A day at the races...

Monday night entertainment in Indy is pretty few and far between. Years ago my Mondays were spent gathered with friends to watch Melrose Place or Ally McBeal. Afterwards we would usually go to Metro and have a drink, many times the only customers in the place. During visits to Indy over the last several years I found out that the Unicorn had a special "drink and drown" on Monday nights. Five bucks and you could have all the draft and well drinks you wanted. A bargain indeed and let's face it, after the first few well drinks, you can't taste anything anyway. For those of my readers unfamiliar with the Unicorn, let me give you some details. The Unicorn is a gay strip club which has been there forever. It burned down back in the early 90's and what rose from the ashes was pure mulch. Actually that's not true, I've spent many a happy night in the Unicorn and done many a trashy thing inside her doors. I'll leave the details to the vivid imaginations of my readers. The set up is pretty simple. In the middle of the room is a small stage, ringed by two brass (ish) poles. At one end is a shower which is used almost as infrequently as the showers in most of the dancers homes. There is seating on either side of the stage but most of the "action" goes on in the darker recesses of the back area, known affectionately to my friends and I as "the back 40." The dancers come out and do their set and then they circulate the room working tips. Some of them say "are you having fun" as they size you up for whatever amount they can score. Others (these would be the demure ones) ask "would you like a dance?" which is a keyword for them grinding their tattered thong against your crotch as you shovel the ones their way. I have been going to the Unicorn since I was 21 and can't remember ever being as turned off and repulsed by it as I was tonight. It should be mentioned at this point that I once bartended at this bar for a very short period of time. After I quit I was still a patron, usually once a month or so I would find myself perched on a stool in the back 40 waiting for my favorite boy to strut his stuff onstage. It may seem odd to wax nostalgic over time spent in a seedy strip club but I feel that I must. Gone are the dancers my friends and I all went to see, the Todd's, the Kyler's, Cole, Dog-Faced Monkey Boy and his one handed push-up's. What's left is a gaggle of, well, I'm not sure what to call them. I would say crystal freaks but then they would be thin. Fat, Nelly and Hopeless was what I saw tonight. It made me think of what a Wilson Phillips reunion tour would be like. The boys were nelly and/or disgusting. I've never seen so many overweight dancers and keep in mind, I work at the pub. There was one boy I thought was attractive until he appeared for his second set in a fedora like hat which convinced me he was having a Velma Kelly moment. As he spun himself around the poles I wanted to scream out "Cassie, there is no release in the head!" Sadly, he was the best there was to offer. I did enjoy the performance of another boy who was so intoxicated that he could barely stand let alone fake any rhythm. After the tenth or eleventh time he spun himself nearly into a comma I lost interest but not before noticing he was wearing white socks and sandals. Truly, truly, the ass in class.