I’ve been waiting a long time to see a sweaty summer blockbuster objectifying men.
Thank you Magic Mike, for giving female moviegoers some well-deserved P and A. At a time of year when Hollywood devotes its cineplexes to long shots of Megan Fox’s dirty cleav, women are finally reaping the benefits of an R rating.
Hello, is that a penis pump? Being USED?
First, I want to thank my husband for taking me to see this movie. It’s been too long since my last trip to a male strip club, an experience that is seared into my memory as it involves a stout 40-something with a MacGyver haircut balancing on his hands … on a folding chair.
As most women will tell you, male strippers are funny — and not on purpose. When we ladies put on our pearls and pumps and head out for a night of oily grinding and banana hammock swinging, it’s 10 percent out of sexual yearning and 90 percent for comic relief.
Maybe I just have poor taste in strip clubs. I grew up near Canada, which meant my banana hammock experiences were less hammock and more banana. In Niagara Falls, at the nasty clubs I sought out with my girlfriends, the strippers were allowed to go Full Monty on stage. Though hotly anticipated, the grand finale was always more hysterical than arousing.
After five minutes of prancing around in hammer pants and dropping into lunges, Rico Suave loses his trousers, flexes his butt muscles and with a cheesy come-slither look on his face, wiggles out of his purple thong. We women hoot and holler, but really, we’re just being polite.