Several weeks ago I seemingly had a bout of ‘yes’ tourettes. Now, I am admittedly a caustic cunt but encompassing this fact and indeed milking it makes me basically a nice guy. This is why I find myself in a dark cold club asking dumb fucking pole dancers about Marxism via a public address system for my own amusement.
So, irony number 1 hit me like well schooled street criminal upon my entry to Sunderland’s Independent night joint and Grill. The evening is a fundraiser for Oxfam. And what better way to prevent the good people of Africa becoming an exploited nation than to exploit our own marginalised fraternity of amoeba lobed pole dolly’s. I’m not suggesting for a moment that everyone to master this particular discipline is cognitively challenged, that simply would not do and I don’t believe that. I am suggesting that the particular troupe of lovelies (it was fine in the 70’s) had the mental capacity of half a Paul Dannan. The following are genuine questions I put to our whirling pole dervishes after there inevitable gyrations to some Kings of Leon album track or some such.

Dave Heartstring “What’s best, Bovril or fighting?”
Kerry “I enjoyed e’self t’neet like!”
Dave Heartstring “Thanks for that Kerry”

Its at this point that I have realise that I can say whatever it is I please as the listening function of these creatures is instantly disabled when arching there back towards a room full of morons. I’m quite the anthropologist this evening.

Next up Catherine. Already Kerry seems less than impressed with Catherine’s ninja like soft porn ability. The crowd accept her and she is dumb and triumphant.

Dave Heartstring “In any Marxist society the prolariat is inevitably the worker bee for the capitalist bourgeoisie…discuss?”

Catherine “eh?”

Dave Heartstring “Thank you Catherine”

Now things turn weird. When I first entered the venue and stumbled into the “changing Area”, I became entrenched in a deep life affirming discourse with the sisters thick regarding one of this evening’s contestant. Kerry had raised suspicions’ regarding the sexuality of one of the contestants. Reading between some cunningly disguised lines laid out by Kerry I deciphered that Kerry had strong suspicions’ that Natasha was packing a cock in her thong. I announce Natasha onto the stage. It seems Kerry is quite the Colombo of the pole dancing world. Natasha has an Adams apple; large brick layers hands, a widow’s peak, biceps like Lou Ferringo and IT IS BLATANENTLY AND UDENIABLY A MAN YOU FUCKING DUMB CUNT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Turns out that Natasha is a Stirling chap and looks somewhere between 80’s icon Marilyn and Iggy Pop.

Dave Heartstring “What’s it like being on tour with the Stooges?”

Natasha “?????????????”

There were several others. Lisa Louis and especially Skye were good enough to be so desensitised to life in general that I could mock them like unfortunate kids. Ah Skye, such a perfect bikini line but with an incomplete mind.

Dave Heartstring “Is retard an acceptable term in today’s society?”

Skye “Yes, I think it is”

I hung around to get drunk on Raspberry cider and grab a quick snap with Natasha.

Meanwhile Frankie is stamping. But I got the transvestites; although imp not so sure they got me.