Those of you who read my review of Solid Platinum will be familiar with my explanation, which is: in order to write a strip-club buffet review where the only joke is that you’re treating it like a legitimate restaurant review, the reader must assume that the review took place in the midst of strippers, because it’s only the complete ignoring of said strippers that (hopefully) makes it funny. But what do you do when, in the case of Solid Platinum, there are actually no strippers onsite? Or, in the case of All Stars, there was one stripper during a 45-minute block?
In the case of the latter, it may as well have been no stripper at all, meaning that two out of four “gentlemen’s clubs” (50 percent) visited for this series had no strippers. If you can take your mom to a buffet and not have to worry about seeing topless women, then there is no inherent joke, and you might as well be at Golden Corral. Frankly, it’s like a church with no Bibles. Or, in the case of All Stars, a church where everyone shares a single Bible. Pretty much the only thing a church needs is The Good Book, and you can pretty much walk into any church in the country, at any time of day, and find a Bible. It’s painful to point out such an obvious thing, but: pretty much the only thing strip clubs have going for them is strippers. No one goes for the buffet. No one goes for the excellent service. (By the way, the service at both Solid Platinum and All Stars is nearly non-existent). Without boobs, a strip club has nothing to offer. Based on today’s experience, All Stars might best be described as a cut-rate Luby’s that just happens to have a half-naked woman pop in every hour or so.
Look, if you own a strip club that’s going to be open at the ridiculous hour of 11 a.m., and you’re going to try to lure people in with free food, at least have the decency to provide the boobs. It doesn’t have to be your first string. Hell, you could even throw a quadruple amputee onstage, but at least distinguish yourself as a strip club.
The pork chop at All Stars was mighty tasty. Ordinarily, I’d have made a joke about how I watched Everybody Loves Raymond while I ate it. But since there weren’t any strippers, I actually did. And that ain’t funny. – Craig Malisow