Party Poker Blog

Losers 08 - "We have bush!" (Booger, Revenge of the Nerds)
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A quick dip into the reader mailbag:

Alert reader SaintMatty (name used with permission) wrote to ask: "what
exactly is an upper decker?"

An upper decker is simply taking a dump in the tank part of the toilet, as
opposed to the bowl. Disgusting. Because it is so cruel, it should be
reserved for only the most deserving of victims. Not as easy as it sounds
to execute, especially when you're three sheets to the wind, which you
generally will be anytime taking an upper decker seems like a good idea.
Wear a crash helmet.

Another reader asked us what we thought was the best dance establishment
we've ever been to. It depends on what you're looking for. Without
beating the details to death, we'll answer it this way: If we were going
to spend the rest of our lives at one club, it would be The Cheetah in
Atlanta.

One more note: We had the home game last week and someone showed
Spaulding the post requesting "more Spaulding" in this report. He was
frigging unbearable all night. He's full of himself enough as it is, so
please do not encourage him. Thanks.

Back to part 08...

So we're in Atlantic City. We've got a room. We've got disposable
income. We've got enough booze to host a Kennedy wedding. All we need
now is some entertainment, if you know what we mean. Options?

* Cruise the casino itself. We've seen some definite working girls here
before.

* Cruise the local sleaze scene - bookstores, go-gos, etc.

* Shop online - Spaulding has a printout -- complete with pictures -- of
local in-call escorts. He was clearly thinking ahead.

Snow White: "Where did you get that?"

Spaulding: "Internet."

Manbeast: "What if it is some kind of sting operation?"

Spaulding: "No, it's kosher. I've done this before. I'll make the
arrangements!"

Snow White: "No way, that's inviting disaster."

Variable: "Hey, stop foreshadowing."

Spaulding: "Fuck that, I know what I'm doing."

Manbeast: "You know your track record with hookers. Remember that time
you got your wallet and suitcase stolen? Roy Sullivan used to call a
bad luck magnet."

Variable: "Now there's an obscure reference."

Spaulding: "Don't worry. I can handle it."

It does seem like advertising would be entrapment. He makes the call.
You have to give the service your name and number, then they'll call you
back. Twenty minutes later they call back. On such short notice, they
only have a two escorts to pick from - one blonde, one brunette. Both are
described as really good looking and well built. No, they're not the
naked hardbodies in the picture, but they're just as good. Both in their
20s? that's what we like to hear. Both about five-seven, one fifteen?
Excellent. Which one do we want? Both, of course! Say, there are a
bunch of us, is that a problem? No problem whatsoever? Great! Are they,
uh-you-know, enthusiastic? Very? Great! How much? $500 for both for
the first hour, $350 for every additional? OK, send them over. When?
Three hours? OK.

Seems a little steep, but Spaulding is in windfall-fallacy delusion and
could care less. The photo looks mighty good. But ordering women off the
internet is like a box of chocolates: you never know which one will be a
factory reject, full of festering pus.

Three hours is too long for Spaulding to wait. Since we've got plenty of
windfall cash, we decide to try the local sleaze scene, to see if we can
scare up any talent in the meantime. We retrieve the van and roll onto
the dirty streets of AC.

There are plenty of things in life we don't know the first thing about.
Like how to please a woman, for example. But if there's one thing we do
know about, it's strippers. And we can tell you this: Very few of them
are interested in more intimate encounters outside the club, even for
pretty good money. So we're not really expecting much luck; perhaps we
can score a private dancer or two who'll be a little more hands-on in a
hotel room than is generally allowed in a public business. But nothing
more intimate than that. Not that we're looking for anything more
intimate, as far as you know. This should help kill the three hours.

I want to head for Delilah's, but Manbeast quickly vetoes that idea. He
says the girls there are a little too high-end to be lured into leaving
with a bunch of losers for a hotel show. No, what we need is a slightly
lower caliber dancer. She should be good looking, yes, but we're willing
to trade some amount of beauty for a certain morally casual attitude.
Quickly, we spot a sign that says in three-foot tall letters, "TOPLESS GO
GO." We're there. Turns out that in front of the three foot tall T in
TOPLESS that's a courier 8 point letter 's,' making the real name of the
place "sTOPLESS GO GO." No matter, because before we enter, we find a
totally nude joint just a few yards further down the street. Naturally,
that is our first choice.

We slip in. I assume there's a cover, but the doorman is nowhere to be
seen, so we just stroll inside. I remember it as though it was
yesterday...

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What a place! No sooner do we grab a seat than a chorus line of gorgeous
showgirls comes out on stage, high-kicking in sync and signing a Broadway
style song, to the tune of "Be Our Guest."

"See . . . our . . . breasts!
See our breasts!
Perky C cups they're the best
Grab a bourbon and a beer, my friend
And join our naked fest
Pitch a tent
Get the hots
Come enjoy our beaver shots
Try the liquor
It's delicious
With an aroma of fresh fishes

We can tease
We can dance
We take off our underpants
And a lap dance here is never second best
Come join our nudie venue
Grab a beer and then you'll
See our breasts
See our breasts!
S e e o u r b r e a s t s !!!

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*** Snow White ***
Uh, I'm afraid that never happened.
*** End SW ***

Oh, yeah. I must have been drinking. Let's try that again:

What a shithole! The whole place is really dark, even by seedy strip club
standards, but that's not necessarily a bad thing because the lone black
girl on stage has a face that could make a train take a dirt road. Boobs
like a couple of old gym socks. Ass like a hefty bag full of gummy bears.
Enough crust in the crevices to make a pie. Apparently unfamiliar with
the Lady Schick. She's about as animated as a three-toed sloth. Have I
made my point yet? We head back for the door, almost tripping over a
boozed up guy about 80 years old. "Spaulding, tell you dad to get out of
the way!" N'heh, that one never gets old.

So we try sTOPLESS GO GO. Five buck cover. Not bad talent at all. A
little overdressed for a go-go. For those of you who don't know (yeah,
right, save the lies for your wife pal) a go-go is a dance establishment
where they can sell liquor but (in New Jersey) the girls must remain
'clothed.' But the more aggressive establishments strain the limits of
what constitutes a top. We've seen almost invisible, clear sequins serve
as pasties. But in this place they all have on bikini tops. Oh well,
they're several orders of magnitude better looking than the girls next
door are.

After we indulge in a quick test tube of some glowing booze (for $5 a pop,
if I recall, but served by a hot babe) Spaulding starts recruiting,
putting his Attila the Hun Subtlety School training to good use. "How
much honey? Hey, baby, how much? (To an Asian girl) Number one boom-boom
sweetie? GI Joe pay top dollar." We have to calm him down to avoid
ejection. The rest of us take a more refined approach. I gauge the
potential of each dancer as they make their rounds by seeing how far they
let me bend the rules. When I find one who - as long as I'm tipping well
- gives me flashes down the top and doesn't object in the least to a hand
on her firm little butt (generally a real no-no) as we talk, I prepare to
discuss a little business. She beats me to the punch, asking where we're
staying and wouldn't we like a little more aggressive attention? She's
kind of small chested, but has a nice, lean body. Fairly pretty, although
the smile is a bit reptilian. She can be there in an hour. Done and done.

I will spare you the long version of what happened in the room. Suffice
it to say that the sTOPLESS girl was superb. Exactly what I, for one, was
looking for. That is, full contact dancing but still gentlemanly - no oil
checking or anything - at a very reasonable $150. We were so pleased we
kicked in for another hundred in tips. Even Snow White stayed the whole
time, but JFB.

*** Snow White ***
Above all, I wanted to know exactly what happened.
*** End SW ***

Then the internet girls showed up. Oh, the humanity! Since I'm much too
delicate, I'd better let Manbeast explain:

*** Manbeast says ***
What a fucking disaster. They were nothing like the picture. Both were
way at least 30 pounds overweight, maybe more. Packed into too-tight
dresses, like overstuffed kielbasas. I mean they weren't totally gross,
but certainly below my dating standards. Just beefy girls I wouldn't look
at twice, much less PAY to see naked.
*** End Manbeast ***

If you're in a huff, thinking that maybe we're not so lean and mean
either, you're right. But that's why we're not male strippers. Believe
me, if you went to a $500 Chippendale's show and Spaulding was what
strutted out, you'd be pissed, too.

So anyway, they waddle in, straining the straps on their high heels, and
ask us all for ID. I guess cops don't have their own driver's licenses or
something.

Variable: Uh, not that it's a problem, but you ladies don't look like the
girls that were described to us.

Manbeast: Looks like they fucking ate the girls that were described.

Blond: (not pleased) I have no idea what they told you. We need you to
sign this.

She hands Spaulding a document stating that we are not paying for a
massage. Snow White starts giggling. Spaulding, pressing ahead, asks
them if they want to change into their lingerie. They say we have to do
business before discussing anything else. Spaulding coughs up the $500.
The leader calls into the service to say that everything is OK. She
verifies Spaulding's name and DL number with HQ.

Then they sit down.

We're all looking at them, waiting for something to happen. Anything.
Snow White can't stop giggling. They're just sitting there. About a
minute goes by, but it seems much longer. It's really awkward.

Blonde: "So, where are we going?"

(2 seconds of silence, followed by Snow White busting out laughing.)

Spaulding: "Wha..wha..wha..whaddya mean where are we going?"

Blonde: "We're escorts, we're here to escort you somewhere."

Spaulding: "What if we just wanted to stay here?"

Blonde: "Well, OK, we'll keep you company here if that's what you want.
It's a bit unusual, but it's your money..."

Spaulding: "Uhm, you're going to get naked, right?"

Blonde: "What? We're escorts! I am offended!"

Spaulding: (Still in denial) "OK, I now the drill, $500 gets you in the
door. Look, uh, we really want to tip, you know what I'm saying?"

Blonde: (mock-shocked) "Sir! We are not prostitutes! You have paid for
one hour of our company, and that is what you will get."

Snow White is literally in tears laughing.

Spaulding: "Can we even get a little dancing?"

Blonde: "Do we look like dancers?"

Manbeast: "Fuck no."

After a few moments of not speaking, Spaulding says "Well, you may as well
leave now." "OK, see ya." Manbeast: "We just paid $500 to look at two
fat girls for seven minutes." Snow White never laughed so hard. After
they left, Manbeast advised Spaulding, "Cheer up, at least they weren't
men in dresses. You're making progress!"

Thoroughly tilted, we head back to the card room.

--- To be continued ---

Next time: Drinkaway Camp, Unsober Campers