Male Strippers < Ladies of the Poles

Not only is this the last Monday I'll work as an editorial assistant, but it's Memorial Day too. The office is quiet and that's precisely why I'm watching old episodes of "Different World" on YouTube.

If you started the video, then you'd see that this is the episode when Whitley almost marries Senator Byron Can't-Remember-His-Last-Name But-Can't-Forget-The-Big-Ol-Mole-On-His-Face. Please forgive me if I ruined the ending of the story by telling you that it was an "almost" marriage.

Then again, if you haven't seen this episode, then perhaps you have bigger fish to fry ... with Jesus. Go pray on it. "Different World" is a blessing.

Anywho, first, lemme say that I totally understand why men love strippers. (And by "totally," I mean, "I really really think" I understand why men love strippers.) These chicks are all baby oiled up and wearing the neon-colored or patent leather version of what a man might want to see his real-life woman or nighttime lady rock in the bedroom. Perhaps, he'd even be happy with the actual stripper, and/or her outfit -- no softer, less dirty club Vicky Secret alternative needed.

And while it's no surprise that the thought of a beautiful woman doing sexy pilates around a steel rod would make many Average Joes want to "get physical, physical" I can't say that a guy dancing around in SUPER TIGHT (see video) jeans and a construction hat, makes me want to turn my ringer off and put the kids to bed while the sun's still out. (Not that I have kids or kids to put to bed.)

Unlike female strippers, whose choice in Drake slow jams and erotic shimmying deserve a special place in the male fantasy catalog of seduction, I must say that the idea of a man dressed in a red cape, cowboy boots and dingy camouflage g-string have ABSOLUTELY NO place in my catalog of "Please Brotha, tuck me in." If you show up on my doorstep looking like the Lone Ranger high on Viagra, then the only tunes I'll be turning up are "Hit the Road Jack," and I don't even like that song.

And that my little lambs are the sorts of philosophies I'd like you to run by all yoru relatives chowing down 'round the picnic table during your Memorial Day BBQs/picnics/get-togethers.

Ask your granny how she feels about male strippers, and it's likely that she'll stop eating her sweet corn on the cob just long enough to agree with me.

I'm telling you.

Ask her ... then lemme know what she says.

Enjoy the holiday! Carrots and Peace to you all! Smoochez.