Existential moments and dirty pants

March 27, 2010

There’s been a dearth of snark-worthy material lately.  Oh, there’s the usual dozen threads asking if ladies prefer hairy faces/balls over clean-shaven (giving the lie to the notion that there’s no such thing as a stupid question), some half-heartened complaints on both sides about discounts/free sessions for good reviews and the gratuitious “I’m a stud, look at meeeee!” stuff we see all the time.  Same shit, different day.

And then I find the motherlode of wank.  Literally.

Very long story cut short:  A guy (I won’t give him the term “hobbyist” as he’s got three reviews, all for >100 strip club fun) goes to a strip club and pays $200 to give himself a handjob.  Woe.  Is.  Him. 

Stupid bitch this, cunt that, skank ass blah blah blah, bitch, fat bitch, loser, stank ass, bitch, bitch, cunt.  This is everyone’s fault but mine.  Why are the girls ignoring me?  I’m a good-looking guy.  Just doesn’t make sense.  Maybe my youthful hot bod intimidated them.

The logic, it burns!  It burns like hygiene!  Seriously?  They won’t talk to you because you’re a pissy little twat, and a cheap fuck to boot.  You win the Justifying My Existence award for the week, young feller!

So, with jizz staining his jeans, Our Handsome Hero exits the club and has a philosophical moment. 

After this debacle I am not going to SC’s for extras anymore. Just isn’t worth it. I’m tired of trying to get to someplace at a certain time for the “early bird special”. I’m tired of the weird ass looks from dancers and staff when I get there and the only other guys in the place are retirees. I’m tired of the rushed feeling for something that should be enjoyed. I’m tired of the lack of intimacy. I’m tired of overpaying. I’m tired of all of the drinking before and after. I’m tired off all of the associated costs. I’m tired of always looking in the rear view for cops so I don’t get busted. This shit just isn’t fun. I really think that if I really need a release, and there aren’t any options on the bootie call list, I’ll just try out a provider or go to AMPs. I think it will be cheaper in the long run and I could probably enjoy myself. I know I’ll probably drink less overall.

Yes!,  Yes, my son, you are now getting it!  Isn’t it a wonderful moment?  The problem isn’t the strip club and isn’t the dancers, it is YOU.  You were expecting too much, for too little in return, from women whose job isn’t to offer it.  In public, no less.  Instead you can go to a woman who does offer it, for the same price, with more intimacy and less hassle.  Well done, lad, well done. 

Now, if we can just do something about this whiny attitude problem and your fucking mouth, a provider might actually see you.

I predict that within the week we see another thread by him moaning about dancers who won’t give him BBFS in public, or moaning about BP girls who won’t answer his middle-of-the-night phone calls.  Voice your thoughts now on what he’ll title that thread. 

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2 Responses to “Existential moments and dirty pants”

  1. Some Guy Says:

    I know! I don’t understand why I keep going to Best Buy and spending all my money on stereo equipment and they refuse to sell me tennis shoes! What’s wrong with those fucking Best Buy skank whores?? Right!!??
    I’ve always thought that, in large measure, reviews are more about the reviewer than the reviewee.


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