Scammed By Barbie. Buyer Beware.

Having wrapped up my visit to Kittens, I decided to turn the day into a mini strip club tour. What better way to wrap up a day at Kittens than to go to discount Kittens. So up the I-5 to Aurora for Sugars I went. And it might have been some low-key fun if I hadn’t run into scammer Barbie.

I got out of Kittens around 5 and made it to that fucking paint store by 5:30. It took half an hour because of my little side detour to an old bikini shack fave Chickalatte Aurora for some shitty coffee and a view. Tats Heather is closing up the place as I swing by. Seattle veterans will recall that she strips on weekday evenings at Pandoras. She’s a class act as long as you’re into tats. Saying she likes tats is like saying that a fish likes water. Understatement of the fucking century.

Duck in. Usual swarm of traffic. Cover is collected and I take a seat. Club is fucking dead. I’m the only patron. No strippers in sight. At a strip club. On a weekend. At 5:30 in the fucking evening. This club gets more dead every time I go. Now in my last irony laden review of this place, I half jokingly noted that the lack of patrons improves the negotiating landscape. In all seriousness, though, there’s no way this is sustainable. Sugars is dying. It generated some interest when it first opened but the mongers have all gone back to their old haunts they knew and loved before Sugars opened. Sugars opened into a already crowded market place and never found the niche it needed. At least Dancing Bare had its ‘thing.’ It might have been the most downmarket club in town but that’s what made it unique. As far as Sugars is concerned, why go to the discount Kittens when you can go to the real one? For the guys out there looking to complete their Seattle club lineup, I’d recommend going now, because one day soon it’ll probably go the way of its predecessor.

The DJ ducks into the stripper room to alert the only stripper in the club a patron has finally showed up. By the looks of it, I’m probably the first guy to have shown up in hours. I’m intrigued by the mystery stripper behind the curtain, but as she comes out I see it’s…Barbie. Fuck. Me. Anyone who read my last review of this place knows I’m not a fan off this bitch. She’s basically the ultimate generic carbon copy stripper. Fake tits, fake laugh, Kittens worthy trademark hustle only without the IG model tier looks, boring lap dances, fake as fuck stripper alias ( yeah, and my name is fucking Casanova…Barbie). Nothing exceptional in a good or bad way from my previous experience but I was about to find out she’s a bitch in her own league. Well, her and few of those other industrious practitioners of the Enron school of business ethics from the lovely establishment I just came from. Allow me to illuminate you.

Let me back up for a second. While inside the only partially remodeled men’s room (did the check for the contractor bounce?), the voice of the DJ blasts out, bombastically announcing an upcoming stage dance will be occurring at Sugars, which is “world famous” apparently. Can barely contain his excitement seeing as, you know, he’s had nothing to do all afternoon. He’s literally talking to himself, as I’m the only patron and am currently…occupied. This is just getting sad.