I hate clubs. You know why all clubs are loud and dark? They make it loud because you can’t sound stupid if no one can hear you. They make it dark so you can pretend you aren’t ugly. The fact is, if your life has meaning, you don’t spend time in a Las Vegas night club.
We finally leave and go to the strip club. I was not in a good mood ten seconds before we entered, but once we got inside, I have to tell you, that changed. I’ve been to a lot of strip clubs in my life, but going to a top 5 Vegas strip club on the Saturday of the beginning of March Madness is like nothing else on earth. I’ve never seen so many stunningly beautiful women in one place in my life. It was amazing.
And sadly … I got right back into a bad mood. Why? Because pretty much every single one of these stunning women were emotionally dead hustlers. This wasn’t one of those strip clubs where the girls sit and talk and hang out. These girls were professionals in the truest sense. I’m not even talking about them having sex for money—which I am sure 90%+ of them did—I’m more talking about how they sized up and interacted with guys. For example, at an average strip club under normal circumstances we can always find more than a few strippers who think we’re hilarious and want to sit and bullshit with us for a long time. That did not happen at this club. Everything was an explicit financial evaluation; there was no pitter-patter. This was within five minutes of entering the club:
Stripper “Hey, how are you?”
Tucker “You don’t know it yet, but my penis is going to end up in your mouth.”
Stripper “Honey, for enough money, that can happen.”
Tucker “Uh … I was kinda making a joke …”
Hitting on hookers is as pointless as it gets and no fun at all. And they were ALL hookers. I’m not criticizing per se, but places like that are creepy and annoying to spend time in to me. After I realized this, I mainly just kept to my beer and myself. SlingBlade had some fun with it:
Stripper “What’s your name?”
SlingBlade “Did you get a good discount on your fake tits? I would think brick-layers do them for cheap.”
Stripper “I’d love to give you a good time.”
SlingBlade “I’m genuinely curious: How much would it cost to shit on your chest?”
Stripper “How’d you like some company?”
SlingBlade “I think if you were reduced to your constituent elements, you’d be nothing more than jizz and glitter.”
SlingBlade “You’re the kind of creature I feared was living under my bed as a kid.”
Stripper “You aren’t funny. People don’t think you’re funny.”
SlingBlade “Yes, but they don’t mistake me for a whore either.”
As you can imagine, girls who are hustling to make their $2k a night don’t have time for bullshit like that. The Duke guys were unpopular. But the UVa guys were very popular, and we didn’t see much of them over the course of the night. I’m sure you can figure out why. The very best anecdote:
One of the UVa guys went off to a private room with a stripper/hooker. He was gone for a long time. When he came back, she was still with him, but now they looked like they’d just fucked. He hadn’t even wiped the sweat off his forehead. SlingBlade leans in to me:
SlingBlade “She looks like she has a lot of self-esteem.”
As they came over and sat down, I knew it was coming, I could see him teeing it up … but man when it finally let loose, it was even worse than I thought it would be:
SlingBlade [turns to the stripper/hooker] “If I wanted to measure the amount of semen currently in your vagina, could I use a measuring cup, or would I need a gallon bucket?”
Stripper “WHAT?”
SlingBlade “I bet your vagina smells like a zoo.”
We did not have a good trip. The UVa guys sure did though. The next day at breakfast summed up the whole trip:
UVa Guy “Fuck man, I think I forgot to wear a rubber when that stripper was blowing me last night.”
Tucker “You wear rubbers for oral sex?”
UVa Guy “With these sorts of hookers, you have to. I got some shit once just from a blowjob. My wife was pissed, she almost left me because she got it too.”
Tucker “YOU’RE MARRIED??”
The UVa guy looked at me like it was a stupid question, and scoffed at me to his friends.
UVa Guy “Yeah, of course.”
I talk a lot about how people should follow their passion and live the life they want, not the one they think they are supposed to. A lot of what I say in that realm is abstract. This is not—this is exactly what I’m talking about. If you want to be single and bang a ton of girls, just fucking go do it, don’t pretend to be something else, like married. I’ve always lived the life I wanted, I’ve been happy as a result, and I’ve never felt the need to do shit like this guy. You don’t have to follow my advice … but if you don’t, you’ve got a life of fucking hookers in strip clubs behind your wife’s back to look forward to.
EL BINGEROSO’S BACHELOR PARTY, PART 2 — KANSAS CITY, MO
Occurred, June 2001
El Bingeroso’s wedding was on a Sunday, so the “official” bachelor party was scheduled for the Friday night beforehand, in Kansas City, Missouri. Why Kansas City? Well, the wedding was about an hour away in some bumfuck town, and Kansas City was the closest big city. Plus, it was convenient for all of El Bingeroso’s and Kristy’s extended male family—who were planning to come.
Yeah, you read that right. Uncles, cousins, stepfathers—everyone was going to be there. It was like a hoedown. Now you understand why we wanted to have a real bachelor party earlier in the year.
The night started at some random bar in KC. We were going to meet there, then all get on the drunk bus they rented and go to the strip club. The law school crew and I get to the bar, and of course, it’s completely dead except for us. Great. Who doesn’t like hanging out at a bar with 20 dudes? Then all of the sudden, El Bingeroso’s best friend “Mermaid” walks into the bar … with a male midget. This was not expected.
Mermaid “Dude, sorry I only brought a midget, but getting an animal out of the zoo is a pain in the ass.”
Well played, my friend.
You’d expect the midget thing would be awesome, right? It wasn’t. First off, it was a male midget. Second, he was super lame. He didn’t do a little jig or fight any Orcs or anything that you see them do in the movies. We didn’t even get to toss him. He just stood around drinking his beer like a normal boring person.
Tucker “I’m not sure what I was expecting from the midget, but … this isn’t it.”
Dirty “Get a picture of the midget punching you in the nuts. Or fisting you. That would be cool.”
Hate “Well, I like him. I’m not the shortest guy in the group for once.”
This bar was ridiculously boring, and when I get bored, I get destructive. I was planning on just breaking random shit Road House style, but El Bingeroso’s older brother Buddy had a better idea. He went out to the drunk bus we’d rented, grabbed a porn DVD (it may have been a VHS actually, this was 2001 in the Midwest), went into the AV closet of the bar, and put porn on all the TVs. It was pretty awesome … except for the fact that now we were 20 dudes and a midget, without girls … watching porn in a bar.
The bar manager got pissed. It was time to go anyway, so we started to get on the drunk bus and head to the strip club. The midget wanted to settle up with Mermaid, which made no sense to me.
Tucker “He’s not coming to the strip club with us? You only rented the midget for 90 minutes??”
Mermaid “He was $200 an hour, what am I supposed to do? For that much, I should at least get a handjob.”
Midget “I do that, but it’s extra.”
Midget for the win!! That joke alone was almost worth the money.
The strip club in KC was easily among the worst I’ve ever seen or heard about. When I walked in, the first stripper I see has stretch marks on her stomach. The second was missing teeth. The third looked like one of the bouncers,
except in a bikini. I mean … come on.
Dirty “If you can’t remember their names, just look at the numbers on the backs of their jerseys. And remember, Offensive Line’s numbers are in the 60s and 70s, Defensive Line’s are in the 90s.”
El Bingeroso’s stepfather—who apparently is on his one night out of the year—is not deterred by this catastrophe. In fact, he looks like he’s in heaven. He quickly surveys the field, and goes right up to a stripper.
StepCreeper “Alright young lady, those look like some big melons. These hands are registered scales, put’em in here and let me weigh’em, see if they break my personal record.”
Without a second thought, she dropped those post-partum milk teats right into his waiting hands. It was that kind of strip club, and it was going to be that kind of bachelor party. Ironically enough, the people we thought would make this a shitty night were the ones going buck wild with the strippers.
The law school group huddled by the bar for safety, and it took a few more beers than normal to venture into the clown car that was the main stage at this club. The only good that came out of it was this conversation I got into with a stripper about dating. She was not very attractive, so of course she was totally into me.
Stripper “You don’t have a girlfriend?”
Tucker “Definitely not.”
Stripper “So what do you like in a girl? What turns you on?”
Tucker “To me, the sexiest possible thing about a female is if she’s totally into me.”
Stripper “Haha! What about like dates, what do you like to do?”
Tucker “The ideal first date includes cumming on the chick’s back, having her immediately fall asleep, stealing $50 out of her purse, and then sneaking out the window.”
Stripper “You’re so funny!”
Credit “The funny thing is, he’s not joking.”
Stripper “I still don’t know why you don’t have a girlfriend. You seem like boyfriend material.”
SlingBlade “HAHHAHHAHAHA—only a stripper could meet Tucker Max and think ‘I want to date this man.’”
She insisted on figuring out why I didn’t have a girlfriend. And SlingBlade insisted on, well, being himself.
Tucker “I would date a girl, it’s just that women are like parking spots: All the good ones are taken, and once you see a great one that you think is available, it turns out to be handicapped.”
Stripper “Haha! That’s so funny and true!”
SlingBlade “No, women are like parking spots because they’re all whores and liars.”
Stripper “How does that make any sense?”
SlingBlade “Whatever. Logical consistency is for stupid sluts who dance on tables.”
Stripper “I’m not a slut or a whore.”
SlingBlade “You may be the whoringest whore who’s ever whored.”
Stripper [to me] “Um, your friend is kind of a piece of shit.”
SlingBlade “Look at yourself. I bet your stepdad won’t even fuck you anymore.”
Stripper “I don’t even have a stepdad!”
SlingBlade “Oh sorry … then was it your uncle or your neighbor who touched you when you were 8, hmmph?”
Stripper “No one touched me when I was 8!”
SlingBlade “Well, then what happened? Your mom emotionally broke you through her incessant nagging and withholding love?”
Stripper “My mom is dead, you asshole.”
SlingBlade “I say we dig her up, and skull fuck her back to life. That’ll teach her to tell you that you aren’t good enough!!”
This started at least a half-hour war between the stripper and SlingBlade. I can’t even recall the whole conversation, because I was too busy laughing and struggling to take down the machine gun fire of SlingBlade’s one liners. These were my favorites:
SlingBlade “Tucker, no wonder she likes you. She has that empty feeling that only fellatio can fill.”
SlingBlade “How much would it cost to get you to cry on stage?”
SlingBlade “If you just had one more daddy issue, you could have been a porn star. So close.”
SlingBlade “Yes, I’m sure you’re only stripping to put yourself through therapy.”
SlingBlade “The only thing more obvious about you than your lack of self-esteem, is the fact that your vagina is a quiver for dicks.”
SlingBlade “Do you still hear the lambs screaming, Clarice?”
In that period, I probably laughed more than any other time in my life. And even though the stripper was getting really pissed at SlingBlade, no matter how much abuse was heaped on her, she stuck around and kept taking more—just like in most of her relationships. Eventually, she said something particularly stupid, and SlingBlade put a button on the night:
He whispered, “Shhhhhhhhh” at her, then gently placed his finger on her lips and whispered, “You’re welcome.”
She finally stormed off.
Tucker “That was amazing and brutal at the same time.”
SlingBlade “We should go back up to the ship, nuke her from orbit. It’s the only way to be sure.”
Mermaid comes back from one of the private rooms, and sniffs his fingers.
Mermaid “Oh yeah, I smell like romance.”
Mermaid is definitely a coke and hookers guy. Thankfully, the night ended relatively soon after that.
We had one more night to kill before the wedding on Sunday, so we decided to just have a calm, easy night out drinking. And of course, that night ended up being the best one.
We went to a bar that Dirty knew pretty well. It couldn’t have been more different from the one the previous night: cool place, lots of energy, and a ton of girls. I picked out our targets almost immediately. A group of loud, drunk girls who were wearing the type of lipstick shades you’d expect to see around the base of a penis.
Tucker “Those girls are naughty.”
SlingBlade “They are also ugly.”
Tucker “They are not ugly!
SlingBlade “Fine. But they are whores.”
Tucker “What is wrong with you?”
PWJ, Dirty, and I immediately go over and talk to them.
Tucker “So ladies, I’m new to Kansas City. What should we do here?”
SlingBlade “Tucker is looking for girls with round faces and big foreheads. Do you know any?”
I admit, I laughed. They didn’t think it was funny. Try something funnier then:
Tucker “Would you ladies like some beer? It has almost no GHB in it.”
Nothing.
Tucker “If you knew how amazing I am, you’d be way more into my drunken advances.”
No laughs. These ladies clearly had an underdeveloped sense of humor. Nothing was really working, but big faces aside, these girls had huge tits and were obviously looking to get fucked, so I had to try one last ditch effort with the one I was talking to.
Tucker “So, I just have one more question … you wanna get out of here?”
Girl “NO!”
They were so disgusted, they moved to a different part of the bar.
Tucker “Why don’t they want to have sex with us?”
PWJ “Tucker, we didn’t even pretend we had any interest in them as human beings. Maybe that’s why.”
Tucker “Does that kind of stuff matter?”
PWJ “Well, yes Tucker, that ‘stuff’ matters.”
Tucker “I don’t like that stuff!”
We found another group of girls to talk to. Dirty got us in with this:
Dirty “You ladies look like you read a lot of horse novels.”
It was a pretty basic conversation, and one of the girls seemed to think SlingBlade was hot.
Girl “Do you want to dance?”
SlingBlade “No.”
She actually laughed at that and they started talking, so I turned back and focused on the girl I was talking to. A few minutes later, I overhear this exchange:
Girl “You aren’t very fun to talk to. I’m going back to my friends.”
SlingBlade “Thanks for playing, we have some lovely parting gifts for you, like this wonderful feeling of rejection.”
Poor SlingBlade.
Tucker “What did you say to her?”
SlingBlade “I don’t remember … something that included a flurry of profanity.”
Tucker “Why do you even talk to girls if you’re just going to do this shit?”
SlingBlade “For me, the thrill in meeting new people comes from the fact that I hate everyone I already know. That first thirty seconds before I realize they are just as stupid as everyone else, that’s just pure bliss.”
PWJ, Dirty, and I kinda got in with this group, and a different girl in the group started talking to SlingBlade. Everything seemed to be going fine, until I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was the girl who’d been talking to SlingBlade. She had a look of distress on her face.
Girl “Your friend called me a blasphemer! Why would he say that?”
I was still laughing when SlingBlade came over to find me. He saw the girl and got a look of disgust on his face.
SlingBlade “You’re still here?”