Bros, huddle up. I need your valued opinion.
So while you’re at your job teaching the future leaders of tomorrow or trying to turn around the economy or whatever it is you bros do, an intense discussion flared up in the BroBible chatroom about strippers.
You still reading? Of course you are.
The meat and potatoes of the discussion centered around one unique request my friend has for every stripper he’s interested in receiving a private dance from. We’ll call him Chad. I’ve heard Chad make this request everywhere from the esteemed Spearmint Rhino in Las Vegas to a seedy, hole-in-the-wall joint in the suburbs of Boston where at least 60% of the strippers have less than 60% of their teeth and a minimum of two regrettable tattoos in places I wouldn’t let my doctor peek at.
His solicitation begins with him gesturing to his chosen stripper in a way he believes to be sexy and endearing.
What he thinks he looks like:
What he actually looks like:
He’s not one for social graces but I’ve never seen him happier or more in his element with a fat stack of ones and a half-chub watching girls slide down a pole. Not even on his wedding day.
When the stripper approaches Chad out of intrigue or pity, he then leans in real close a softly whispers his request in her ear.
How he thinks this plays out:
How he really looks:
He then launches into his plea. Mind you, if the stripper declines, he won’t even look in her direction for the rest of the night. If she accepts, he’ll spend the car ride home asking himself if he married the right woman.
The request is as follows:
Do you mind going into the bathroom and changing into the clothes you arrived in–jeans, jewelry, socks coat, and all–and then meeting me in the private room where you proceed to bashfully strip down naked and proceed with the lap dance?
Chad is obviously playing on the ‘average girl’ fantasy and I frankly I think it’s absolutely brilliant. What good is a stripper if she has nothing to strip? What good is Christmas if the presents lay unwrapped under the tree? We don’t show up to the last 15 minutes of a movie to see the climax. The beauty is in the details. The unfolding. The anticipation.
Responses to Chad’s request have ranged from “my manager won’t allow it” (Spearmint Rhino) to “HAHA no thanks” (A New Orleans strip club we were both too drunk to remember the name of) to “Sure–for $40 extra” (The stripper with the triangular lats and the Adam’s Apple at the aforementioned Boston strip club.)
Chad has been raked over the coals by our friend group, and most recently my fellow BroBible editors, for his perceived elementary request but I have been on Team Chad since Day 1.
Are Chad and I fucking delinquents?
Let us know what you bros think in the comment section and send us your favorite strippers stories to the tip line for a chance to be featured on the site!