Rick Wilson: Lapdance of Danger, or Big Trouble In Steamy Tampa

From 2012:

You’ll all be pretty juiced by a long day of convention fun, swimming with cocktails and chock full of protein from a good steak dinner (You’ll never get a reservation at Bern’s at this point, but that’s another story). Spirits will be running very high. Stoked by a day of putting the stick to the Obama Administration and its misdeeds, why not keep the fun going?{…}

Outside the club, the parking is jammed, so you’ll valet it. Hey, you only do the convention every 4 years, right? Live large. This is the moment you’ll look back on later.

You’ll pay the outrageous cover and enter the sticky, smoky confines of whatever part of Joe Redner’s empire you’ve had the poor judgment to visit. You and your buddies will then proceed to do what guys do in strip clubs the world over. You’ll hear “Pour Some Sugar On Me” every 18 minutes. Music will pound, drinks will flow.

Judgment? Not so much.

Mostly naked girls with too many tats, daddy issues and incipient drug addictions are rocking noms de skank like Brandee, O-Ra-Ra (“Get it? Like the thing in the, like, sky?”), Chastitee, Raynebow and Vyxen. They’ll bump, grind and give you a few minutes of lurid titillation in or out of the proverbial champagne room. You probably know the drill. You’ve heard about it, second-hand, of course.

From: Lapdance of Danger, or Big Trouble In Steamy Tampa  |  Ricochet