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| - For any of you who not only grew up on Yelp, but have since grown salt and peppery, you may remember my review of the Dick's Cab on McDowell. Turns out two gentlemen walked in and littered that little charmer with bullets. Shot the place to hell. So the owner, who I spoke with briefly Saturday, shut-er-down.
Now, there are just as many reasons, if not more, to do that to this place if you're an antisocial homophobic psychopath, but fortunately for them and those who appreciate male pole dancing everywhere, it's located in the bowels of the industrial complex that is the netherworld somewhere between Phx and Tempe.
I just noticed that a Becky G gave this place one star below. I bet that's my mom. MOM!
Soooo, anyway... Yet again, one unexpected adventure after another leads me to this little slice of hetero-hell. What? How could I not love this place? You think you know what's wrong?
Nope, it's not the penises I mind. The penii, if you will... Compare and contrast, I always say. The problem is the heterosexuality of the dancers. Or, if we're being exact, my wretched little ego. If I understand my (figure of speech, belongs to all of us) gay culture properly, some of them fancy the rare dodo bird switch-hitter, switch-teamer, whatever-fella, probably for the sport of the thing. I most certainly can appreciate that! So can Nike.
So, instead, as the dance was once choreographed, they walk up to me, a hand on the shoulder, an knowing look... I act embarrassed. Admit I'm nothing but a voyeur. A curious soul. But this night, these gentlemen, they're actors! They're straight. My unremarkable touristy ass is a just a driver to be passed on the right on the seedy underworld path of their heady cash pursuit. Common vultures with six packs and backwards hats. They don't love me and I certainly don't get the ridiculously delicious ego-satisfaction of the pulling the straight card and having them make their case for me to abandon my brain's fundamental design and structure.
Well shit. So I just watched some straight dudes in far better shape than I dry hump every lady in the place, an act possessing it's own nuanced joyfulness, and (censored) every old dude with cash enough to burn in the dark back corner.
I give it 4 stars because I am clearly not the intended audience. If you enjoy 1) men; 2) fit men; or 3) naken twirling men, get to... My companions, the Jills, we're perplexed by the dude on dude. Dude on dude happens, I said, matter of factly... But they were seemingly pleased for having not been too shy to go in the first place.
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