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Strippers at the MoMA


My girl Morgan just turned 29 so we marched our still-delightfully-perky-in-spite-of-being-on-the-'unfuckable'-other-side-of-25 asses to look at some modern ahhht.

And because art is better when you're sauced, we pre-gamed by talking shit over a glass of Sangiovese:

This is the self-conscious new girl:

This is the weird cosplay girl who makes bank because tech nerds now rule the world:

This is what happens when a man is rude and he suffers the hexes of all the strippers and it genuinely terrifies him:

The mansplainer:


When he tries to pay in quarters:

We decided that the chair in the centre is optimal for lap dances. All that's missing is wrist restraints:

This is the sad sack who didn't cum after one dance and (unsuccessfully) tries to negotiate a 2-for-1:

This is the hot girl with perfect tits who can make $1000 while she's sleeping. We all want to hate her but she's actually really nice:

This is Sharon, the veteran stripper. She's seen it ALL and ain't scared of NOTHING:

This is the guy who *swears* he's not a stalker, he just REALLY NEEDS TO KNOW YOUR REAL NAME:


At the end of the night when they turn the lights on:

This is when we are all trying to cash out at 4am and the manager relishes in all the attention he is finally receiving after being ignored all night:

That life-giving after-work shower that washes away the dirty-old-man-smell that you've been forced to marinate in for the last 8 hours because of the recent tragedy where baby boomer men read a fake news story about how flossing is ineffective:


We had a gay old time:

See you at the Whitney!