From The New York Shitty Inbox: Beautiful Polish Girls

Last week the Mister and I took Larry da Junkman our to dinner. So elated was he, a father of two small children, to at long last have a night out (albeit with a 10:00 p.m. curfew) he exclaimed:

Let’s go to a strip club!

I replied:

The only one I can think of is Pumps by the Metropolitan Avenue Bridge. There’s no way in hell I am going there. One time (name excised) did. He watched a bored dancer strip on stage while a solitary onlooker made paper footballs and flicked them at her.

Firmly ensconced in the armpit of English Kills— a place that is cringe-worthy enough in daylight— can you honestly blame me for putting the kibosh on an evening’s worth of “adult” entertainment? What’s more, with reviews like this:

First of all, it’s called Pumps.  Secondly, it’s an old diner car turned into a strip club.  You can get a lap dance in the “private viewing area”, but it’s just behind an old shower curtain about 2 feet from the bar.  Oh, and the girls dance on a couple of poles thrown in behind the old counter where once someone ate a fried egg or something.  And the cash machine has a $5 surcharge.  It’s insane.

I wouldn’t set foot in this establishment without a hazmat suit. Alas, a more palatable alternative manifested in my inbox shortly thereafter.

Jay Lombard (who took the above photographs) writes:

If you saw this sign wouldn’t you assume that the establishment was a place where you got to see ALL of the girls? Well it’s actually the Onyx on Morgan and Nassau.

Two days late and a solitary dollar (excitedly shoved into some anonymous woman’s g-string) short is the sad story of my life. Oh well, maybe next time.

Miss Heather