Why More 5-Year-Olds Should Visit Strip Clubs

Although lots of other pre-teen CEOs are members of the Westminster club to which I belong, my BCF (Best CEO Forever) is 37-year-old Robert Bundzenieks. He's Latvian. I feel at some level he is trying to lead me astray.

Yesterday evening, after a longer than typical day, I knocked off just after lunch. It had been a stressful morning. I'd caught my new secretary using Facebook and the penalty for that requires a great deal of disinfectant. Normally that wouldn't bother me. After all, I have a cleaner, Sardinia, for that. But then I caught Sardinia on LinkedBin, the networking site for hygiene professionals, and so I had to dish out the same treatment to her. Never let anyone talk you into a white carpet.

Anyway, I needed to unwind and Robert knew just the place. Spearmint Rhino has a strict age policy but the new nightclub chain, Dill Koala, will let anyone in. There was a W.I. meeting in one corner, a group of boy scouts in another and the Pope was indulging in a lap dance in a distant alcove. For a brief moment the priest on the receiving end had a very tense look on his face. I like Dill Koala's business model.

A round of tequila shots appeared from somewhere and before I knew it I had a sparkly G-string, still attached to its wearer, in my face. This did nothing to change my mind that girls smell. Robert grabbed my winkie area and shouted, “Is it getting hard yet?” I know what he's alluding to but I'm fucking five, the knob end. No matter how much porn I try to watch, it has the emotional impact of someone rubbing two lamb chops together. 

Anyway, Robert went home with sparkly G-string girl and I ended up with the W.I. women. Old duffers like that leave their handbags wide open. I covered my costs and had enough left over to get a can of Monster on the way home. I was off my tits. Good old Robert!