Yeah, I'm well aware of the "what happens here stays here" motto that's touted by the appropriately nicknamed Sin City. I'm still gonna talk about it so you can go fuck yourself Las Vegas!
This past weekend was my brother's bachelor party and while some things will go unspoken, some others need to be touched upon. At first I didn't understand why my brother didn't want to go to a club for his bachelor party. But, once I got into the strip club I kind of realized why. No, I'm not talking about playing motor boat or trying to make the stripper climb the pole and touch her ass on the ceiling; my point is that being in a strip club isn't reality. The tits are fake, the compliments are fake, the diamonds are fake, and colleges that they're attending are definitely fake. The only thing that is real is the sob story that strippers tell you about their ex-boyfriends or their asshole dads. So, I saw why my brother wanted to go to strip clubs instead of real clubs: it's fake. If you go to a club and girls are in your booth drinking with you, that's real and something really might happen. But, if you go to a strip club, it's all fake and reality comes back once you reach the exit.
That is, until you get into the taxi and the guy says: "So, who's ready to go to a massage parlor?"
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