I'd call this dive a guilty...

I'd call this dive a guilty pleasure except it doesn't always deliver on the latter. Still, I often drop in whilst driving through Top-town, as I did the evening of July 3, knowing full well it's not going to set me back to check out the scene. If there's one constant for Sasnak, other than overweight, tattooed ugly dances and action on the pool tables, it's the cheap beer prices.

Anyway, I'm on the road, so get a coke for 75 cents, served up by -- as noted below -- one of two very cute young barmaids. I tip to the cleavage because I'm a gentleman and wish the young lovely was on stage rather than the fugly going through the motions on the far end of the building. There's times, that one cheap drink is all the investment you have to make in this place before realizing it's time to move on. This was looking like one of those visits, with a couple of other "dancers" who could have been sisters to the trailer-park abomination on stage hanging at the bar (you don't have to enter the bar to get a peek at the evening's scorecard. There are always girls smoking on benches outside). I spot one younger dancer who had attempted to entertain me a year ago or more. Horrible dancer, who tried to upsell to the VIP area, but then admitted she wasn't going to do anything more there anyway (not that I was interested). The last year hadn't done her any favors. Overall, solid 3s in quality.

Now I know, dear readers, you're thinking "this is harsh. Why step into the hellhole" It's certainly not the restroom, which I don't think has been cleaned since the great flood of 1951. It's because there is sometimes, and more often than not, jewels scattered among the slag. Many times, they are trim young women of color, which I admit is a weakness.

Half way through my coke, one such dancer hits the stage. I tip, which in Sasnak is always good for a kitty show at minimum. Anyway, that gets her attention and after doing the dancer's customary post-stage tip walk, she finds me but almost seems surprised when I ask for a dance. We head to one of the dancers' favorite secluded spots, tucked from view by -- for lack of a better term -- VIP room, which is added midway into the bar's floor plan with a half wall topped with tree branches and curtains. This particular stripper fort is so well used, the seat (think 50's era vinyl diner benches) nearly tips over as we sit down. The dances were good, although I've had much better at here, but I'm really not into it or trying to pursue this filly any further. After two dances we stop, chat awhile and I exit.

Out in the parking lot is a cute white dancer I hadn't seen inside, leaning against the passenger door of an SUV. We've all been there, spotting the best dancer of the night at a club just as we're leaving.