Your Neighborhood Professional Deviant

Had another Strip Club Dream. The big difference between this one and the others is that there were no people from any club I actually know. Usually someone I know/work with/used to work with is in the dream. Not this one. It was a HUGE club. Warehouse huge. Walmart huge. Jesus Fuck huge. A lot of dark woods and dark red leather seating. Very elegant place for something so massive. It was a classy club, and not the kind I could get into as is. Pink hair + lots of ink = Snowball In Hell. But there I was, and I was rockin it too. Of course, I could work the pole like mad in the dream... unlike Real Life. Someday I will learn 1337 pole skills. Someday! Another oddity in this dream was that none of the lockers had locks. The girls all trusted each other. Pfffffffffffthahahahaaahahahahahahahahahaaa don't we wish it were really like that? LMFAO!

Strip club lockers are like dryers. Shit gets lost. Socks, garters, body spray... it ends up falling into some void in the back of the damned locker. In some other universe, there is a black, black void. In this black void floats all the missing stripper gear. A single pink fishnet thigh high floats by. A rogue thong zooms past your head. It's like Peter F. Hamilton sat in a Victoria's Secret dressing room and wrote a novel about it. You will give up hope on that limited edition pink lip gloss and go through your mourning period. You will move on to a new shade, because deep down in your heart you know that Placid Pussy Pink would want you to move on and find happiness. After months with Melodious Mauve, what happens? The Void spits your beloved lost gloss back out and you have to go to couples counseling with both shades. Or you can go strip in Utah and keep them both. Maybe start a lip gloss harem. It's so common that it becomes totally normal shit to hear a stripper squ...