What is the scariest bar/strip club you've been to?

What is the worst bar or strip club you’ve been to?

While at a convention, I went exploring at night looking for some entertainment. Found some hole in the wall joint and decided to check it out. I don’t mean to be rude, but let’s just say everyone there must have been highly susceptible to beer goggles;the people there were scary looking (it was like some amputee convention went out for a drink; I swear I must have been the only person in the place that had 10 fingers/toes, two arms/legs/eyes/testes(probably). The place smelled like a greyhound station restroom, there were cigarette ashes in my beer :mad: and some guy right next to me who vomits all over the bar/back in his beer, then just nonchalantly puts the glass to his lips and continues drinking as if nothing happened :eek: While exploring this place, I found a set of stairs leading down. Curious, I peeked down to see what was there, but was driven back by the overpowering stench of urine. As I was backing up, I bumped into someone. I turn around, and look up…:eek: Standing right in front of me is this guy, 7+ feet tall with a glass eye that is staring off in some other direction, and deformed arms, I didn’t mean to be rude, but the guy scared the shit out of me, I kind of let out a yelp because the guy had this really mean expression on his face. All of the sudden he says, “Oh, is the downstairs bar open?” and walks downstairs.

I haven’t been to really bad Strip clubs. Kit Kat Club was sub-par in my opinion, but no scary places. My friend’s coworkers said that the Brass Rail in Milpitas was pretty nasty, I guess I’ll have to take their word for it. :stuck_out_tongue:

It was a dive and I found it on Easter. One of the dancers started producing jelly beans during her set. Completely turned me off of strip clubs.

Incubus, Dude: Was that you on the stairs? You should have come on down, man. We had it goin’ on in the cellar, nothing at all like that shitty prim and proper way they have to behave at street level. C’mon back and I’ll show you how to have a good time. :wink:

I went to one hole in the wall place, and a stripper had some kind of weird scar that made it look like she had two belly buttons… Not a huge turn-on.

There was the pub I worked in for a while, and frequented for many-a-while. The clientele consisted of teenage crack-heads who’d try to lean over the bar and steal and drunkenly threaten you with a pool cue if caught, local small-time gangsters, horrendous old-time alcoholics, the guys who worked in the garage over the road, and a steady influx of students who knew it was a place without equal. Plus, we had Man City’s home matches to deal with.

We prided ourselves on being way above several other local pubs. With good reason.
Manchester’s a lovely place :wally

Uni-navel body fascist! :wink:

The T&H in Ironton, Ohio. We called it the Tug and Hug. This was back in the very early 70s. A couple buds and me were sitting in a booth having a couple when, as far as we could tell for no reason at all, one guy turns and knocks the fellow next to him off his stool. He lays there, running blood, nobody pays any attention. A little later he gets up and staggers out. We have a couple more and a fight breaks out over the pool table. These two guys are really going at it. Eventually one gets the other down and is beating him to the point I was sure I was watching a murder. After a bit he wears out and sort of falls over and the guy that was on the bottom - who pretty much has had his lips beaten off his face - gets on top and starts pounding away. This goes on a bit when the beatee cries out, “I give, stop.” The beater doesen’t even slow down and tells him, “Fuck you, I took my beating like a man now you take yours like one.”

We did go back a few times. There was a fight every night. Kinda entertaining.

but…it smelled like pee down there! And there was a cyclops living in the basement! :eek:

How, exactly did she produce the jelly beans? Is it the same way the Cadbury bunny produces ulp those delicious cadbury eggs? :eek:

I was at a strip club where one dancer jumps on this guys shoulders, grinds around for a bit, then hops off. He had glasses on before she jumped on him, and when she got up, the glasses were gone :confused: she gyrated around for a bit, then kind of acted like “Oh! :eek: evidently I have forgotten something!” reaches between her legs, and produces a pair of men’s glasses, which she returned to the guy.

Boy were they smudged :confused: :eek:

A bunch of friends and myself used to frequent (well, not frequent so much as went there about 3 times becuase a friend of ours was bartending) a mediocre bar by our school. Anyways, normally we would just go, play some pool, shoot some darts and go home. Well one night we were playing pool tourtament style. Probably not actually the name, whoever one played whoevers quarters were on the table to go next. Anyways, people were getting skipped, we bitched that our quarters were next as did some other people whose quarters were behind ours, other people (the skippers) said there wasn’t any quarter rule blah blah blah. We finnally got our turn, played until we lost. We found out later that night that the cops showed up becuase someone pulled out a gun and threatened the bartender for trying to settle a dispute over whose turn it was to play pool next. :eek: Glad we left, never went back.

The scariest strip club I ever saw was in New Orleans.

When I was with my old company, I went to Biloxi on business with a co-worker who was also one of my drinking buddies. When we arrived at the customer site on Monday morning they had nothing ready for us: instead of spending the day gambling in Biloxi again (it wasn’t our first time there), we decided to make the 2-hour drive to New Orleans. Neither of us had been before. We found our way to Bourbon Street, parked the rental car, and at the first bar we came to I called an ex-boyfriend who had recently moved to New Orleans. (It just happens that in real life my former co-worker’s name starts with an “A” and the ex-boyfriend’s name starts with a “B,” so that is how I will refer to them from this point on. :slight_smile: )

B hooked up with us at some bar, and the three of us went up and down Bourbon Street, stopping into bars here and there, getting a little drunk, and noticing that every other door led to a strip club. At one point we came across a small club that advertised naked men in the back, naked women in front – something for everyone! A and B kind of looked at each other and then looked at me, eyebrows raised, and much to their surprise I said, “I’m game if you are!” So in we went.

This place was a dive. I mean, even more of a dive than most of the dives on Bourbon Street. I headed to the back, past the stage of stripping women, and found myself one of two fully-clothed women in the place. The guy who was going to strip for us was hanging around on the stage, waiting to do his thing, and he was very skinny, with long hair, a so-so face…really just not my type. But I didn’t want to drag A and B out of the place yet, so I figured I’d wait for a while…and then the guy starts talking to the other chick and me! Making conversation! It’s hard to ignore someone when there are only 3 of you in the room, so I was polite (and he did seem nice enough), but when his strip routine started I had to go. I just couldn’t take it seriously, and I was tired of standing around (yes, standing) and drinking my watered-down 7&7. So, figuring the hell with A and B, I went to go find them and get out of that place. Turns out the guys were as ready to leave as I was: their strippers were fat, ugly, and missing teeth! The three of us nearly fell down laughing as we walked away from the place. I don’t think I ever saw B again after that trip (we weren’t in touch frequently anyway), but A and I laughed – and shuddered – about it for at least a year afterwards. Whenever we were hanging out and someone started telling strip club stories, out would come our New Orleans story.

That was such a fun day…good times, good times. :cool:

The first bar I danced at. It was called Comet; aka vomit.
The stories weren’t as bad as those above, but it truly was a dive.
Lots of drug deals went on during business hours, Roxy may have passed for a guy on a good night, Heather was 250 lbs, etc.

Oh, it was West 25th Street in Cleveland, Ohio.

My God, it’s like a Conan movie.

I don’t remember the name of it but it was in Buckhead (a popular nightlife section of Atlanta) on a Saturday night about three years ago. Other clubs all around the place had lines out the door even though they were charging covers; this place, though smaller, had a dance floor and was not charging a cover and yet it was almost empty. It was extremely dark black inside even by dance club standardsThe guy and the ladies I was with went to the floor and started dancing almost to the confusement of the very few patrons who were all at the bar with obviously no interest in the music or the completely abandoned dance floor. Even though there were less than a dozen other people in the place it took forever to get waited on when we went to the bar.

A bizarre thing: I went to the bathroom and there, in this tiny bathroom in this deserted club, as if in a scene from an absurdist play, was an elderly black restroom attendant in a really cheap tuxedo. I’m not sure what he did in his previous life to warrant this, but he seemed genuinely shocked to see somebody.

We stayed for just a little while longer and noticed the few but stoned seeming patrons were glaring. We left and two of us made the same comment: we had been expecting blood to start pouring from the ceilings like the scene in the first Blade movie. I still don’t know what the deal was with the place.

Although I’ve been to a wide variety of bars, it’s been rare that I’ve found one truly scary.

During my cab-driving years I had to visit some Tejano bars where the level of tension was sometimes a cause for unease, but I alwys managed to dodge that limelight.

Once, though, I did visit a place called the Doll House South, in Austin, Texas, with a friend of mine’s girlfriend. The Doll House was a topless bar run by a bunch of bikers, whose girlfriends were the dancers. It catered to the airmen of nearby Bergstrom Air Force Base and traveleing salesmen.

But things weren’t going so well in the mid-80s, when Texas’ oil economy was in temporary collapse, and revenues were falling off. The bikers decided they had to do something to pump up the take, so they decided to introduce live music to the mix.

So they hired a local Austin New Wave band with a heavy pornographic slant and…, wait, I know I’ve told this story here before. At least a couple of times.

Shee-oot…, I need to cool my jets.

The scariest strip dive I’ve ever been in was a place on the outskirts of beautiful Gary Indiana. It was on the way to the Indiana Dunes State Park. Not sure of the name of the place, but it just said “NUDES” in lighted signage outside. My buddy and I pulled in because he heard, (incorrectly, it was later determined) that there were some beautiful women in there, that “put out”.

When we entered, the only lights in the place shone from a single table lamp behind the bar, and several hundred strands of ancient xmas lights stapled, taped, and bubble gummed (i’m not kidding) to the walls.

The women were, shall we say, less than attractive, and more than one of the seven or so in there were missing a noticable amount of teeth.

For 50 dollars, you could get a 2.50 split of Champagne, and one of the charmers would sit with you, and handle your, ahem, business under the table. My buddy didn’t have enough, so I loaned him the 50, but declined the services of the creaky courtesan. Her, among other things, spooked me about the place, so after my buddy was done with his ‘business’ and I again declined to wait while her and her ‘daughter’ took us ‘home’ (read:Trailer) for 250.00 (and all they could steal once we were passed out) we left.

As we did so, I saw the oncoming emergency lights of a squad car. Then another, and another, and then a line of five more. They passed right by us, and skidded to a stop, movie style, in front of the dive out of which we had just, um, dove.

Never found out what happened, likely a prostitution pinch, but I’m glad my spidey senses were tinglin that night.

Of course there was the time when I went to New Orleans for Mardi Gras and wound up in the middle of an orgy while looking for a bathroom. That was scary. (The name of the bar was Rawhide, which is not, as it’s name would imply, an Amish leathergoods store.)

Solid Gold in Jacksonville, Florida.

All I’ll say is that there were no paper towels or napkins with which to dry my ear, and the bouncer was very understanding after he broke my nose…

Bouncers shouldn’t treat the talent like that. At least he didn’t knock any teeth out.