Monday, May 11, 2009

Jack Goes To Club Velvet

*For you non-Richmonders, Velvet is a notorious strip club in downtown Richmond. And yeah, that's a mural of Princess Diana on the side of the Club. It's not there anymore, but trust me, we're still just as baffled as you are.

Yes, I went to Velvet on Friday night. This was my 7th or 8th trip to Velvet, but it was by far the most interesting. My thoughts:

  • We didn't even get there til 2:15 AM (it closes at 3:30 AM). Lucky for us, they were not breaking any ABC laws and no alcoholic beverages were being served. By that point in the evening, my crew of misfits had already been over-served at many other fine Shockoe Slip establishments.

  • I met the infamous Sam "JT" Moore. Keep reading...

  • Every stripper in the joint now knows my name, the bar where I work, and the fact that they are entitled to a round of shots on me whenever they visit. What can I say? I consider myself a gentleman and I like to make small talk to the girls as I stroke their girly parts with folded up one dollar bills.

  • I took a girl with me to the strip club, which most every male knows, can be freakin awesome. Strippers tend to feel less threatened by a guy who has a hot girl with him.

  • Said "hot girl" and I got into a faux-argument over the proper technique for giving the dancers money when they're gyrating on the stage directly in front of you. My friend was throwing the money directly at them, hitting them on the ass, the chest, the leg, the face... I told her this was rude and that you should hand them the money or slip it on the ground underneath them. We decided to take a vote with the multiple dancers that were sitting around us and they ended up being totally fine with money being hurled at them. Personally I think they were just letting the girl I was with do whatever she wanted because they thought she was hot and because she has fake breasts, which doesn't seem very fair for my argument's sake. I'm a nice guy though, so I let it slide and started winging Nolan Ryan-like crumbled up bills at the girls on stage.

  • Notice how I started calling them "dancers" instead of "strippers" in the past few paragraphs? Well, let's be honest, they're strippers, but they were all so nice it just seems like calling them dancers would be the polite thing to do.

  • I spent an absurd amount of money in a short period of time. I managed to spend all this money without getting any lap-dances either, which if you have been to a strip club you would know, that makes me a very foolish man.

  • I was definitely offered to go upstairs and buy a lap-dance from most of the girls in the joint though. Probably because they thought I was awesome and they just really wanted to grind on my crotch... Uhh, yeah, and I don't like fake boobies.... Oh and bears don't shit in the woods...

  • I shall say this with a sigh, somewhere ages and ages hence... but I used to hate on the quality (the hotness) of Velvet's dancers, admittedly, I was wrong. I realize that it was Friday and that they had the A-team dancers on the floor, but still... they were impressive. A couple super-hotties, a couple 6's and 7's and one or two mouth-breathers. Not a bad line-up.

  • When a less than hot dancer would begin her routine in front of us my drunk friend would turn around in his chair and stare at the wall, his back to the dancer. I, on the other hand would throw oodles of money at them because at that point I probably would've done it with the coin return slot on a vending machine. As long as it pretended to like me of course...

  • So one of the dancers goes, "Oh, Sam (the owner) is out by the bar."

  • I've been fascinated with this Sam Moore guy. A brief run-down: He's the owner of Club Velvet. He killed a man in self-defense after being attacked by 4 guys. Recently spent 30 days in jail for sleeping with a 16 year old. Has drawn the city of Richmond's ire for a number of reasons: Illegal activities going on at his strip club/where he lives, hung a huge 30 foot banner protesting a possible baseball stadium downtown, spot lights on the roof of his club that can be seen for miles and miles, etc.

  • In my drunken state and with my heady self-confidence, I immediately jumped up and sauntered over to the bar. In my memory I'm considerably cooler and didn't run over to him and gush, "Mr. Moore, I'm a big fan. You're like a folk hero to me!" Unfortunately my memory is faulty, so I'm pretty sure this is what happened.

  • He didn't say a word and he looked at me with an icy stare. The kind of stare that says, "kid, back off before you get a prison shiv to the gut" type stare. To his credit, he shook my hand.

  • Now Mr. Moore doesn't have a large stature, but he certainly has a chilling presence. The full neck tattoo and the tear-drop tat under his eye don't help.

  • I've already notified channel 12 to begin the investigation if I suddenly disappear after this blog post.

  • A side note: I was (and am) honestly considering asking Mr. Moore if he wanted a biographer. You talk about a cool gig. I think enough has happened to him during his 44 years on Earth to make for an interesting book. Of course I would only do it if it was an authorized biography.

  • Unauthorized biography of Sam Moore= Jack in a shallow grave somewhere out in Powhatan.

  • I would say that there were at least 3 dancers that I would consider dating at Velvet. What does that tell you? Not much. I just thought that you should know.

  • I would (and probably will) go back to Club Velvet. I was just a bit out of control this past Friday and I spent way to much money which pisses me off to no end. It doesn't help that a can of my beloved Diet Pepsi is 6 bucks there, and it really doesn't help that I bought 4 of them (one was for a stripper...uhh, I mean a dancer.)

  • God I suck at life.