Ask A Strip Club DJ

Where dreams are broken like Hummel figurines thrown from the back of the moving van of childhood.

Dear Strip Club DJ:

I can’t get my daughter to eat anything but hot dogs and french fries. Any suggestions on how I might broaden (and healthify, if that’s a word) her palate?

Concerned in Catalina

Dear Concerned:

I like to start off the evening’s set simple. Straight-forward. Some AC/DC, some early Motley Crue. Around midnight, you break out the Nine Inch Nails, the Fatboy Slim, the Lady Gaga if you’re feeling frisky. It’s mostly about going with the flow and feeling your way through the night. And never playing whatever redneck shit the guys at table five want you to. It only encourages them.

Dear Strip Club DJ:

My next-door neighbor keeps having guests over at her house until late at night during the week. Normally this wouldn’t be a problem–my husband and I are pretty easy going people–except that it always devolves into a naked orgy out by her pool. Even this wouldn’t be a problem–my husband and I have had our own wild times–except that our eight year old son’s window faces her pool, and he’s starting to ask us questions about human sexuality that we’re really not ready to answer–questions about penetrative sex and polyamory and same-sex relations (although we’re certainly not against same-sex relations, properly contextualized). We don’t want to involve the police, but we’re just about out of options. Help!

Forced To Watch in Fort Walton Beach

Dear Forced:

The second question people always ask is how much do you make? And the answer is, not as much as you’d think. Sure, on a per-hour basis, it definitely beats shoveling out horse stables, and the view’s certainly a lot better, but it’s not, well, strip club money is the phrase that comes most readily to mind. It’s a living wage, is the point.

Dear Strip Club DJ:

My sister wants to be a stripper. Is there any advice you’d give her?

Curious in Culver City

Dear Curious:

It’s the first question people always ask. And the answer is yes. As often as I want. What I don’t tell people because it destroys the illusion for them (and isn’t life difficult enough without that?) is that after a couple of years in the game, if you have any soul at all, there isn’t much fun in it. The strippers are a damaged lot, and it’s pretty easy to sleep with them by the night’s end (everyone’s pretty drunk and high on cocaine) but they smell like strippers, and they leave smears of glitter on everything, and most of them have STDs, kids, and/or psychotic boyfriends. I’ve got troubles enough without that, thanks all the same. I’ll pay for my sex just like everyone else.

Tagged as: Back In Black, Hell's Bells, hummel figurines, paying for sex, polyamory, psychotic boyfriends, Shout At The Devil, STDs, strip club dj, strippers, the dark and empty spot where a soul should probably be, Too Fast For Love, vanilla and glitter, when mom works at the convenience store and daddy drinks too much