So I go to my buddy's place in San Antonio. He's just moved there to attend UT med school. We hang out for a bit, then decide to go try out a nearby nudie bar. Mistake. There is a nudie bar by the same name in Austin which is pretty nice, but DO NOT GO TO SUGARS CABARET IN SAN ANTONIO!! Man, we went and it was awful. The place smelled like fried chicken and the women looked like fried chicken. They all had "Daddy's Girl" in old english on their lower back. Hmmm, I'm thinkin they all work for the same pimp. What a great life! This was the first moment when we should have walked out of there.
So we got a table anyways cause you know how we do it. We paid 50 bucks for a VIP table and 2 bottles of bubbly. By bubbly I mean carbonated piss with a cork stopper, but the ladies were impressed for sure. You know you are in ghetto ass place when they offer you grape juice with your champagne. This was the second time we should have just walked the fuck out of there. We stuck it out anyway because we were trying to show a few of our girlfriends a good time. We were laughing and cutting up and wanted to show the girls that it could still be funny and have a good time. We watched as the girls dragged their 1 dollar and 50 cent asses from stage to stage trying to pull dollars out of the pockets of Pablo and Javier. The girls there have to wear nipple pasties for what the waitress referred to as "health reasons". Let me spell it out for you, that is NOT hawt. The whole gang was having a blast and usually it is a good thing to have the best looking women (by far) in club sitting with you. It is good until you realize your in a nasty club with drooling men that have now turned their attention to your girlfriend and her friends. A very well mannered and respectful young gentleman came over to politely ask my girlfriend and buddy's girlfriend if they were true fans of taking the "money shot" he was so willing to give to any women in the club that night. So now I am sitting at a rickety table, watching a chubby 4 foot 3 prostitute dance, drinking carbonated piss, smelling fried chicken, and this fucker wants to paint two of my best friends' like a goddamn Jackson Pollack! This was most definitely strike three and even though the fun was rising exponentially we decided to leave. Moral of the story- If you smell chicken, don't wait for the rest of the place to suck, just leave. Sugars in SA is not like Sugars in Austin, trust me on this.