A house to make a home in...

Last Thursday I was dragged (not too hard) to House of Rasputin (H.O.R.), the new gentlemen's club, by GH#12 and Mr G. It was one of those spontaneous outings that turns a planned night of work and an early bedtime into a Millers-fuelled evening spent in the company of naked and gyrating Bulgarian and Russian angels. True, there were one or two less appealing locals. For example HF Verwoerds daughter with the fake tits who thought that we would actually enjoy it if she stuck Mr G's glasses in her underwear. I don't think he saw as much of Milla's (stop it!)table dance as GH#12 and I did because his spectacles were a bit steamed up. Other than Milla's (stop it!) bum, the two highlights of the evening were:

1) The Eastern Bloc stripper who was sitting on my lap feeling an sms vibrate in my pocket, making some filthy comment, and then proceeding to attempt to read out loud an invitation to a braai and drinks the following night. A heavily accented stripper trying to say "Come for a jol at 5 Harcourt Avenue, Claremont" is nothing short of hilarious.

2) The dirty wH.O.R.e stripper who adopted us for the evening and actually turned out to be a nice girl who doesn't do drugs, only approves of stripping if it is in an effort to make a better life for yourself or your loved ones, and pays her 13 year old sister's school fees introduced us to word of the week when she referred to Verwoerd's daughter as "rather uncouth." Rather uncouth? Sweetheart, despite your aspirations of being a UN goodwill ambassador and South Africa's first female president, you have just taken all your clothes off on stage during which time my two friends and I, as well as the 30 middle aged dudes, were privy to the fact that you have two nipple rings. Uncouth!?!

3) After being asked if I was old enough to be there (Fuck sorry if I don't grow facial hair like Boyd Varty), convincing the entire work force that it was in fact my 18th birthday. Lesson learnt - strippers are gullible.

It was nice to finally meet some of the girls who live in my girlfriends old house in Camp Ground road. I think I might stop in and pretend that I'm looking for a shirt I left there once...