A Night At The Nudie Bar

Where the music stinks, and they water the drinks, the nudie bar.

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Where the girlies dance in their underpants, the nudie bar.

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Where you see their butt, and their trap stays shut, at the nudie bar.

---Al Bundy

My brother's getting married tomorrow. I'm thirteen-years older than he is; carried him in the back seat home from the hospital, and now he's getting married. How did that happen? I'm also best man. An honor.

Last night was the bachelor party. We stayed at The Standard Hotel and hit the nudie bar down the street. The one on Sunset there that advertises Live Nude Girls -- all of which proved to be true. For five bucks admission and a two drink minimum beautiful girls take their clothes off in front of you. Is this a great country or what?

My brother had a good time. Remained in control. Did nothing he couldn't have done in front of his betrothed. He did keep disappearing for a few minutes and return with glitter pasted to his face, but that could've been anything. By the time we left he looked like a disco ball.

I was the designated driver. The old guy. The chicks were digging me, natch. That's what I like about the nudie bar -- the girls can let themselves go and not be afraid to tell you how much they really like you. They're not constrained by polite society. In the nudie bar a fella can finally discover what the opposite sex honestly thinks of him. Plus I was throwing off my indifferent vibe. I got this vibe that reeks of indifference and the chicks really go for it. Next time we see each other, ask me about it, and I'll give you a taste.

All night the girls were hitting on me: Do you wanna lap dance? Do you wanna private dance? But I had to let them know that it wasn't gonna happen. "I'm sorry ladies, but we can't do this. Not only am I married, but I haven't told an effective lie since I was eleven."