Joe Bob's America

"Joe Bob's America" for 4/24/92

By Joe Bob Briggs

Am I the only one that's noticed this, or did somebody build about NINE THOUSAND new topless bars in this country last year?

I guess it's not THAT strange, when you realize that TWO MILLION women have gotten silicone breast implants. After all, once you've gone to the trouble to get em, what are you gonna do, just stare in the mirror all day? You might need some independent verification.

But what's interesting about this particular trend is that they don't call em "topless bars" anymore. They're "gentleman's clubs." A lot of em even have DRESS CODES.

When I was growing up, the only things they checked you for at the door was a) beer, and b) firearms. Anything else on your body could be brought into the club.

Do you realize you can eat a buffet lunch every day for FREE at most topless . . . er . . . gentleman's clubs in major American cities? I'm not kidding. You walk into the club, GRAB A PLATE, and the announcer says, "Our next dancer is the lovely Tawnee--and how about those RIBS today, gentlemen?"

And everything else inside these clubs is a million-dollar investment, too. I can remember when the only drinks they sold in topless bars were beer, whiskey, whiskey-and-Coke, and, in case you were on a diet, Jack-Daniels-and-Diet-Dr.-Pepper. (I'm from Texas.)

Oh yeah, there WAS one more: the Kamikaze. I don't know if topless bars INVENTED Kamikazes, but they certainly perfected the most efficient USE of Kamikazes. After the guys sit through the last lame dance by the last plug-ugly dancer, they start thinking, "Well, nothing left to see here. There's ANOTHER night of my life WASTED because I'm a pathetic loser weenie. Guess I'll go get the pickup and head to the house." And what magic sound do they hear?

"Gentlemen, for the next five minutes only, all Kamikazes are ON THE HOUSE! Please welcome the gorgeous Juuuuuleeeeee . . ."

And Juuuuuleeeeee would, of course, be the only decent-looking stripper they had in the place. And she looked ESPECIALLY good at the END of that Kamikaze.

What's in those things anyhow?

What got me thinking about this is that last week an old boy from Fort Worth named Don Waitt sent me his pride and joy, a fat 182-page annual directory called "Exotic Dancer," that lists every strip joint in the country. Actually, it sorts them out into the following categories:

Nude Bars

Topless Bars

Gentlemen's Clubs

Stripper Clubs

Go-Go Bars

WHEW! When did it get so dang complicated? Here's the difference, according to Don:

"Nude" means the dancers get nekkid as mud-weasels.

"Topless" means they get nekkid . . . why am I explaining this? Topless means topless.

Now it gets complicated: "Go-go," according to the book, "can mean bikinis, lingerie, pasties and T-backs or G-strings, and in some cases simply shorts and halters. It all depends on local city ordinances."

Are you like me? Are you thinking, at this very moment, "T-Back? T-Back? I should know what that is, shouldn't I? Gosh, I hope I don't have to ASK somebody." . . . On second thought, I might not wanna know.

I don't know about "Stripper Clubs." I looked through the book, and I think it's those places that have 55-year-old women with faces like sides of pork loin, dancing with a lot of feather boas and working with snakes and stuff. They used to have em at the Arkansas State Fair. This lean cancerous guy would stand outside the tent and say, "This show is NOT FOR KIDDIES. If you want a KIDDIE SHOW, move RIGHT ON DOWN THE MIDWAY, there's a ride down there that goes up and down, up and down, NO SIR, THIS IS ADULT ENTERTAINMENT, ADULTS ONLY, featuring some of the most beautiful women in the world doing things that might SHOCK you . . ." And they WOULD shock you, because you wanta yell "Put your goldurn clothes BACK ON. That cellulite is DISGUSTING."

Anyhow, my point is that topless bars are bigger and fancier than ever. There's even one that advertises in The New York Times every day. They've got a topless bar in Atlanta that has 50 women onstage at the same time. They've got all kinds of special promotions like "go-go-ramas," amateur nights, bachelor parties, the beloved wet T-shirt contest (invented in the seventies and still going strong), "table dancing," "couch dancing," "bar dancing," "lap dancing" (don't ask). And when you really think about it, and you really wonder what all this explosion of jiggly flesh means, you've got to admit:

We American men have become a nation of WATCHERS, haven't we?

That's all I'm gonna say.

Think about it.

To discuss the meaning of life with Joe Bob, or to get free junk in the mail and his world-famous "We Are the Weird" newsletter, write Joe Bob Briggs, P.O. Box 2002, Dallas, TX 75221. Joe Bob's Fax line is always open: 214-368-2310.

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