Mystery Science Theater En Masse

Five Riffers, Episode 3: Strippers and Lobotomies

--

Note: This riffing contains two articles that were written by Tanya Gold:

-Women watch men strip for fun. Men watch women for darker reasons
-Men want us lobotomised

--

When we watch others shed their clothes, what do we reveal about ourselves?

Poison: A random boner.
James: *snickers*

The Chippendales are in Britain this month to kick off a 20-city European tour, and the girls at the Spearmint Rhino lap-dancing club are always available. This week, I have been to both to wonder what – if anything – is exposed alongside the flesh?

Sonia: I'm sensing that a double standard is going to be exposed as well.

In Edinburgh, the Chippendale audience piles in. It's a Barry Manilow convention attacked by a hen party and digested by Sex and the City. There are old women, young women, pretty women and angry women.

Jessie: And they're all watching "Waiting to Exhale" in the next room.
James: I don't even want to know about that film. I've heard horror stories.

Everyone is in a group – there are no solitary customers –

Jayleen: *removes her dunce cap* Thank you for holding my hand.

and everyone wants to sit together at the front, close to the nudity. I expect to see women climbing on to the chandelier, like bats crawling up a wall. They are excited – and showing that they are excited. Their behaviour is precisely opposite to what women are supposed to do when they like men.

Sonia: Yes, the women should be prober and not be grabby like... the mens! Oh, I hate articles like these.
Jessie: Stereotypes and boxes for everyone!

What are you here for, I ask one group of teenagers. "Naked men!" they scream.

Poison: Well, duh! What the hell else would they be there for?

What about you, I ask another lady, who must be 80. "Antique furniture is wonderful to see on stage," she quips.

Jayleen: Do we take that as another euphenism for the male member?
James: I would.

The hall goes dark and a voice shouts out: "Welcome to the ultimate girls' night out in Edinburgh! Don't forget to visit the merchandising stall on your way out! Are you ready?" Yes, we scream, and out come the Chippendales, dressed as builders. They swing their thighs, and look ecstatic, like cartoon heroes.

James: Why did I just imagine them removing their thighs and swinging them around?
Jessie: I think you've been playing a little too much "Mortal Kombat".

It feels joyous. I am clapping. I don't know why I am clapping, or when I started. And I don't think we are clapping the Chippendales as they churn through every hackneyed female fantasy – the policeman, the fireman, the soldier, the gangster. We are clapping ourselves, because we can be lecherous and bestial, and we can scream it.

Sonia: *rolls her eyes* Okay, where's the part where the guys get reamed for doing the exact same thing?
Jayleen: In about three paragraphs, Hedgehog.

The Chippendales walk out into the audience. I was expecting the bolder women, the ones who leap into the air to catch the Chippendales' T-shirts like expert netball players, to lunge and go for tongue kisses and intimate gropes. But it doesn't happen. When we are offered them at close range, we go shy.

Jessie: Who's "we"? I'd be more than happy to flirt if they let me do it.
James: Yeah, just remember that they're people, not sex objects, Jess. By the way, about the last time you flirted... *points at Poison*
Poison: Hey, it was an offer that I just couldn't pass up.
Jessie: *smirks*

Instead of running up to them, we move away. We seem to be avoiding them. There is not a single woman here who actually wants to have sex with a Chippendale. We are all mouth, and no panties. Sex has left the building. We want cuddles, not tongues.

Sonia: Why do I have this odd belief that the writer's lying through her teeth?
James: I don't know. But think about this. What if she isn't?
Sonia: Then I will boil and eat my new designer boots.

The Chippendales respond by becoming avuncular, and gracious.

Poison: *swats the comma away with her riding crop, points to the word "avuncular" with it* The hell's that word mean?
James: *with a dictionary* It means... "kind or friendly toward a younger or less experienced person".

They hug us and kiss our hands. They have turned from sex gods into kindly male relatives.

Jayleen: Are you implying that you would do such a thing to your relatives?
Jessie: *stunned* Oh, god, no! What kind of context did you get from that?!
Jayleen: It's thanks to the other definition of "avuncular"... "of or relating to an uncle".
Sonia: *raises an eyebrow*
Jessie: ...I need a shower. I also want bleach to come out instead of water.

Outside I meet a woman who jumped for a T-shirt, fighting off other women to get it. "I'm not that bothered about it now," she tells me, "Do you want it?"

It is a fantasy, and the women here know it is. They seem happy, almost relieved, to let it go. It was a day trip to Disneyland where Mickey Mouse has monster abs.

Jayleen: *sarcastically* Yes, that's what I've always wanted to see before I pass on... a giant mouse with a well-toned body structure.
Sonia: Well, I'm guessing that riffing with my brother helped with your sarcasm skills a bit.
Jayleen: But is it a truly useful ability?
Poison: Nah, it'll probably make you a little less stuck-up... oh, that is useful for you, then.
Jayleen: Hmph.

The Spearmint Rhino Club in London, by contrast, is subterranean and windowless. There are a few men sitting alone, watching a naked woman dance. It is a pensive dance, oozing melancholy. Around the room, perhaps 20 young women, in tiny dresses and porn-star shoes, vie for the men's attention. It doesn't feel joyous; if the rhino had a face, it would be weeping.

Poison: *makes a face* The hell is this?
Sonia: *facepalms* I knew it. She just had to compare women watching an upscale stage show to men going to a torn down strip club. This is hackneyed journalism at its worst.
James: *looks around* Yeah, it makes me feel even weirder since I'm the only bloke in this room.

The financial dynamic is different. The women pay the club £85 a night, but will earn £20 for a lap-dance and £400 for a "sit-down", where they accompany the men to a private booth and dance for up to an hour. To earn the money, they have to beg. They have to walk up to the men and persuade them to pay the cash. They all have different techniques. One smiles from a distance. One bounces down on to a man's lap. One licks her lips.

Jessie: Yeah, how dare they find ways to make more money!
Jayleen: So... let me see if I have this correct. It's okay for the men to parade themselves in front of us for our amusement, but if the women parade themselves around someone like Daniels, they're degrading themselves?
James: Yeah, I already feel degraded by this article alone.
Sonia: Oh, you're going to feel even worse. We have another article by the same woman after this.
James: Oh, wonderful! *mutters* Hang me.
Poison: Yeah, she's gonna hang you. But it's not gonna be with the head on your shoulders.

I watch an elderly man with the face of Count Dracula holding hands with a gloriously beautiful young black woman.

Sonia: Really? When an old lady does it, she's "daring". When an old man does it, he's "Count Dracula". This is absolutely appalling.
Poison: I'm almost tempted to make a crappy and unfunny "hairy-legged man hating feminist" joke.
Sonia: Oh, we don't need that. It's not a joke if it isn't funny.
James: Yeah, she's right. Use the shitty ice cream and chick flick crap, Poison.
Sonia: James!

He hasn't booked a dance yet but she is holding hands with him in hope. He squeezes her thigh. She laughs. Another man watches a blonde pole-dancing on the bar. He is staring at her, but yawns openly. She smiles, puts her fingers to her lips, and says, "Shush".

Jessie: I didn't know that the strip club turned into a movie theater. I guess I should turn off my cell phone, too.

The manager brings two girls over to speak to me. One is about 30, with a beautiful cat-like face. The other is younger and has the open, perfect face of a child. Her breasts are totally exposed.

Jayleen: Well, if I needed a sentence that would keep me awake at night, I believe that this would be the one.

Do they ever get aroused dancing? "Never," says the child-like one. "It is like any other job," says the other, "You have your down days and your up days."

Sonia: Hm, just like a job at an office cubicle!
Poison: Nah, they're always down days.

"There are four types of men who come here," she says. "There is the one who thinks he will meet his next wife. There is the curious man. There is the businessman who brings his clients to nail a deal. And then there is the man who never spends any money." She gestures towards Count Dracula.

James: Because there's no such thing as a dirty old woman. Only old men are dirty. *narrows his eyes* I don't like you, lady.
Jayleen: I still do not understand why the men are receiving these unflattering descriptions in this article.
James: Because he's at a strip club.
Jessie: And that's terrible.

"He is here four times a week and never pays for a lap-dance." He is still touching the black girl's thigh.

So why do they do it? "The money," says the younger girl.

All except Jayleen: Duh!
Jayleen: Does this woman believe that I have the brain the size of a peanut?
Jessie: Yes.

Sometimes she makes £2,000 a night. What do you enjoy about it? "Nothing," she says. "You imagine hearing the same conversation every night for four years. Shall I ask you what your tattoo means 20 times a night?" And why do the men do it? "To pull a stripper is on every young guy's list," says the older girl.

James: *holds up photos of Sonic, Manic, Kyo L., Kyo K., Benimaru, Axl, and Rory* It's not on their lists, lady. I know I'm missing a few other guys, but it's not on their lists, either.

"The older men know we will talk to them. They have their pick. It's a power trip."

Sonia: *sarcastically* Remember, there's no such thing as a dominant woman!
Poison: *grins while waving her riding crop* Oh, I beg to differ!

I didn't want to come to a conclusion as prosaic as Chippendales good, lap-dancing rhinos bad.

James: *points to the word "prosaic"* What the hell does that mean?
Sonia: *with a dictionary* It means "lacking poetic beauty".
Poison: I don't know why the hell people need to use those giant school words. It's just making them look all snooty.
Jayleen: Are you implying that that sort of prose is incorrect?
Poison: *waves Jayleen off* Argument for another day, girlie.

Even as I watched the Chippendales play dirty cowboys, I wondered why they were doing it. But at least they were worshipped.

Jessie: Why do I want to vomit all over this article?
Jayleen: Because hipocrisy makes you ill, Baxter.
Jessie: It makes everyone ill.

The power dynamic at Spearmint Rhino seems entirely different. The men can make these beautiful women compete for them, when in real life they never would. There was no joy or even appreciation.

Sonia: Because it's seen as the "norm". You know, this article would've held a lot more weight if the double standards and hipocrisy weren't present. There's no real analysis here.
Jayleen: You want actual analysis, Hedgehog?
Sonia: I know, I'm asking for way too much.
Jayleen: Precisely. You are a riffing veteran, after all.
Sonia: *sighs* I should be used to disappointment. I know.

As I leave, I wonder – have I seen a dark part of human sexuality, sliding wonkily down a pole?

Poison: Really? There's worse on the street corners and in the alleys.
James: Or in Marion Barry's hotel room.
Jessie: *laughs* James, don't go there!

Like every single woman, I walk through life asking: what do men want?

Poison: A good time, like the rest of us.
Jessie: Wait, every single woman is asking what men want?
Sonia: Lesbians apparently don't exist. Bisexual and asexual women also apparently don't exist.

Why are my beautiful, clever female friends living alone, watching DVDs and eating cupcakes, like a gaggle of rancid Bridget Joneses?

Sonia: Because they're probably horrible people at heart.
James: *smacks Sonia on the back of her head*
Sonia: *rubs her head* Hey!
James: Sorry, love, they were orders from your brothers. I had to hit you if you got too rancid in your riffs.

Why does the loneliness never end (© Charlotte Bronte 1855)?

Jayleen: And why is that there? What horrible writing.

A month ago, as moonlight splashed across my pillow,

Jessie: ...I'm dyeing my hair purple now.

I devised an experiment to find the definitive answer. I decided to attend a speed-dating night as a fabulously successful, dazzlingly literate human rights lawyer, and then another as a gibbering idiot who works as a florist. Who would the men fall for?

James: I'd go for both. You're a lady, I'm a guy. I can keep my hands to myself, I know what the word "no" means, and we're going at your pace. Nothing wrong with that, eh?
Jessie: Yeah, there's something wrong. You're not rich... and you're not throwing Christian Grey styled tantrums.
James: Well, that crappy book and that shitstain can go to Hell, then.

As a lawyer, I walked into a Soho bar. My first date appeared. I smiled at him, and said: "I am a human rights lawyer (grin)." "I work 60 hours a week (grin)." And watched him shrivel up. "I'm an engineer," he said (no grin).

Jayleen: I'm getting my pen.
Poison: Grin.
Jayleen: *sputters*
Sonia, Jessie, James, Poison: Grin.

And then he was silent, so I told him I was reading Heidegger. He stared at me as if I had told him that I boil men's heads.

Sonia: Let's ignore the other possibility that you came off as pretentious. Because that's not valid at all.
Jessie: Maybe some guys just don't like the fact that some ladies are more well-read than they are.
James: Too bad. They need to build a bridge and get over it.

Then came Eric, and I invented a PhD in economics from Cambridge. "It was incredibly rewarding. Are you interested in economics, Eric?" He wasn't; he slunk off, and was replaced by Tony. I told him I have two cats and he looked hopeful. "What are they called?" "Roe and Wade, after the United States supreme court case that resulted in the legalisation of abortion." No smile after that, just a chair where a man had been.

Poison: This is just getting stupid. How do you guys pick this crap apart on a near daily basis?
Sonia: I have no idea, actually.
Jessie: *shrugs* It's just nature, I guess.

I fought about the Arab-Israeli conflict with No 11, and about shoes with No 13. "My shoes are leather," he said, "but they have holes in them." "Don't buy leather shoes," I replied, refusing to pout, while he looked at me as if I'd shot him. And this, from No 18: "You really scare me." Word had spread about the monster on Table 17 - my final date didn't show.

James: I wonder why. You sounded like you were going to clip their balls off.
Jessie: *smacks James on the back of his head* Cut it out.

The florist, who I modelled on Melinda Messenger spliced with a teasmaid, went to a "lock and key" party. Alan approached. "Hello," he smiled. "I'm confused by the game," I told him. "Please explain it." And he did. Happily. "What do you do," I asked (giggle). "I am a geneticist," he said. "What is that," I asked (giggle).

Jayleen: *crosses out the "(giggle)"* That is extremely annoying!
James: Yeah, that's "writing" for you.

He told me, and I looked impressed and uncomprehending. I raised my voice an octave, until it was a squeak. I stared at the floor, twisted my hands, and gibbered at him. "I cut the thorns off roses," I said. "I tie bows. I sweep floors." He replied: "I'll email you." I bagged one with my florist net! Then came Robert. "I'm a florist," I smiled. The reaction was instantaneous, passionate and almost molecular: "Can I buy you a drink?"

Jessie: It must've been a shock to them that you acted warm, huh?
Sonia: It's either that or some of these guys really wanted an "easy lay".
Poison: Yeah, yeah, about that... why couldn't she just be herself instead of lying to those guys, huh?
Jessie: *gasps* You wanted her to be honest? The nerve, woman!

Then came Harry. "Let's not talk about me," I said. Bang - he asked me out. Just like that. On the spot.

James: *sarcastically* Yeah, they should be seen and not heard. Yeah. *normal voice* I'm going to bathe now that I've said that.

I never knew it could be like this. Tom suggested we sit down. "Where do you want to sit," I asked. "In a chair? Is that a chair (giggle)?"

Jayleen: *still crossing words out on the screen* How is she being paid for such subpar work?
Sonia: It's modern nonsense. Just say whatever you want and you'll get paid for it.

By the end of our conversation I was opening my own florist's. And he was in love. I went on and on, loving the strange, new attention, saying the sort of things a fish would say if it could talk: "Why is water wet?"

Jessie: I understand if she's dumbing herself down to make a point, but this just comes off as degrading to everyone.

I could have been engaged by 11.17pm.

Poison: And married by 11:18, and divorced by 11:19.

But instead I went home and sifted through the evidence. Only one in 20 of the men I met on the Soho love coalface wanted to date a woman who had heard of Proust (19 of out 20 cats don't prefer it).

Jessie: The heck's Proust?
Poison: Is that a beer or something?
James: I thought that the beer was Pabst.
Sonia: Yes, it's Pabst, James. And the writer's referring to Marcel Proust, the French novelist.
Jessie: Oh.
Poison: Yeah, I'd be bored no matter who's talking to me about that.

Yet eight out of the florist's 12 men wanted to be gibbered at again and again and again.

Jayleen: Are you certain that you couldn't talk to eight more men to create an even twenty?

Everything my mother has ever told me about men is true.

James: It would be nice if you could tell us what this "everything" is, but I'll just assume that we all have tails between our legs or some shit like that.

They didn't care that the florist couldn't recognise a chair. They liked it. The feminist revolution didn't pierce their hearts; it only made it into human resources. If you want to be loved, just scoop out your brain and act like a child.

Jayleen: Well, Kim Kardashian scooped out her brain, whines like a toddler when things don't go her way, and is hated by most of the public. Come again?
Sonia: I'm not doing that. Why should I dumb myself down to make someone else happy?
Jessie: Exactly. Don't do it.

After 40 years of feminism we shouldn't really burn our bras. We should burn our men.

All: *cringing*
Jayleen: That statement was rhetorical... right?
Jessie: If not, well... heh, have fun killing about half of the human race.

Love may be dissembled but statistics never lie. Reader, let me tell you: men want me - and you - to be lobotomised.

James: Yeah, uh-uh. Bite my square arse, you biased hack. I like my women with brains, thank you!
Sonia: ...you have a square behind?
Poison: Yeah, we can let that one slide. He doesn't say a lot of stupid things, you know.

--

Go Back to Interns Page
Go Back to Episode List
Go Back to Main MST 'EM Page