A 5-star girl in a 3-star club

I was staying downtown for a convention at Moscone this week. I booked my hotel late and everything on the right side of Sixth St. was full, so I was deep in the taint of post-apocalyptic SF at Seventh & Market. That put me a stone's throw from the Crazy Horse, so I felt obligated to check it out. For science.

Cover was $10 and the door staff and security were very friendly and deferential. When I got past the front desk I saw why: despite a huge convention and full hotels a few blocks away, I was the third customer at 10pm. My fellow patrons were a toothless savant in a wheelchair who looked like Gandalf recast as a crazy old prospector, and a bored-looking gym bro. Both of them were camped out on perv row by the stage, where they stayed throughout my visit.

A word on the layout. This place is a lot smaller on the inside than the lavish facade facing the street would suggest. Tiny bar when you first walk in - by tiny, I mean smaller than the DJ booth. Not an issue since they only sell energy drinks and two varieties of non-alcoholic beer, both of which suck. Seriously, these fully-nude joints that don't serve alcohol need to discover the revolution in NA beer that's underway. They offer O'Douls and Guinness NA, both of which are yellow water with gas in it. And for those, gentlemen, they charge $8 each.