Chaps and Dollars

Today was such a spiritual day- spending time at the New Age store, reading cards in the park, and tweaking from all the sixth sense signals I received. But instead of talking about that, I am compelled to talk about a very less worldy thought about our existence. One that popped into my head while thinking about two guys I know who frequently hit the scene for a game of pulled pork. Male Stripclubs.

Men can have it all, but so too should women, right? We strut around wishing to look perfect by sucking in our normal size stomachs and prancing around with inflatable toy breasts that bounce under our clothes. Some of us even pretend that we enjoy salad as an entre and watch as they dig into every piece of their New York strip steak. And for what? So they can drool over us, and we can compete against one another for their attention. What exactly do men do for us? Beside the obvious.

I don't hear of guys going under the knife for male enhancement surgery, "so she can have more pleasure during sex," and it'll knock me over the day I hear a man's heart was broken when he found out his girlfriend was going to the male strip club and paying for their specials.

It's not fair. Sure you can argue that we can go to male strip clubs and get the same attention, but I doubt the same quality of individuals exists where I'm from. I wouldn't want to step foot into any male strip club that might pop up in New Jersey. The thought of it alone makes me nauseous.

I can just see the Billy Ray Cyrus mullets, assless pants, and pleather gyrating on some disco fever dance stage and all of the forgotten housewives glazing over that some man would work that hard for them.

When the time comes, I'll take my corporate money to a male strip club and watch as they dance for my dollars. Hungry and needy, I'll feed their pockets like a man. Only I won't be a complete dick about it.