[DISCLAIMER: the rating of five stars for Bandaids does not directly correlate with the intentions of the establishment, instead, the volumes of unintentional comedy and unsolicited astonishment that may be had at this specific joint]
Walking into Bandaids was like witnessing the sneak premier of the cinematic masterpiece 'Showgirls' -- and what I mean is, one is piqued with curiosity, wonderment, the promise of mindblowing mockery, and the anticipation of an inevitable Spidey exit. This is where the comparison to showgirls ends. Actually, I don't rememer. Did showgirls feature a stripper in her 3rd trimester?
Whereas the tagline for Showgirls was "Leave your inhibitions at the door", Bandaids follows up with "... and your guns, knives, nerve gases, babies, peg legs, raptor jesuses, gold crown deodorizers, and herpes." Although I think most in there ignored that last one.
So, upon entrance, you are greeted with a very Judge Dredd-like chain-link protected cashier who takes your Abe Lincoln and motions you over to the bar. One thing about strip clubs in general, is, you don't really wanna schooch by anyone ... but at Bandaids, they make this awkward dream a reality for everyone! The walk up to the bar is like cutting to seats 34 and 35 at Giants Stadium. I felt like Tyler Durden contemplating whether to give the vatos the butt or the crotch as they stare blankly at "the talent".
Whoa boy. This place has talent like the old Washington Bullets ... but shorter, fatter, and more pregnant.
I gave one of my buddies a dollar to snap into one of the monster's string and she gave him a "whusssuuup" that featured her sweet gold grill. To appreciate this, you must know that my friend is quite possibly the sweetest guy on the planet, and gave a friendly "Hi!" to her in return before about-facing to our bistro style table where 8 Coors Lights were posting up our jaws.
This was a nice, natural cue for a quick exit, rattled our half-drained beers into the bins and shot out. We couldn't stomach anymore of anything.
But wait.
On this page you will notice Jason C., and along with the others in our laughter-induced group, came his big mouth. This was his opportunity to mock the sawed-off, convertible, primer-gray Chevy Blazer parked mere feet from the entrance/exit to Bandaids, and although the details are lost as to the specifics, mentioned something about "check out THIS fucking thing!", which was the perfect timing for one of the busted, ghetto-flab strippers to walk out and proceed to angrily say something like "Fuck you. That's mine. What of it?" In response, and generally because he's a giant puss with scary strippers, said something like, "Oh. Its nice. I like it." before shitting himself.
I'm sure the rest of the group howling with laughter really set her mind at peace.
Anyway. That's the Bandaids story, and you can have one just like it if you give it a chance. read more