I think "Jamburger" is a pretty good name for a band.

So last night I had a dream that I deleted my Myspace page. Then this morning I woke up, and before I knew it, I was reading an article about the best places in the US to raise kids and (spoiler alert) Mt. Prospect Illinois won the whole thing, which is funny, because the only people I know from Mt. Prospect are perverts and social mongos, but whatever. That’s really not the point. Here’s the point: Dreams about Myspace, articles about raising kids…I’m obviously a very conflicted nerd. I’m two different extremely uninteresting people trapped in one body. As such, I was thinking about zazzing this shit up a tad. Something about blowjobs or felching or crack whores….It’s just been too long.
Okay, so the secret to impressing strippers is money and cocaine. I don’t know how strictly true this is for all strippers, but I’m serious when I tell you that I was given this sage piece of information by a used car salesman in Vegas once. Do you think I’m making this up? Sounds like the most majorly kickass dude on the planet right? He’s getting your grandma into one of those old easily exploding Ford Pintos and then once he’s cashed her pension, he’s off to the coke dealer and the titty bar to ‘impress some strippers.’ Totally great. This guy also told me that if my band ever ‘made it’ I should look him up. What a bro. Maybe I will someday. Actually, that might be just the motivation I need to actually push my little art project of a music career to the next level. Maybe me and the used car salesman can blow some lines, get a few lappies and then head back to the champagne room for a little high five/beej sesh. Oh yeah.
It’s pretty funny, really. To say that strippers are ‘impressed’ by money and cocaine is a lot like saying that dogs are impressed by dogfood and walks. Technically, I suppose there’s probably something to that, but really, I don’t think it’s like what the used car salesman thinks it’s like. I mean, when I want to impress somebody, usually I do moronic things like putting my best foot forward, attempting to speak eloquently or humorously, (whatever the situation calls for) if I’m really in the right space and time maybe I’ll bust out some of my better rap verses. Or you know, I’ll show them some cool places around my town, or introduce them to my friends and family. Shit like that. That’s what I do to impress people. Or at least, that’s what I used to do. Now? Oh, ever since that used car salesman told me what was up, I’ve got a whole new move. Now, I look at people real quick, make a snap judgment about what they really want RIGHT NOW based on a pretty arbitrary set of shitty stereotypes, then I just dangle that shit in front of their faces. It works like a charm.
This guy showed me how to pull out my ‘onion’ (his term for a wad of ‘hundos’ [benjamins, people! Come on, get with the new urban vernacular…or in this case, the California High Desert vernacular] My own onion wasn’t so impressive, but he told me I could just get a couple of twenties changed into a hundo and put that on the outside. Of course, I couldn’t fan it out like he could with his onion, but that would have to come later. This is when he told me that if I ever made it I should look him up…sheesh) and then, when you’re looking through your onion for just the right hundred, you accidentally let your bag of coke fall on the stage. Once you’re sure the stripper has seen it, you apologize and hastily put everything away. Next thing you know, you’re up to your dick in strippers! It’s like the brooms in Fantasia (and that’s not just some gross porn visual based on household dildos and American idol winners, for you youngsters out there. Fantasia is a movie…a Disney movie) The strippers just keep on coming and coming, marching out of the back room to that one song. Cut them in half, they just become two midget strippers. That’s what he says at least. Judging from the impressive cold sore he had, I’d say he knows his stuff, for sure.
Anyway, so now, when I see you, I just decide what you want and get that stuff and hold it in front of you.
If you’re fat, and I want to impress you, I’ll be eating a quad stacker from burger king, and I might accidentally let a chocolate shake fall out of the bag.
Are you gay? Do you want to be impressed by me? Well, I just happen to have the entire Christopher Lowell catalog series sitting right over there, and the first season of ‘It’s Christopher Lowell!’ on DVD. Also some buttplugs.
Hey! Mexican guy! Check out my brand new apron for bussing tables. It’s great. Maybe you can use it sometime if you want to hang out a little.
Black dude! Check out my shoes, and my crack, and my gold chains and my grill and some fried chicken and my Bentley….jesus, this one’s gonna take a while. You see my point.

Anyway…Christ. Vegas is that kind of place. The place where you meet the shittiest people on the earth and they’re somehow still looking down their noses at someone else. Nice. I don’t know. This isn’t supposed to be some morality play or anything. Later on, I’m gonna head down to the strip club myself. I’ll put the baby in the nursery with the strippers babies and just hang for a while.
This reminds me of a funny story. My buddy works as a bartender at the biggest strip club in Denver. A few months ago, the cops came in and arrested this dude who had been in there for a few hours because he’d left his baby in the car. Now, that’s great, but it gets better. Turns out, it was his girlfriend’s baby, and she had given him the money to go get the two of them McDonalds, and he’d used it instead on a Bud and some table dances. So charming. Talk about impressing people. I’m impressed. I mean, that dude’s got balls the size of tangerines! I guess it’s not, you know, ha ha funny, but it is funny, nonetheless. The moral of the story? Never get a girlfriend with kids. Easy. Then you can spend as much time as you want at the club, and your only limitations are the ones in your onion.