A quick, vaguely unmanly confession: I am very uncomfortable walking into a strip club. And I'm not one of those prudes who despises the institution because it degrades women. None of this Gertrude Steinem, undefinable third wave feminism nonsense that insists that it dehumanizes women by turning them into grunting, monosyllabic sex objects. No, I equate stripping to being a secretary at Sterling Cooper. You might get slapped on the ass for a living, but there's also an element of empowerment to be found. I have no problems with the female body. Doesn't make me nervous at all. I think I have even "liked" the female form on Facebook. If it weren't for the promise of bare breasts, why else would I go see Anne Hathaway movies? Hell, I sat through Princess Diaries 2 just in case Disney decided to slip in a few choice, three frame blocks of graphic nudity. No, it has nothing to do with ethics or Feminism or basic hygiene. My problems stem from a more syst
Over-caffeinated and underpaid. Go America. Go Dodgers.