I’m disgusted that I have to write this article. For real, I can’t believe that seemingly regular guys who aren’t ridiculous enough to go to strip clubs (it’s never okay) have no problem frequenting semi-strip clubs.
Um, Grown Man, semi-strip clubs? You made that up didn’t you? I mean, c’mon.
Oh heck yeah I made it up, and you know why? Because restaurants, bars, car washes, and anywhere else where employees are almost naked and survive on your tips for their perceived – again, perceived – flirting are employing the same business model as a strip club. Let me say that again more simply: If a woman is almost naked in your vicinity, you’re no longer interested in chicken wings.
Grown Man, tell me you’re not talking about [no lawsuits for me] — I love that place! Straight up, bro, for real, it’s just you and me now — I go for the food.
No, you don’t! And here’s how I know you don’t go for the food. Men are visual creatures. The entry point to our hearts, minds, sexuality, and yes, stomachs, is our eyes. When we’re little guys, everyone thinks we have ADD (which in some cases may be true.) But the reason all little fellas are ADD-ish is because they’ve yet to reign in their eyes. So everything they see, every new picture on a TV and every shiny object that flashes in the distance, is some new bit of stimulus for their brains to process. When we’re big kids, we know how to control and maintain some level of attention, but we still see everything: every painted-on pair of orange shorts, every flirty look, and every giggle that is designed to raise the tip to 25%. By design, every second of your semi-strip club experience should engage your eyes, then your brain, and then your wallet.
If you think you go to these places for the food, you’re lying to yourself. Because the truth is, if an almost naked woman served you a steaming plate of elephant crap, your eyes would change that plate into a Martha Stewart display of chocolate chip cookies made with Jesus magic and unicorn hair. Maybe the food is good – maybe it’s not. Either way, unless you’re a eunuch, you have no way of discerning that.
But we haven’t really hit the main point yet, have we? Because up until this time, it’s all been about the establishment and how it’s designed to fool you, which I hope you believe. But at the end of the day, part of the price we pay for living in a wonderfully free society is that even a sleazy business can exist if it’s able to.
The real issue here is that it’s denigrating. To women? Yes, but that’s common knowledge and über obvious. So who else might it belittle, disparage, and generally just cheapen? You, Grown Man, you.
Oh god, you’re about to go deep, aren’t you? I’ve read enough of these to know that you like to round third with some Montel Williams action.
Gentlemen, you’ve been designed well. Your propensity for seeing a woman and recognizing that she’s lovely is part of who you are and shouldn’t be viewed as a bad thing. When you’re single, you should harness that part of you just enough to notice that there’s something worth summoning up the courage, putting on your big-boy pants, and asking her out on a date. When you’re in a relationship, use your eyes to grow closer, to be more committed, and to appreciate her, and only her. You’re not ADD, you’re hard wired to be a visual animal. Honestly, it’s a good thing.
What’s not a good thing is that your eyes (and all they lead to) are being fooled by semi-strip clubs. Because you, me, all of us, are just dumb enough to think that maybe, just maybe, the giggle was real, the flirting was genuine, and that she’s super stoked about bringing you – wow, YOU – extra blue cheese. Guess what, she’s not – no more than you care about the spreadsheet you created 2 days ago at work. She’s not remembering the dude who was super nice 2 hours ago. She’s working, and you’re doing a disservice to yourself by thinking otherwise.
In closing, let me say this: good chicken wings are a staple of any man’s diet. If you’re mourning the loss of your favorite place because I’ve guilted you into submission, here’s what you need to do: find a local, Italian owned, pizza place that sells wings. I can assure you, wings from a Mario Brother will put Hoo[no lawsuit]rs to shame.
You’re a Grown Man, quit going to semi-strip clubs.