Wailing Into The Void

So I was out in Vegas over the weekend for my friend’s wedding and, as is my wont when I travel, I found some time to check out the local strip club scene.  On another friend’s recommendation I visited a place called Olympic Garden, where I had a highly enjoyable but financially devastating experience.  

You see, strippers are my kryptonite.  I can’t resist their power.  Whenever they draw near I start bleeding cash.  Once I enter a club I go under some sort of spell where all sense of fiscal responsibility abandons me. 

The worst part about all of this is that I absolutely love it.  The irresponsibility, the recklessness, the short-sightedness, the loss of control - it’s just one enormous rush for me.  Are there problems with my behavior?  Probably.  Is the rush I experience really worth all the money I spend to attain it?  Probably not.  Does my frequenting of strip clubs have an adverse effect on my relationships with women and contribute to my objectifying women as means for satisfying my own selfish sexual appetites?  You bet.  I’m a weak-willed, libidinous slob and I’m willing to accept that about myself.