The Sloshed Step-parent was rough on Denise, as is his wont. He had this to say:
I don’t know about you, but I spent a lot of time in some pretty ghetto strip clubs in my time. If they were in Vegas, and they weren’t, they’d be a few hours off the strip in some random homeless shelter or squatter’s basement.
I am talking bottom of the barrel, end of the fucking world, garbage places that the nastiest of girls would suck your dick for 20 bucks or less.
The dudes in there were either old or homeless trying to stay warm on cold winter nights, because it was where the cheap beer was. There wasn’t even organized crime or gangsters in the place because it was so fucking forgotten and the women who worked there looked to be about as neglected as the place, which had the stinging mold smell, mismatched chairs that made no sense, carpeting that I am sure housed all kinds of disease…it was just all around sad…
The lap dance booths were on old mattresses that they likely found in back alleys, which I always felt pretty fucking weird about, but you know, if you’re in a place like that, you gotta commit to the really sad dream.
Anyway, Denise Richards’ ass reminds me of those sad, gross, dumpy, old, forgotten women…
Scoop’s note:
Many decades ago, I was in such a place in Hot Springs, Arkansas. The main room smelled of stale beer. The strippers were in their 40s, their bodies were not toned, some had missing teeth, and one had even had a mastectomy. We gave them unduly large tips because we felt … I dunno exactly. Guilt? Pity? Sadness? Embarrassment? Compassion? Sympathy? At least one of those.
We would have left after a few minutes, but one of my companions took a shine to one of the women, even though she looked like she had been “rode hard and put away wet,” as we said in Texas. I sympathized with the guy because I knew that he was always excited to escape his sexless wife, but I couldn’t relate. I have never been that horny. Short of cash, he borrowed money from another guy to take the stripper into the “champagne room,” although I suppose the nearest thing they had to champagne was Lone Star beer in a long-neck bottle.
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