On The Move

It's not quite complete yet, but I'll be posting at my new website (www.richardthruster.com) from here on. Make sure you update your bookmarks.

Standing Room Only: Sassy's

I hadn't given much thought to the little pink building on Morrison. Oh sure, I've driven by it enough times and knew it was a strip club, but the location reminds me of too many other little holes-in-the-wall that I'd just as soon avoid. But the Willamette Week article convinced me I needed to check the place out. Was there really a Christian girl working in there? If so, I knew my friend the Catalyst would be interested. Was there really a fiery redhead working there? I knew I'd need to know. So it was off to Sassy's.

The original plan was to hit the place immediately after work on Saturday night but that was quickly torpedoed as I pulled into the parking lot. The place was crawling with 20-something hipsters who would have been equally happy at the Doug Fir or maybe the new Morrison Hotel down the street. My work "uniform" of gym shorts and t-shirt wasn't going to work. I've been known to wander into the Dolphin while similarly dressed down, but that had a lot to do with my comfort level in there. No matter what I found inside Sassy's, I could tell ultra-casual wasn't going to work.

Upon my return, I found the parking lot full and a stretch Hummer out front blocking one traffic lane. The place was absolutely jumping. I finally found a parking spot over on 9th and wandered toward the door. A guy was talking on his cell phone, telling his buddy how Chad was making it rain inside.

"He must have thrown $20 at her!"

Idiot.

After one unsuccessful attempt along Morrison, I finally found the door tucked around the corner. Immediately I was greeted with a chain across the entrance. It acted as a velvet rope only much classier. It was unattended. Was the place full? Was I at the wrong spot? All I could see was a couple of pool tables manned by guys out of a beer commercial. And the music was straight out of 1986.

After a moment a guy with a full Maori facial tattoo came by to man the chain. I reached for my wallet to show ID or pay the cover but all he did was give me a quick once-over and let me through. Whaaa? Saturday night and there's no cover? I've no idea how that works, but I'm all for it.

I followed the music around the corner and headed for the bar. There were two stages set on either side of the room. One of them looked to have the VIP couches behind a red curtain. An interesting configuration. Each of the stages had a pole and the rails were packed with 20-something guys admiring the view, but apparently stingy with the singles. At least that's what I saw.

I made my way back to the bar, passing a Vince Neil look-a-like who was manning the DJ booth. He was spinning 80s butt-rock records like they were coming back into style. Actually it was a pretty good mix. He even played one of my personal favorites of the genre, Ratt's "Lay It Down". Add to that ZZ Top's "La Grange" and you get the idea.

As I mentioned, the place was packed. Not a chair to be found. After a couple of minutes standing near the bar, trying to get a beer, I finally gave up and wandered to a back corner. The bouncer's stool made a good vantage point.

There were a half dozen girls working. You can get a look at a couple of them here (a fantastic website, no?). The only one I recognize from the photos is Malice, but the schedule says she wasn't there. Like all things on-line though, I suspect your mileage will vary with the girls. They were all very good looking and definitely playful. I haven't seen a line-up that from top-to-bottom put on excellent shows. Each worked the pole and the paying customers like pros, even though a couple of them clearly didn't "belong". Belonging is such a subjective term. To me there are girls you want to bring home to mom and those you wouldn't dare. One reminded me of a former work crush who I would have gladly given anything I had to. *Sigh*

Alas, there was neither time nor room to talk with any of them. When not on stage, most were busy giving private dances or hanging with friends at one of the few tables in the place. Did I mention it was packed? Good.

I gotta say Sassy's surprised me on several levels. The had the best mix of tunes outside the Club 205. The crowd was unlike what I expected. The civilian females, unlike say the Dolphin, seemed to actually want to be there rather than those who were just "giving their guy a present". And the beer looked to be reasonably priced. But after an hour, the place didn't look to be getting any emptier, so I decided to split. I tried to make my way over to the Magic Garden, but there was even less parking available there. I think I'll have to check both places out on weeknights. That said, I'll definitely be back to Sassy's. That's the kind of place that can certainly grow on a guy.

Don't forget to check out my new site! www.richardthruster.com

Gotta Get On A Schedule

Sorry for the lack of posts for the last week. I finally got out to a new place last night and haven't had time yet to do a proper write-up. I will though tonight Monday.

So many places out there. Starting to get some requests too. I know I said before I didn't believe I could give a proper review to a place on a weeknight, I'm thinking that may be just the thing. We shall see.

Anyway, new review up tonight Monday. Late.

Don't forget to check out my new site! www.richardthruster.com

Don't Fall In Love With A Dancer: The Dolphin II

Well, OK. I'm not in love, but I certainly had a great time and was separated from a few more dollars than I had intended. The evening was supposed to be about checking in with Jewel to see if indeed her skills on the couch had improved since I'd last experienced them. It ended with a freckled redhead kissing me on the neck after I complimented her breasts. Only in a strip club.

My last trip to the D2, as the kids call it, was for the Miss Nude Oregon pageant. You can read all about it here. I wanted to see how it was on a "regular" night. I pulled in around 8:30 to find the parking lot beginning to fill up. I paid my $5 cover and headed to the bar for my customary bottle of Coors Light and to load up on singles. $4.75 for a bottle of beer seems kind of steep, but if anyone can get away with that, it's the Dolphin.

I sat down at a table to get my bearings and see if my girl Jewel was in. At first glance I couldn't see her. The girl on stage, an Asian, was a nice distraction. She was younger and looked happy to be there. So important, I'm finding. If you're not having fun on-stage, I'm probably not going to have a whole lot of fun on the rail.

It wasn't long before the DJ called out Jewel's name for the main stage. Oh goodie. She came out wearing an outfit not unlike something Marilyn Monroe would have worn back in the day. Like this here. Only barefoot. Was she going specifically for Marilyn? Probably not. But who am I to quibble?

As is her custom, she went right for the pole and proceeded to defy gravity. Spinning upside down, hair flying, arms outstretched. I don't know about her couch skills, but I can tell you she's been working on the pole. At one point, hanging upside down with her legs wrapped around the pole, one hand on the ground to steady herself, she reached up, undid her top and let it slide down. The clincher though came during the second song. Naked, she climbs the pole, which is probably 8' high, swings her legs out to the rafter above and wraps her legs around it, lets go of the pole and just hangs there by her legs, back to the pole. She took a second to get her bearings, then swung back, flying from the rafter back on to the pole and spun all the way down. I'm telling you, it's worth the cover and the expensive beer to watch that. It's Olympic. Has she been working out? You can't tell by looking at her. She's still soft and curvy. And that smile. Remind me to have her over for Festivus.

I was bashful about sitting right down in front. Would she know it was me? And was I ready to chat about the blog? The answers are probably and no. I still want to keep some anonymity.

With Jewel gone, it was Candy's turn. She's a tall, thin drink of water with long hair and a nice body. Like Jewel, she worked the pole like a pro. At one point she got her hair caught in the bolts and such at the bottom of the pole. A fun little moment.

After she left the stage, I hit the head and went for another beer. As I stood at the bar, who should approach but Candy. She started to chat me up but with a speaker right above us, I couldn't make out a word she said. I finally asked her to sit down with me away from the crowd. We sat in the back corner and talked all things stripper. She tells me she's from Medford and dances at Le Dolls. Only it's not Le Dolls anymore. It's something else. She was up for a pole dancing competition the Dolphin is sponsoring. Apparently there was a qualifying round on Thursday night, but she decided not to compete. It's a long story.

Sidenote: With apologies to Natalia, Jewel, IMHO, was robbed on the Miss Nude Oregon thing. And after watching her last night, I'm even more convinced of that. She has the hottest body, hands down, of any girl in there. And the smile and the hair. And the zero tattoos. She's the complete package. That said, if she doesn't win this pole competition, there's something seriously wrong. I guess the finals are at the Dolphin 1 in a few weeks. That means she won't be able to do the rafter trick, but everything else will be on display. She should win this thing walking away. End of discussion.

I told Candy she should enter the competition. She's better than most everyone in the building, But she said she couldn't afford to drive all the way up and not win. Besides there's something going on down in Medford. Some star is coming to work and she needs to be there to pick-up the sloppy seconds.

As with all stripper conversations, ours ended with an invitation to go visit the couch. I was saving myself for Jewel and politely declined.

I made my way back to the rail in time for a set from Raquel. If Jewel is going to be my dancer crush, Raquel would be the girl I keep on the side. Tall. Red haired. And freckled. Oh God the freckles. I could have sat there and just looked at her lounging nude all night. Her body was taught and perfect. And she had some spunk, which is nice. Unlike a few of the girls I'd met earlier in the week, hers' seemed genuine. Like she really wanted to know what it was I sold. And who knows, maybe she did. All I knew was I wanted to catalog every last mark on her body. Goodness.

It was somewhere in here the night went off the rails. Knowing I wouldn't be stopping at just one couch dance, I hit the ATM for some ammunition. The DJ then announced we were celebrating a special occasion. A guy had just returned from Iraq and his buddies wanted to show him a good time. So they brought him up on stage bachelor-style and had one of the girls give him a show to Skynyrd. Normally I'm all for this, but the DJ couldnt let the song just play. He kept having to interject. Actually the whole night he played more the role of hype-man than DJ. Which is fine, I guess. The clientèle certainly enjoyed it. They were mostly an under-30 crowd who's idea of a strip club was straight out of a Puff Daddy video. The Dolphin gives that experience in spades.

There was one other girl I wanted to check out before I got my dance with Jewel and went home. There was a youngish blonde with pale skin and a killer soft body that I wanted to see. She had that "what in the Hell are you doing in here" look that I go for. She finally ended up dancing on the side stage near the DJ booth. It took about thirty second to figure out what she was doing there. As she sauntered around on stage, you could see the tattoo working its way up her side and around her right breast. Yikes. Thats not my thing at all. But I wasn't going to let that deter me from getting a good look at her. She looked sort of uncomfortable with all the single guys up there. The groups were all sitting at the main stage. The side stage was all degenerates. Myself included. Except I wasn't the guy taking notes. Kids, THAT'S creepy. Right up there with trying to snap cell phone pictures while no one was looking.

She eventually got her panties off and peeled the dress down to expose her breasts. She wasn't comfortable showing off her butt and several times pulled her dress down to cover it. This is a crime since that's one of her best features. When Sir-Mix-A-Lot spoke of the LA face and the Oakland bootie, he was speaking of this girl. Man. Except the tattoo has got to go. At least no more, ok?

With all the silliness out of the way, it was time to go visit Jewel. She came back up in the main stage and went right back to her routine. A group of guys sitting opposite me couldn't help but applaud and throw money "making it rain-style". And as much as she wanted to give me attention (I have a feeling she put two-and-two together immediately and knew it was me), she couldn't ignore the guys waving all the cash. And who can blame her. She's there to make money, not get critiqued. At the end of her set, she gathered up her cash and quickly went back to the couches. Time was a wastin'.

Dang. I'd struck out. With a stripper, no less! How does that happen?

So I went to the bar to grab a glass of water and reload on singles. I was determined to wait the fellas out and get my private time with my girl. No sooner had I sat down than Roxy came and joined me. She's a cute brunette with an easy smile. We chatted a little bit. The place had nearly completely filled up and I asked her if it was always this busy. She said it was. We compared notes on the Dolphin 1.

"It's in a weird location" she said.

I told her about the buffet and the old days. She seemed interested, but we both knew why she was there. And she eventually got around to asking.

"I'm a little drunk and want to give you a couch dance."

'Nuff said. I asked her if she thought she gave better dances while drunk. She replied she did everything better while drunk.

"Except drive."

I might be a cop. You never know.

So we went back to the back, hand in hand.

I've had probably hundreds of couch dances over the years. Some good. Some great. Some terrible. The Roxy experience is definitely in my top-5 of all-time. She's always a surprise because I never remember to put her and her couch skills together. There's a disconnect. As soon as she went to work though, I remembered I'd traveled this path with her a few times before. Her style is all about contact. She puts her body right across yours and never loses that contact. She stroked my face and neck with her hand while she moaned into my ear. And slowly worked down my face and neck, taking nibbles along the way. Yeah. She had my attention.

She worked around to my face and nose and lips. And gave me a good look at her still-covered breasts. Oh God. When the song ended, I didn't have a choice but to go around again. She knows what gets guys going and gives it to them 110%. Any girl who wants to improve their game should spend some time on the couch with Roxy. I guarantee your customers will beg for more.

I managed to peel myself away from Roxy after two songs although I could have gone on with her all night. Working my way back to the main room, I saw Raquel was on the side stage and had to get another look. We picked right back up where we left off. She, trying to figure out who I was, I trying to figure out how to get her to slow down and let me drink in every inch of her. I'd forgotten how much I dig freckles.

After her set ended, I got up to leave but she chased me down, practically demanding I get a table dance from her. I was hoping this would involve her being inches away from my face, naked. But no such luck. It was a couch dance. She promised me the ride of my life. After the E-ticket that is Roxy, that would be difficult to pull off. We talked a little more about my pseudo-career and where we lived as we waited for the next song to begin. Eventually she whispered she was going to shut-up and went to work.

Raquel's style is a little...firmer. And thats not a bad thing at all. As I said before, she's taught and obviously works to keep herself in shape. I was distracted because my car keys kept jabbing at the both of us as she thrust herself into me. She didn't seem to mind, and as she nibbled on my neck, neither did I. She let her hair fall across my head and caressed my face while she gave me a good look at her breasts.

Our time was up way too quickly. My Jewel fund was spent and I just sat there spent. I let her know her freckles drove me insane and her breasts were phenomenal. You would have thought I'd just asked her to the high school dance. She quickly kissed my neck and thanked me. Genuine? Who knows. I guess I'm not paying her to be genuine. I'm paying her to entertain. And that she did.

I wasn't planning to go back to the Dolphin anytime soon. There remain way too many other places to check out. But there are way too many loose ends at the Dolphin. Will Jewel win the pole dancing competition? Have her couch skills improved since we last encountered one another? What would it be like to be the filling in a Roxy/Jewel couch sandwich? And most importantly, does Raquel like me for me or for my wallet? I guess we'll find out next time on "As The Dolphin Turns".

Don't forget to check out my new site! www.richardthruster.com

Loose Ends: Cabaret II

In my haste to get my review up last night, I forgot to include a few details from my visit.

-After the breathing in my ear, my other favorite memory of my favorite first lap dance happened about halfway through as Tigre was giving me a good close-up of her doule-a's. As she moved up and down inches from my face, her nipple grazed my cheek. She quickly apologized. Obviously none was needed. My first stilted stripper conversation occurred moments later as she was searching for her undies. They were under my chair. Weird.

- The Lizard Girl will give me nightmares for months. At one point toward the end of her set, she lay down on the stage and pulled her ankles behind her head. So all I had was a shot of her ass and vagina. Which is fine. I'm all for that. The problem came when her head popped up and I swear it looked like it shot straight up out of her crotch. Alien-style. AND she kept lip-synching with the music. Combine that with the stare, and you'll forgive me if I hit the video poker next time I see her.

- Amazonia. This cannot be emphasized enough. One of the girls looked like Grace Jones' white sister/lover. Another, despite points for the red hair, wasn't far behind.

- The dj. Remember when Whoopi Goldberg tok over Hollywood Squares and permanently put Bruce Vallanch down in the bottom left? Well Bruce (or his brother) is now the dj at Cabaret II. Every break starts with "lllllllladies and gentlemen..." Ummmm... Dude? Yeah, I was the only customer in the place. There was no need for the theatrics. Just introduce the girls and remind me they only work for tips. Leave the cheesecake personality out of it. You're almost as bad as the guy who used to be at the Dolphin 1. Almost.

The more I think about it, the more I think I should go back. Some Saturday night when I'm not the only dick in the place.

Don't forget to check out my new site! www.richardthruster.com

You Never Forget Your First: Cabaret II

My very first trip to a strip club must have been in the fall of 1990. Jack Rabbit, Scooter, and I all made the trip up from school to attend the sold-out Andrew "Dice" Clay show at the Schnitzer. It was a three-day-weekend, as I recall. At least we spent an extra day or two away from school and at my parents' house south of town. Scooter and The Rabbit decided to strike out on their own and look up an old high school buddy of theirs' and leave me home alone with the parents.

The next morning they told stories of the land of milk and honey. Where girls took their clothes off then talked to you about...well...whatever. The place was Jiggles in Tualatin. Their buddy became enamored with one particular girl and just wanted to sit and talk with her all night long. Good for him.

A few weeks later, Jack Rabbit and I were back up for something or other. We decided to hit CJ's out at 175th and Stark. At the time CJ's was a juice bar catering to the under-21 crowd. This, of course, meant a steep cover and $8 Cokes. But we didn't much care. We gladly paid for both.

We were escorted to our seats in the ring above the stage where girls would come by every few minutes and offer us private dances. I became smitten with one name Tigre. She was maybe a year or two older than us (we were 19 at the time), blonde, slim, and flat chested. But there was something about her. I can't put my finger on it.

I must have bought five or six dances off her that night. Each of them "blue light" specials. Half price all naked things. She went through the same routine each time, putting her breasts right into my face while exhaling right into my ear. Oh my. She had me by the short and curlies. Could have done anything she wanted with me.

Between dances, Jack and I would sit at our table and watch as other girls gave other guys their dances. When a particular move would impress us, we'd applaud. I spent most of the night just wide-eyed.

"Do they all shave?" I asked Jack.

"Yes, yes they do."

Huh.

Back before the tramp stamp, it used to be that shaving your privates was a sure sign of sluttiness. No more. Shaving is almost more common now, especially in the under-30 set, than not shaving. I would go so far as to say unshaved may be the new shaved. Perhaps we can discuss this another time.

I haven't been back to CJ's/Cabaret II in well over ten years. The place has changed hands a number of times. But it's always remained a strip club and, I think, a juice bar.

Well, no more. The Cabaret II is now a full-function bar with beer on tap and spirits of every kind. The bar definitely left much to be desired, but the $3.75 draft Coors Light is pretty damned reasonable. And the help is attentive but not distracting. A girl on stage has her breasts in your face? The waitress will wait to ask if you'd like another beer. Very nice.

As usual, it took a second or two to get my bearings upon walking in. The place, I believe, either started out as a pizza or steak joint. Seating is in three levels surrounding the stage. As I walked in, I saw a small gaggle of dancers huddled together next to the dressing room door, looking up at the stage like baby robins. Were they under-age performers? Dunno. Weird.

I took my seat at the rail and put a dollar up on stage. I was the only guy at the rail. There was one at the bar and two or three on the level above me.

I've only recently decided the best place to sit in a club is at the rail. See, there's an unwritten code among dancers that they cannot hassle customers for private dancers while they're sitting at the rail. Anywhere else is fair game. So as long as I keep feeding singles, and occasional Lincolns, I'm fine. Sometimes I get a little extra attention, sometimes I get left alone. Fine by me. As long as I don't have to have some stilted conversation about my day or my job or how long you've been dancing here. *Ugh*

My first clue as to what I would find inside came in the parking lot. It's never a good sign when the car next to you has a baby seat in the back. With the exception of a few girls, most of the dancers looked like they may have all worked with my girl Tigre in the past. One may well have been her. Not a good thing.

I promised myself I'd do a better job of remembering names, but as usual I forgot most. The ones I do remember? Essence. A skinny black girl with a million dollar smile. Oh my. And her song selection was modern R&B which I can get with. Her body was perfect and she put on a good show. And, unlike most of the girls, she was tattoo-free. A real take-her-home to mom kind of girl. Unfortunately I think I only got to see her last dance, otherwise I would have treated myself to a lap dance with her.

Mercedes was another black girl and was one of only two, along with Essence, who looked like they were having fun. She was a thicker girl with the largest breasts in the room. Spent a lot of time lying down on the stage and smiling at me. Man, I liked that.

Beyond those two, there really wasn't anything to write home about. Heather I was looking forward to see because of her red hair and fit body, but once she was on stage, she didn't do anything for me. And her top, I don't believe, ever came off. She had small breasts with stretch marks. Not a good look. She was one of only two who broke the fourth wall and made physicall contact with me. A nice touch.

The last one, Tigre II who's name started with an M (Mystery?) broke the mold of all the others. While the other dancers were languid and slow, Tigre II came out like a tornado. She looked like an amalgam of four different girls I went to high school with, right down to the Gresham perm that went out of style with metal. But that didn't stop her from frantically stalking the stage like a combination cobra/Axl Rose. All with a creepy smile on her face. Yick.

The more I think about it, the more I think she went to high school with me. This is not a good thing.

So that's the Cabaret II. Wednesday was probably not the best night to review it, things being absolutely dead and all. But there I was. It's clean and the drinks are reasonably priced. But if you're looking for a fresher girl with fewer miles, may I recommend driving a few miles west and checking out the Club 205.

Don't forget to check out my new site! www.richardthruster.com

Letters, We Get Letters

Seems we're finally getting some attention out there. First Natalia checked in with a lovely note thanking me for supporting the Miss Nude Oregon pageant. Then Jewel emailed. She reports her couch skills have improved since I first checked her out and encouraged me to give her another try. She's at the Dolphin 2 these days. I'll definitely be taking her up on that. I've also heard from some regulars at various clubs asking me to check out this place or that. It's a big city folks. And it takes a little while to get around. But I will.

In the meantime, thanks to everyone for reading. Drop me a line if there's a club or entertainer out there you think I need to check out.

Don't forget to check out my new site! www.richardthruster.com

Still Free Speech

Some interesting news out of Salem, where a judge ruled Friday that lap dances are protected speech under the Oregon Constitution. The case revolves around Cheetah's. Despite spending a fair amount of time in our state's capital, I've yet to set foot inside Cheetah's. And I'm not likely to either.

Most clubs in Oregon prefer to stay relatively nondescript within their neighborhoods. They don't draw too much attention to themselves. Oh sure, there are plenty of "girls, girls, girls" signs around, but thats about it. Cheetah's, however, prefers to send girls out on the street to hold signs and otherwise beckon customers. Not unlike the girls you might see in downtown Vegas. While this might fly on Fremont Street, it ain't gonna work in Salem. And I can't support a business that's going to go out of its way to upset the neighbors.

So good for Judge Norblad for allowing the humble lap dance to continue. Here's hoping Cheetah's can take advantage of this decision and clean up their act.

Don't forget to check out my new site! www.richardthruster.com

Strip Club Humor

ESPN columnist Bill Simmons had a couple of interesting takes on clubs in his most recent chat:

Matt (New York, NY): If you were at a gentleman's club and PacMan Jones and his crew walked in, what would you do? Round up your buddies and head out the door as soon as possible? If you were getting a dance at the time, would you even wait for the end of the song?

Bill Simmons: I read an article about this - you're supposed to climb underneath the table, cross your legs, put your hands behind your head and lie facing the ground.

An interesting question. And locally, even more intriguing given the recent Blazer roster's love of all things stripper. Both Zach and Darius have been known to frequent a few clubs around town and I myself saw Sebastian Telfair at Jiggles down in Tualatin one night. Fortunately I think we're safe from PacMan, but as long as Darius is still in town, it's best to stay aware. Fortunately for me, none of the places Miles prefers are on my list of places to visit. At least not yet.

Adam: (New York, NY): You are exactly the guy to settle this: For the first time in my life this past weekend I was fortunate enough have "Mr. Roboto" as the background song for a lap dance. Needless to say, it was a wastershed comedic moment in my life. Watching a stripper try to put together a dance that was both alluring and contextually appropriate given the song was more entertaining than watching Eric Dickerson try to ad-lib an analysis of Lyndon Johnson's "Great Society." Anyway, the question: Is "Mr. Roboto" the funniest possible strip-club song to provoke this absolutely riveting experience?

Bill Simmons: It scares me that I'm exactly the guy to settle this. I still think "We Built This City" would be funnier - that's my answer to any "funniest song in a situation" question. But I think it would be funny to see someone strip to "We didn't start the fire" by Billy Joel - that song's so fast, I don't know what could happen there. Any suggestions are welcome.

As I mentioned before, I cannot stand interpretive dance on stage. There's just no place for it. I'm there to be entertained, not mortified. Mr. Roboto would be intriguing for a few minutes, but I'd want to get back to something more appropriate. Whatever they were playing at the 205 the other night should be a template for other clubs to emulate. I couldn't name a single band they played, but the music was good and it kept things moving. That's all I ask.

If you're not familiar with Simmons or, more importantly, his readers, the suggestions began to flow almost immediately. Here are a few of my favorites.

Mike (NYC): I think "TNT" by AC/DC would be in the top 5, that is about the most awkward song I've seen someone strip/dance to.

Portland sports fans will immediately recognize TNT as the song the Winter Hawks play when the team scores a goal. Even when KGON plays it while I'm in the car, I have a Pavlovian reaction and want to cheer. I couldn't imagine what my reaction would be if this tune were played at The Dolphin.

Joe, VA: For the strip club song... 500 miles by the Proclaimers.

The Librarian, a fan of all things Scottish, would wet himself if he were to hear that tune during a lapdance. Me? I'd head for the video poker. I'm enjoying the Deuces Wild these days.

Bunky: How about "Everybody Hurts" by REM for a lap dance?

REM would be in heavy rotation if the Librarian had his way. As would Peter Himmelman. Don't ask.

Mike (Chicago): I would like a lap dance to Rick Astley's "Never gonna give you up".

Bill Simmons: I'm glad you brought this up. When I was in college, we used to go to Papa Gino's for All You Can Eat Pasta night, which was fantastic. Anyway, right when we got there one night, I put $5 into the jukebox and just selected that same Rick Astley song over and over again so that it would play for the entire time we were there. The reactions from the diners were priceless. Every time the song ended, you could see people praying that it wouldn't start again, and then it would. I miss college.

I miss college too. But more to the point, I'll bet you Rick Astley has been played in a strip club. One with girls. Just as you can bet Milli Vanilli was played at some point as well. If there was stripping happening during the first Bush administration, people were stripping to Rick Astley. And George Michael.

nick eht, nj: Mike and the Mechanics "The Living Years" would also be an awful strip club song.........

I'm guessing guys have cried during lap dances. I'll be the first to confess I've gone to the club to try and strip away a memory. But a song about my dad? I really have zero desire to think about dead relatives while I'm there.

An interesting topic, though. The one tune that's ground on me for years has been the Prince tune Pussy Control that I swear the Dolphin played twice a night for five years. I haven't heard it in a few trips, so maybe it's been retired. Like I said, I prefer my music a little less smutty and a little more rockin'. Is this too much to ask?