Yes, we are in heavy times in a seemingly off-the-rails world, so here's a little tale about the danger of strippers (I think some good stripper stories might just bring in some cheer - and I'm ready to learn of Mick's experiences - I bet his tale is like that of what happened to Tom Hanks' friend in Bachelor Party - you know, the guy who ends up making out with the one lady only to discover she came along with a bit extra).

About thirty years ago, while in police training in another city, a few of us went to a strip joint.  Now, I have to admit, I'm a cheap bastard when it comes to strippers - I mean, really? Sticking hard-earned cash in a G-string of a woman who is only there to remove money from your hands while artificially feigning insincere attention makes little sense to me.

Anyway, while we were sitting out at our tiny table watching the dancers, it seemed the spirit of frugality struck the others as well. Evidently, we weren't tipping as well as we should have been, nor were any of us paying for lap dances or trips to the Champagne Room .  At the time, I was just drinking a soft drink as well, and nursing mine because of the high cost and required number of drinks patrons were expected to purchase.

On my next order, the stripper/waitress brought out our drinks in glasses, and on the rim of my glass was a goddamned pubic hair!  And it was a pubic hair - it had all the characteristics of a pubic hair - it was a short and curly of the highest order (and listen here - I know a pubic hair when I see one - hell, it was on more than one occasion that I had to pluck those fuckers from some asshole's genitalia for examination - which includes getting about 25 pubic hairs from five different places AND with the roots attached).

So, imagine how a vindictively creative pissed-off stripper, mad as hell at barely tipping patrons, took the time to place a pubic hair on the rim of my drinking glass for revenge.