Montana...or a slightly flatter state.

The things I do for Oola. So we get invited to a strip club. Not exactly my thing, but she really wants to go. And some friends were going that I would have paid many singles to see get a lap dance, so the amusement factor was definitely there. The place was actually very classy--a nice bar with half dressed woman. Now as a woman there really is only one thing you can do at a strip club: determine whether a particular stripper has real or fake boobs. So I spent the greater part of the evening doing that with the other women I went with: too perky = fake; diagonally-pointed = real, etc.

My friend Greg, a very modest sort of fellow, was given a lap by a girl named Montana. Montana was a bit of a misnomer; she definitely had not had boob enhancements, because her boobs were very, very tiny.

I was given a lap dance by a girl named Heather. So one of the big dilemmas that women face in strip clubs is: where do you look? I mean, in polite society you are taught to look people in the eyes. But obviously that is not the point here. I think I got through it alright, though I giggled a lot.