Adventures with the Mojave Phone Booth book now available

Turns out, photos aren't allowed in strip clubs. Huh? So there are no photos of all the candy I ate. I ate lots of candy. I want to live to be 100.

Oh, and no photos of strippers, either. Sorry. (Hello to you those of you who got here via search engines...)

One thing they do allow is a lot of bad, bad music. So I tried to get a couple of the dancers to play Abba. One would play only rap music, the other, I don't know what she was playing, but it didn't matter, because she looked just like Mariah Carey -- but a Mariah Carey who doesn't sing. Could there be a better valentine's gift? Anyhow, she said she would've played Abba if she had it. The next day I couldn't get "Dancing Queen" out of my head.

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After we ate our cheap tasty steaks, it was time to play Stripper Bingo. There were ten different Stripper Bingo cards. The rule was, you had to actually observe the act (not cross it off because someone else saw it). That was pretty much the only rule I can remember.
I had predicted we'd get tossed out of there almost instantly. But nobody cared, least of all the dancers. The rule seemed to have been, as long as there's drinking & tipping going on, bingo-playing is just peachy. I didn't drink (my role as official Enabler had put me in demand), but I did put down my share of dollar bills for the dancers -- most of which came from dollar bets I'd won from Max that weekend.

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