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An old man named Tommy, who speaks in the third person: "Holy Macaroni, Tommy is in love!" He gets three dances.

An Australian surfer-photographer with a big curly afro, not unlike Sideshow Bob's. He "just wants to go down on me for a while." I walk away. Later, he approaches me on stage and tips me  twenty bucks. This is what strippers call a 'shame tip.' It makes up approximately 20% of our income. 

A new dancer who bears an uncanny resemblance to my wife. She catches me staring at her on more than one occasion.

A Republican by the name of Mike who claims to also be a Libertarian. He is not sure how he feels about abortions. His main concern is protecting the life of a person, especially when a woman wants to terminate her pregnancy when she's "7 or 8 months in." Because apparently there are a lot of women who hum and haw over whether they want to have a child for 7 or 8 months. We agree to disagree and he tips me $100. 

A cute Venezuelan astrologist-slash-banker who told me I have a black moon in Cancer ("It's not ideal"). Like every stripper in the universe, I fucking love astrology. Meeting a MAN who loves astrology blows my allegedly psychic (a benefit of having the black moon in Cancer) mind. He buys me several Tito's and sodas and gets a four dances.