Maybe I was drunk, but the...

Maybe I was drunk, but the last time I was at Cabaret Royale more than six years ago I was disappointed in myself for not being willing to spend the money to sample the prime talent that was there. An Eastern European chick laid it on thick by totally laying on me, and I teased her until she got up and left. And I feel bad about that, so I loaded up my wallet and went on a Friday night to the huge pink palace, determined not to fuck over the next stripper who was just as good-looking as she was. There is valet available at the front entrance, but save the money for the girls getting naked for you and park a little further away. Besides, you probably need the exercise.

I'm admiring Cabaret Royale the closer I get to it. I don't remember the building being this huge; did they put in an addition? So I go through the doors and I pay - gulp -- $20 to get in. I don't remember the cover being this huge. And I walk into to this noisy, rollicking auditorium with lights and humanity everywhere. I don't remember the room being this huge. What an extensive remodel. There is a proscenium stage in the back, two go-go cages in the middle, the buffet in the left back corner, bathrooms to the right of the entrance, a bar at the right wall, and circular tables everywhere else. This being Dallas they do the rotation thing, but here the flow of dancers was hard to follow from song to song. At one stretch they take the stairs up to the second floor and enter what I deduced was the VIP, located opposite the main stage. There was a small station or two where strippers were entertaining several other customers, all of whom I could see through glass walls. My British waitress told me I could be a VIP member … for $20. Or was it $50? Either way, it was expensive and not worth it.

Be extremely careful: This place is loud. They played the heavy and nu-metal that most strippers like, and they crank it up to 11. I was in the middle of the room, not really close to any speaker, and it was damn near deafening. I got incredibly annoyed, even angered, by the music hammering me over the head. All this time, while nursing one cheap Coke, I was trying to concentrate on the parade of strippers through this Moulin Rouge-on-meth atmosphere while blocking out the obnoxiously stupid shit the DJ was saying. He's a fat man with a wireless mic whose dirty jokes were tired the first time I heard them - in the second grade. "Janet, stop giving your customer a blowjob and get on stage!" That guy should be on Last Comic Standing - as the chump sweeping up the floor of the Chuckle Hut after everyone's left. But I tuned him back in when he said, "It's 1:45, and if you want to go to Cabaret Royale next door. …" Oh, so that's why the place looked so unfamiliar. I wasn't in Cabaret Royale, I was in the Fare Room (or Club, I don't know what it's actually called) at Cabaret Royale!