Boring and Mediocre As Always. Avoid.

Seattle is by reputation one of the lamest strip club scenes in the country. It’s sort of true and sort of not. It mostly depends on what a club goer wants: do you want a normie club experience(as in alcohol infused) with strippers or serious mileage. Both can be found in one package if you venture far enough, but for those on the PNW scene, you’re basically limited to two scenes: the Seattle one and the one down the I-5 corridor. Sometimes you can get the worst of both worlds, though. The opportunity to get shitfaced and throw up on a stripper denied to you and getting choir girl LDA action simultaneously. I’m talking about Deja Vu, the poster child of bland, stale, out-of-towner bait mediocrity. There’s two locations. Both are complete shit. The one downtown is somehow worse. I went to the Lake Forest location, and somehow managed to only spend 70 in a fucking strip club.

This was in Mid-may on a afternoon. Four o’clock. Had I not happened to be in the vicinity for other business I wouldn’t have bothered. Seeing the sign bearing Deja Vu with the accompanying ten foot fishnet legs and high heels figure, hardly subtle, I impulsively swung into the parking lot, curious if the club was still the lol-cow I remembered it being when I last went in years ago. Spoiler: it was.

Going in I get hit with a twenty dollar cover, plus another eight for some sugar water. Highway robbery. The club is mostly dead. Four to six other mongers. Seven or eight strippers. Mostly discount Kardashians, likely scrolling Instagram for their next simp prey (“check out this sexy bra pic I took this morning daddy…Cashapp in the link”). A song is playing but no stripper on stage. Fucking great. I guess the one due up is making a simp feel grateful in the LDA that he gets to gently graze the tits for 40 plus a tip. I settle down on a couch near the stage. No strippers are heading over. The hustle is low. Makes you almost miss the Kittens hustle. At least there you’re guaranteed some mileage if you pick and choose. Next song starts and generic stripper number one hits the stage.

Blondie. Fake tits. Looks like a nice ass under the thong but she’s not showing it. She’s looking bored as fuck. Working the pole a bit but pretty much no moves. A bit of cash is thrown her way by a couple other patrons. We finally get a bra drop. No hint of seeing the lower goods. What the fuck ever. At this point I’m ready to leave. So fucking bored I even took a sip of the sugar water and spat it out immediately in my cup after tasting it slightly. I need some fucking goddamn liquor. Fuck this corn syrup made for 2nd graders shit. Thirty dollars wasted on this shit that I’m never getting back. That’s when generic stripper number two comes my way to recite the script. Dark brunette. Tall. I’m getting Khloe K vibes, only Khloe looked more real after the post “work done.”

Alright, you already know the fucking drill. (“Hey baby, first time here?”). Uh no. (“Really, well you’re so handsome”). Yeah, I think so too. What’s your point? (“Maybe I can interest you in a dance”?). Jokes on me I guess for not asking for a menu. Maybe I just didn’t think about it because I was already taking such a huge L I thought by getting a lap dance I could come out of this fucking dreck of a club without reflexively cringing every time I thought about the experience. So back the fuck we went. 40, obviously. Why pay less for less service when you could pay the exact same fucking amount?