Masters the Champions Tour of Myrtle Beach strip clubs: A Christmas warning treat for you sophisticated readers
Cheap Bastard wouldn’t recognize “Feliz Navidad” if it wasn’t being sung by the g-string chorus of Jasmine, Candy and Destiny. Tim McDonald once fell in love with a stripper in Santee (see her picture here), which caused him to unapologetically tout a breathing armpit as a golf destination.
So consider this a little Christmas gift, a light to the path of enlightenment.
Masters - the super promoted mammoth strip club in Myrtle Beach - is about as high quality as the Champions Tour. And has many dancers who are apparently old enough to qualify for said geezer circuit.
At least, if a week before Christmas research visit is indicative of the club’s usual talent level. Maybe, all the hot girls took extended holiday vacations in that great stripper’s pension plan, but the scene turned out similar to what my Castle Baron boss Mark Nessmith forecast for Las Vegas’ topless pools scene.
I felt like I was stuck at a bowling alley, getting hit on by the regular Wednesday morning league. One girl from the Czech Republic gave me a new perspective on why our own BTuck seems so ashamed of his European flings. The best looking girl there was a waitress.
All very disappointing for a place that’s been touted in many places, including this very website.
Masters is the largest gentleman’s club on the Grand Strand, probably one of the largest anywhere with over 33,000 square feet. This sounds great - to those who enjoy that kind of thing of course (uncouth louts!) - but it’s a flawed concept. Many of the seats are so far away from the gigantic stage that you feel the need for binoculars.
Bringing the nose bleed seats to strip clubs isn’t such a fantastic idea.
Again, maybe it was a long week before Christmas thing, but I’d be wary of the Masters. Though it does have relatively cheap beer ($3.75 Bud Lights).
I was in and out in only one beer though, spending the shortest time ever recorded in a strip club by a man (about 20 minutes). Of course, I was only there because I was looking out for you. That’s how seriously I take these travel responsibilities.
Merry Christmas! Never say I didn’t do anything for you.
And no, I don’t have $50 in crinkly ones, Bastard. Sorry.
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