalist, bourbon enthusiast, and optimist by mental defect—had finally joined the ranks of the divorced.…

The night started like all the best ones do: with a bad idea and an open tab. We were packed into a rideshare that smelled like Axe body spray and weed gummies, chasing that ancient American hunger for trouble—the kind you can't find on a screen or wrapped in a fucking podcast. No, what we were after was something primal, something…

There’s something undeniably American about the strip club. It’s a strange, sordid blend of capitalism, lust, and the pursuit of the human experience in its rawest, unfiltered form. It’s a place where men (and women) come to spend their hard-earned cash, trying to find some form of satisfaction in the chaos of life. But there’s a certain magic to it. You…