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Any of you strip club patrons ever wonder what Amber looks like when she's not wrapping her legs around that pole and gyrating to Brahms's Symphony Number Four? (Hey, I've never been to a strip club; I don't know what kind of music they have there.) Anyway, the poor lasses of Treasures who got popped by HPD's undercover strip-club crackdown now have their mugs posted on The Smoking Gun. And they must have been brought in without their magic Stripper Potion, 'cause, well...ah, you'll see. (By the way: Prostitution? In strip clubs? What? My God, that must've taken some fine detective work. Thank God someone's cleaning the city of silk-shirted douchebags getting hummers in the champagne room. 'Cause, you know, that's Houston's biggest problem right there.) -- Craig Malisow