Shake Your Moneymaker!

My mother thinks we should do more things together in an effort to bond and stuff. Her latest outing was to go see the Chippendale dancers at Harrahs. Initially, I wasn't going to blog about it, but after having seen the show, I feel I owe it to the women of KC, the women with standards...that this show sucked something awful.

I've never been to such a show. My mother did when I was around 15, and she brought me back a t-shirt signed by the guy who looked like Conan the Barbarian. I don't think I went because I wanted to see a bunch of sweaty guys dance around in barely there outfits, but I wanted to go to see everyone else.

While the performance of the dancers left a lot to be desired, the spectators didn't let me down. Hee!

We got to Harrah's with some time to spare to grab a bite to eat at nearby Toby Keith's I Love This Bar and Grill. We mentioned to the waitress we were going to see the show, and she told us that they had been watching the dancers come in, and boy, were some of them sure ugly. She did say there was one cute one that another waitress thought she might go introduce herself to. So, she saunters over thinking she's pretty hot stuff, introduces herself to said dancer, and he merely looks her way, then turns back to talking with the other guys.

Ouch! Now, if this waitress had known that roughly 80% of the dancers played for the opposite team, she could have saved herself the embarrassment of being shunned, and just sent over Bob the Cook instead. The stories are well known...the dancers shake their moneymaker for the screaming, bored housewives, then after the show, hit the gay bars to score some sausage...

...Which was probably one of the reasons I wasn't overly thrilled about going.

After dinner, we go over to the Voodoo lounge. Our tickets said we has assigned seating. The truth was it was first come, first served. Mom and a couple of her friends set up camp somewhere on the floor. Myself and two other girls settled off to the side out of the line of fire. In front of us was Meth Row. Of the five women sitting on Meth Row, cumulatively, they might have had one full set of teeth.

Oh look, here comes some guy who's supposed to look like Fabio. Not Fabio is the MC for the evening...oh joy. He tells us we are going to indulge in our wildest fantasies tonight.

Lies!!! George Clooney never even showed up, and my apartment is still a mess.

Not Fabio gives some sexual innuendo blather before the music starts, and here come the dancers. Women go apeshit, my mother included. The guys are dressed in leather pants, the obligatory bowtie and cuffs, and black jackets. They begin to dance...badly.

When I was in high school, I was on the pom-pon squad. I must say, we danced a helluva lot better then they did. They were all out of sync, and everytime they grabbed their crotch, women screamed because apparently that's sexy.

Watch a guy in public "make an adjustment", and you will see a woman nearby make a face...but it's perfectly acceptable and encouraged if the guy is wearing leather pants and dancing poorly.

So the, ahem, dancers come out and grab their crotch. Yay. The first feature dancer is some dude wearing a suit, he "dances" and grabs his crotch. He looks like Clay Aiken, which gives an entirely new meaning to "A Measure of a Man".

The second act is a set of three dancers and they come out dressed as doctors. This is where I retch. They are in scrubs, and the dancing and crotch grabbing ensues. They pull three women from the audience and proceed to give them an "assessment" with their stethoscope. How could anyone believe this bullshit?!? Everyone knows the docs just make the nurses do everything...

At this point, I decide to forfeit my chair and stand in the corner where the other two girls with me have retreated.

Oh joy! It's Chippendale Time! This is where the "dancers" come out into the audience for some touchy-feely for a buck. We decide that if we just face each other, the dancers will assume we are lesbians and leave us alone. It works, plus is also helps that we were not waving money in the air, which I am ashamed to say, like my mother was.

I was amused by the lengths some women will go to to get noticed. Some came in dressed like, well, whores. We saw one girl who looked like Dolly Parton on meth, stuffing dollar bills down her shirt in hopes that one of the dancers would go after them. Puh-lease! Unless you are smuggling a bone in your pants, the dude is NOT going to be interested. The little old ladies were a lot more fun to watch. I saw one being brought in a wheelchair. I was almost prepared to do CPR in the event she keeled over from over-excitement.

Thankfully, it never came to that.

This goes on for an hour and 15 minutes, bad dancing and much crotch grabbing that one might think they enjoyed a little too much. Some of them did an interpretive dance to some love song while dressed in Navy costumes. HELLO!!! If that didn't scream "ghey", I don't know what does!!

Then there is the group dance where they are dressed like cowboys. Brokeback Mountain jokes ensue from my huddle. The dancing doesn't get any better. They really need to consider hiring a different choreographer.

I was waiting for the YMCA skit to come out. I was disappointed that it never did. They did have the cowboy, the construction worker, and the guy in leather. I don't know where the Indian was.

While I will concede that the guys had pretty nice bodies, some of them had faces that would stop a train. One guy looked like at some point his face had been on fire, and a Good Samaritan put it out with a rake. Another just looked liked he had been beaten with a bag of hot quarters. Maybe that is the reason the theme of the show was "Look At My Crotch"...so we wouldn't have to look at their faces.

Now I can say I've been to a Chippendales show. Would I ever go to another one? Hell no!

So, if any guys out there are wondering what makes the Chippendales so special...absolutely nothing. I'll take a Midwestern guy anyday...just don't grab your crotch.