Strippity doo da

it's been a little over a year since i've been to a strip club. it was vegas, i was part of a roving bachelor party that experienced very little sleep and an enormously high volume of alcohol, and i barely remember any of it.

but i do remember thinking: glad i don't do this often.

i like the idea of a strip club... i really do. but in reality, strip clubs are best left to the rich and the young. i can think of a billion other things i'd rather drop $50 on, and a clothed dry hump from some chick who smells like cotton candy and cheap vodka ain't one of 'em.

when you're young, it's a thrill, to see all those hot naked chicks walking around like it's no big deal. when you grow up, it's just not that impressive, especially if you have cable. 

if i were rich, blowing money on dry humps wouldn't be that big of a deal. but i ain't, so it is.

*best strip club memory*: my dad took me to a strip club for my 27th birthday, down in houston. we went to the bank beforehand and exchanged two one-hundred dollar bills for 200 one-dollar bills. the female teller made the transaction while givin' us the stink eye, like she was judging us for what we were about to do (pretty obvious, right?) and my dad just started busting up laughing. he thought it was the funniest thing in the world. he couldn't control himself. it was awesome.

and oh yeah, he bought me a dry hump from a hot thang named SPICE that night. that's what dads are for yo!!!

(image via skull swap)