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<DIV><FONT face="Times New Roman">> In my line of business, and given my
social circle, I am often invited to<BR>> strip clubs. I never
go. Mainly because<BR>> <BR>> a) the darling Tess would leave me
and<BR>> b) I do kind of think that there's something ethically dodgy about
it . . .<BR>> <BR>> Although I personally think it's a pretty fucked-up
way to spend an<BR>> evening, one does get those nihilistic days when you can
sort of see the<BR>> appeal of hanging around in a darkened boozer with a few
mates, watching a<BR>> woman ten years younger than myself crawl around in
order to ask for a ten<BR>> pound note in exchange for a view of her
labia. Therefore, having some<BR>> sort of sincere-sounding argument
from leftwing or feminist principles to<BR>> the effect that this was a
perfectly fine and even slightly radical thing<BR>> to do would be most
useful to me. It would have to be pretty logically<BR>> watertight to
convince the dear girl (in fact, I don't really see myself<BR>> wanting to
test out any such argument in a live combat situation). But I'm<BR>>
willing to be convinced.<BR>> <BR>> So, come on, pro-sex left, I'm a
potential convert here. Why is it that<BR>> there's nothing wrong with
my spending my evenings in strip clubs?<BR>> <BR>> cheers and overpriced
beers<BR>> <BR>> dd </FONT></DIV>
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<DIV><FONT face="Times New Roman">Strip clubs are a complete waste of time and
money. My uncle used to run a tit bar when I was just coming of age, and I
would hang out with the strippers off stage. They were, to a woman,
disgusted by the men who threw money at them, saw the patrons as losers,
mommy boys, small dick morons. But they'd make show for the dough, and they
did clean up. As one absolutely gorgeous ebony goddess said to me, "Beats
servin' food." </FONT></DIV>
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<DIV><FONT face="Times New Roman">I didn't enter a strip club again until my
30s, when a friend of mine (no longer one) wanted to show off the little harem
he'd assembled. He'd paid a number of the strippers to join him and his wife at
a pricey hotel for all-night romps, which were photographed and I believed
videotaped. When we entered, it was like Dustin Hoffman entering the hotel lobby
in "The Graduate" after he's become a regular there sleeping with Mrs. Robinson.
Nothing but "Hi" and "Hello" all the way to his table in the back, where a
couple of scantily clad girls began massaging our necks. I wanted to tell mine
that I had maybe 5 bucks on me (I didn't make nearly as much as my friend, who
was into 6 figures), and that I wouldn't be showering her with money -- but hey,
free massage.</FONT></DIV>
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<DIV><FONT face="Times New Roman">DP</FONT></DIV></BODY></HTML>