Ladies and gentlemen, the events at tonight’s grand opening of the very first strip club designed by MC Escher quickly turned from the promise of mind-bending eroticism to a dark tragedy of errors. The club, located in Las Vegas and named, Gravity’s Gams, sported a mind-bendingly sensual collection of dimensional-twisting delights. The club sports multiple stages, geometrically arranged on the walls, ceilings, and spaces in between, with a variety of trans-gravitational staircases connecting them.
The night began like any other night at a strip-club: college students, bachelors, tiny women in skimpy and sparkly clothing, alcohol, desperation, old men, and poly-dimensional architects, all gathered at the clerb. Each hoped, yearned, desired for a show of such libidinous arousals that they’d never forget. This was to be humanity’s greatest achievement in titty-bars: wall to wall to ceiling stripper poles with a few extra thrown in to some of the club’s pocket dimensions. Expectations were high. Dollar bills were ironed. Nipples were popping, and boners were proudly declaring their existence to the world in defiance of social norms and proper etiquette. Before the night could get started it needed one final ingredient. That’s when the DJ arrived…
Twenty-minutes into DJ Whoopsie-Daisy’s set and more than half the club was dead. However, the other half were anvils and honey badgers with nunchucks, and you KNOW they can get down.
What follows is one detective’s dictation of events detected.
<a mechanical click followed by static>
“Hello? Is this thing on? Okay…. beginning recording.
“9p. Doors open. It looks like a stampede of horny guys and sexy babes came through the doors. Hormones were high and people were looking to get loose. The stages were set. Stripper poles on every wall, at every direction. Good god, this would’ve caused on overload of horniness in most people. Boobs on every wall, in every direction, upside-down, right-side left, down-side back, and everything in between. This Escher guy, or whoever designed this place, must have a screw loose. Even I could’a told you that this many uncovered breasts in this many dimensional configurations would turn out horribly wrong.
“9:05p. It seems like DJ Whoopsie-Daisy was running late. By the boot prints on the carpet, I think our DJ was somewhere between 4’3″ and 6’11”. He was probably a woman with a penchant for 18k gold necklaces and lace panties, but the slight pronation in the right-side boot suggests that he could’ve also been a man who just liked curly fries and filtered his coffee in yesterday’s underwear. He weighed, oh, roughly 700 pounds but used Spanx to appear around 195 pounds, with a noticeable chin dimple. According to the gait analysis of his boot prints, it seems DJ Whoopsie-Daisy changed footwear every 2-3 steps, as well as his femur length. Good god, this DJ is a master of disguise.
“Wait… scratch that. It appears that the DJ’s boot prints were mixed in with tracks of other patrons on the entry carpet. Oh, this guy’s good.
“Okay, just read the coroner’s report. DJ Whoopsie-Daisy is female, 5’8”, 140 lbs, a very kissable bellybutton, 34 Double-G breast but wearing a 36 D bra, perky nipples, cute panties with a tanga cut and Swiss-lace embroidery over a houndstooth flannel in festive colors. The suspect also wore a tight, pink, baby-doll chemise, with an Alabama Gothic fleur-de-lis style pattern and damask woven polyester in the style that made me harder than Santa Claus at a Toys R Us. Suspect also had some eyeballs, hair on her head, some tattoos and maybe a birthmark but it wasn’t near her breasts so the boys back at the lab will have to confirm.
“Continual reading shows suspect was also confirmed to have no third arm. <sigh…> Don’t worry dad, I’ll avenge you one day. But today, work calls. The city is overrun with murder, murderers, the pestilence of this broken city, and so many doughnuts that I’d better get another one before continuing.
<muffled eating noises> …maaawrmfff… mmmm… phummff… oh God I love doughnuts...
“9:07p. DJ Whoopsie-Daisy plugs in and it looks like the music starts immediately. The seats and aisles are filled with cigarettes, most half-smoked, but some down to the filters. Most of these poor suckers didn’t even get to finish their cigarettes before the carnage started. By the number of Camel Menthols smoked halfway, it seems like the music started with the high tweaks, then the brain scratching wub-dubs. And here’s the smoking gun… Marlboro Reds with crushed Molly. That means the beat dropped right at 9:08p.
“From 9:08p to 9:20p, 200 people died. I haven’t seen those kind of numbers since the fourth grade art fair, last week. This would make Charles Manson harder than a glee club in a chipper-shredder.
“And here it is. It must’ve started here, with this blown, and over burdened extension cable. Blood spatter indicates that when the base dropped someone bumped the DJ table. In a panic, DJ Whoopsie-Daisy shouted out “Yo chill! Don’t bump the table!” and in so doing knocked over a drink, which ran down the table. From here, though I can’t be sure, it looks like everyone stopped what they were doing and tried to push all the drink into the extension cord. Or… hmmm, it’s possible gravity pulled the liquid down. Note, ask my son what gravity is.
“Video surveillance shows this is when the power went out and all the carefully planned Escher-poles, with their own stable gravities, started short circuiting. Good God…
“It started with Moon-Girl, the brunette-blonde geisha with breasts large enough that patrons always shouted at her chest “That’s no moon!” Tonight she danced on a sideways pole because her toes lifted off her stage as the shorting gravity pulled her sideways, which was down. Soon she was hanging on her pole like a flag trying not to fall into the bar below. She fell.
“She fell into the bar area but was immediately caught by a different current of gravity. Now she was falling to the back, twisting around, trying to grab anything. But as she did she caused each one of her breasts to break someone’s neck while also giving them a rigid stiffy. Every time the glitching gravity field from the Escher stripper poles dragged her in a new direction–being pulled along as a leaf in a raging river–her boingious breasts repeatedly punched patrons in the face. These sad sacks were like pins in a bowling alley, but once they got knocked over they too got pulled into this gravity chaos. That’s when things went from bad to worse.
“The air was full of dick.
“So, much, dick. There must’ve been at least 2, or even 3, groups of dick floating through the air. Dongs, that’s it. 2 or 3 dongs of dick just floating around.
“Every floating stiffy was like a hammer of chaos breaking lights, smashing drinks, gracelessly slapping mouths, and smearing mascara.
“This was the first wave and it took just a few minutes for 25 people to die. But seconds later this wave would hit the club’s second stage where Jizzabelle, the Desert Rose, was taming 200 deadly honey badgers, each armed with spiked nunchucks.
“But the finale of death was when the floating river of dongs of dick brought everything into the final stage, “Madame Donetska and Sensual Dance of 1000 Anvils.”
“I believe it was Maya Angelou who said: I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you motorboated them to death.”
Vidalia News Recorder 