A strip club in Wyoming has reopened with a “clothes off masks on theme.” I guess it is in response to the Chinese Virus.
Every beginning narc goes through a phase. They all think they are going to make a case on a titty dancer. The object is to make the dancer an informant. The thought is that every dope dealer in town will deal with a dancer. Consequently, with at least four or five police agencies working dope one can’t walk through a titty bar without barking one’s shins on all the police gun butts.
The girls in the higher end bars are priced out of the market. They make more in one night than we could afford to pay for information.
That leaves the places where table dances go for five dollars and under. Fresh as a daisy ain’t in it. This is about bragging rights. The new narc said he was going to recruit a titty dancer. All the older narcs laughed at him. He had to come up with a titty dancer.
It reminds me of the story about the new Priest and the Monsignor.
It was the new Priest’s first stint at hearing confessions. The monsignor gave him a pep talk, assured him he would be fine. The Monsignor pointed out that he would be just across the way, if any problems popped up.
The young Priest settled in and things were going on just fine. Then a 70 year old prostitute entered his confessional and told her story. The young Priest decided he needed some advice and excused himself. He approached the Monsignor and put the question to him, “Father what do you give a 70 year old prostitute?”
The Monsignor considered for a moment and replied, “Buck, buck and a half.”
So there I was, hanging out in bars that I’d be afraid to take a SWAT team into. A couple of titty bars from back in the day come to mind.
The “Rainbow Lounge” was over by Lackland Air Force Base. I swear it had a dirt floor. A good looking dancer was one with teeth that actually touched one another. I got a table dance for a cigarette. Her looks would have improved five fold, had she been wearing a mask.
Then there was the “Horsing Around Club” on Roosevelt Avenue down the south side. It was the home of two hundred pound titty dancers. I was never sure if the dancers wore g-strings or just dyed their pubes. The “string” if it existed was buried in rolls of fat.
I guess if the dancers are all masked looking for a pretty smile is out.
It was a dirty job…but somebody had to do it.