spaceman said:
bigpern23 said:
I've been to a strip club in Pittsburgh and it might be the single weirdest place I've ever been in my life.
Dude, you can't leave that one hanging out there. Prithee, elaborate.
OK, here goes [/deep breath]:
Me and a friend met up with his buddy who lives in Pittsburgh after a Pirates game. Guy says he he knows a guy who can get us the VIP treatment at a nearby peeler bar, which essentially amounts to waiving the cover.
Guy who gets us in free is, um, well, a bit off, but more on that later.
So we try to find the bar to get a drink and we're told all they serve is one kind of beer and it's downstairs. So we go downstairs. We end up walking through a winding hallway with flickering lights. I was expecting to see someone just facing a wall in the corner like in the Blair Witch project or to end up in a room out of Hostel.
We find the beer. It's being served out of a keg on the ground by a girl who was either retarded, on some hardcore drugs or, most likely, both. But she was scantily clad, which made me question the way I looked at the Special Olympics. Beer was $5 all you could drink. What kind was it? "Beer." was the girl's barely intelligible reply.
Go back upstairs. A stripper is dancing in front of the guy who got us in, who at this point reminds me of the guy in "Tales From the Crypt: Bordello of Blood" who tells Corey Feldman where the brothel is. He has no interest in seeing her naughty bits, but does offer her a $20 if she'll let him sniff her hair. She agrees and he draws a long whiff of it. He then looks at her, sated and docile and thanks her gently. She proceeds to stuff her hoo-ha in my face.
A guy sitting to my right then passes out and falls out of his chair. We wave over security, who comes over ready to pound us because they apparently think I'm Van Damme and knocked this guy out. I explain what happened and they carry him out. His wallet is on the counter, so I tell them. They say, "Keep it," as they drop him on the sidewalk. I tucked it into his shirt pocket, not wanting to go anywhere near the wet spot on his pants that was one of three things, two of which I wanted nothing to do with.
I went back inside just in time for a stripper to tell me that a bachelor was going on stage. "Just watch this, we're going to beat the **** out of him." So they go up and playfully handcuff him to the pole in a chair. They then proceed to give him a "lap dance," which essentially consisted of them finding different ways to ram various parts of their bodies into his groin. Elbows. Head butts. One stood on his thighs with his knees spread wide and then basically just dropped herself onto his crotch. Thoughts of Hostel once again flashed through my mind.
We left, went to a regular bar and sat down. I ordered an Iron City and a shot of Jack Daniels. Shot the Jack, chased it with the Iron City, turned to my friend and said, "Man, I've seen some things tonight I don't ever want to see again. I'm glad you made it out of there, buddy. I almost left you for dead."
And that is why I'll never go to a Pittsburgh titty bar ever again.
