I know. I'm the Doctor. I'm that fun-loving party animal who would punch a defenseless crippled midget in the chest if i thought I'd get a laugh out of it. How could I NOT like strippers? They're women, they're naked, and they're pitiful. Isn't that everything you love, Doctor Dozer?
Yes and no, kids. Let me explain. Yes, I like women. All women. They all have something worth while to give. Like the one with a prosthetic leg that gave herself to a teammate of mine a few years ago in Florida. Basically, she was cute, he was drunk, and they got in bed. She says something to the effect of: "Um, I have something to tell you." And POP! Off comes her leg just below the hip. He eases off of his position atop her, gets on his knees between her legs, reaches in his mouth and pops off his fake teeth. "Me too," he says, replacing them as he got back to work.
Being at a small, intellectual school, beauty is hard to come by. Instead of forsaking my endeavors, however, you just learn to love any little positive a girl might have. Some people call this "lowering standards," but I'd call it "broadening my horizons." Yeah, that girl has acne, a stupid hair cut, and a harelip, but she has rather nice eyes and they've been checking me out. I'll see you guys tomorrow." So yes, the Doctor loves women, and they need not be bombshells.
Naked women? Please. I won't even justify my love of the female form. Let's leave it at this: I've seen ya motha naked.
Then what is it, good Doctor? Why don't you love a naked woman flaunting herself at you in return for mere singles? It all goes back to a night, so long ago, when I was just a 17 year old boy trying to be a cool kid.
I was with my older brother and his friends, the youngest of which had just turned 18. To celebrate, they all pitched in 20 bucks and ordered up a stripper to the house. My first. I know, I know, hard to believe I was only a boy once, a boy with a dream to someday write for a blog that you'd be reading. But I digress.
So we 20 kids piled into the basement where there were three couches, a rug to sit on, and a lot of floor space for standing. Luckily, I sat on a couch with the only other two underage kids there, and then she came. In all her tank-top and jorts glory, hair in what can only be described as a slutty and dirty bun. As she reaches to remove her shirt, she pauses. "You guys are all 18, right?" I blush, but stay quiet, and off the shirt goes. And there she is...naked. Already? No dance or tease or anything? The mystery that was the in-person, naked female body was gone. No "let's turn out the lights," no fumbling to undo her bra in the darkness, just boobs. For me, for everyone there, and for the millions who must have seen this trash already.
Well, once I recovered from this initial shock (boobs), I noticed her stomach at the insistence of the kid to my left. I immediately regretted noticing. There was a huge, unsightly c-section scar running up her belly (and I reserve the term "belly" only for those who actually have one). I can't go into more detail than that without losing my lunch, but yes, a belly with a c-section scar. Holy mother of ew.
To make matters worse, this is everyone's first time, so we turn on some crappy dance music, and she starts moving around, and we're all just sitting there staring. A little while goes by, and the dancing isn't working, she realizes, so it's time for "lay-downs." Not much more to the phrase then what you'd expect. A fully naked, chubby mother of four lays across the couch on your laps and does awful things to herself. Awful things. Luckily, I was at the head end and didn't have to smell or look up her folded beef. As I look at her, she catches my gaze and, somehow mistaking my disgust for interest and desire, takes my hat, puts it on her head, grabs my hand and starts sucking on my fingers. It was one of the worst experiences of my life.
Looking in her crusty eyes, all I could see was her c-section, her children, and her filth. I never want to experience anything like that again...
until I'm over 30. Then I'll take what I can get, and if that's a hummer in the back of a strip club, so be it.
Yours,
Doctor Dozer
Yes and no, kids. Let me explain. Yes, I like women. All women. They all have something worth while to give. Like the one with a prosthetic leg that gave herself to a teammate of mine a few years ago in Florida. Basically, she was cute, he was drunk, and they got in bed. She says something to the effect of: "Um, I have something to tell you." And POP! Off comes her leg just below the hip. He eases off of his position atop her, gets on his knees between her legs, reaches in his mouth and pops off his fake teeth. "Me too," he says, replacing them as he got back to work.
Being at a small, intellectual school, beauty is hard to come by. Instead of forsaking my endeavors, however, you just learn to love any little positive a girl might have. Some people call this "lowering standards," but I'd call it "broadening my horizons." Yeah, that girl has acne, a stupid hair cut, and a harelip, but she has rather nice eyes and they've been checking me out. I'll see you guys tomorrow." So yes, the Doctor loves women, and they need not be bombshells.
Naked women? Please. I won't even justify my love of the female form. Let's leave it at this: I've seen ya motha naked.
Then what is it, good Doctor? Why don't you love a naked woman flaunting herself at you in return for mere singles? It all goes back to a night, so long ago, when I was just a 17 year old boy trying to be a cool kid.
I was with my older brother and his friends, the youngest of which had just turned 18. To celebrate, they all pitched in 20 bucks and ordered up a stripper to the house. My first. I know, I know, hard to believe I was only a boy once, a boy with a dream to someday write for a blog that you'd be reading. But I digress.
So we 20 kids piled into the basement where there were three couches, a rug to sit on, and a lot of floor space for standing. Luckily, I sat on a couch with the only other two underage kids there, and then she came. In all her tank-top and jorts glory, hair in what can only be described as a slutty and dirty bun. As she reaches to remove her shirt, she pauses. "You guys are all 18, right?" I blush, but stay quiet, and off the shirt goes. And there she is...naked. Already? No dance or tease or anything? The mystery that was the in-person, naked female body was gone. No "let's turn out the lights," no fumbling to undo her bra in the darkness, just boobs. For me, for everyone there, and for the millions who must have seen this trash already.
Well, once I recovered from this initial shock (boobs), I noticed her stomach at the insistence of the kid to my left. I immediately regretted noticing. There was a huge, unsightly c-section scar running up her belly (and I reserve the term "belly" only for those who actually have one). I can't go into more detail than that without losing my lunch, but yes, a belly with a c-section scar. Holy mother of ew.
To make matters worse, this is everyone's first time, so we turn on some crappy dance music, and she starts moving around, and we're all just sitting there staring. A little while goes by, and the dancing isn't working, she realizes, so it's time for "lay-downs." Not much more to the phrase then what you'd expect. A fully naked, chubby mother of four lays across the couch on your laps and does awful things to herself. Awful things. Luckily, I was at the head end and didn't have to smell or look up her folded beef. As I look at her, she catches my gaze and, somehow mistaking my disgust for interest and desire, takes my hat, puts it on her head, grabs my hand and starts sucking on my fingers. It was one of the worst experiences of my life.
Looking in her crusty eyes, all I could see was her c-section, her children, and her filth. I never want to experience anything like that again...
until I'm over 30. Then I'll take what I can get, and if that's a hummer in the back of a strip club, so be it.
Yours,
Doctor Dozer
1 comment:
A little extreme, don't you think? I mean, hating their families and all their relativies? And just because she's, well, done things beside strip for you? Now, if you hated all strippers because of one Crystal Gail Magnum, Duke lacrosse accuser, that might be one thing. (I'm not defending it, I'm just saying it would be a "thing".) Did you see, by the way, that Ms. Magnum recently received her college degree from North Carolina Central University? In...
Police Psychology. I shit you not.
See here:
http://media.www.dukechronicle.com/media/storage/paper884/news/2008/05/15/Columns/Summa.Cum.Loony-3371900.shtml
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