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I Partied With The Robot Strippers Before The CES

Human strippers with robot strippers. (photo via The Busty Bruiser)

When hypnotizing videos of robot strippers went viral recently, the internet was abuzz. (At least it was in my circles, comprised primarily of current/former sex workers and horny writers who never miss an opportunity to crack a Philip K. Dick joke.) People marveled and hypothesized about the potential implications these gyrating mannequins might have on the strip club landscape: Were these robots here to replace ladies who dance for a living? Were men actually like, into this? Should your friendly neighborhood strippers start worrying about being usurped by rechargeable batteries and knees that will never need replacement? It seemed that everyone who encountered this quirky bit of tech-lore was either mesmerized, amused, or vaguely hostile to the idea; but was anyone actually turned on? (Turns out, the answer to all of these questions is basically: not really.)

An old friend with tech media connections was able to score an invite to an exclusive media-only event being held at Sapphire, a major pillar of the Vegas strip club scene. We were lucky enough to check out the robots up close and personal before they make their debut on the CES Expo floor later this week. I spoke with the robots’ creator, Giles Walker, about their inception and how they came to be the most buzzed-about attraction at the biggest tech event of the year.

Despite all of the jokes and speculation about emotionally-stunted nerds in basements building girlfriends for themselves, Walker doesn’t even come close to the socially-awkward engineer I had envisioned. In fact, he’s a British sculptor with deep roots in the London punk and art scenes. With his spiked ear-gauges and cheeky fedora, Walker looks more like the guy who wants to sell you rare Japanese Sex Pistols b-sides on eBay, not the Dr. Frankenstein of sexy late-stage capitalism. An active member of art collective, The Mutoid Waste Company, which erects guerrilla-art installations all over Europe, Walker first began incorporating motors into his found-object sculptures in the mid-1990s using scavenged parts from junkyards. “When I first started I was just a broke punk, you know? I didn’t have $10 in my pocket, so I had to use whatever I could find on the street.” Today, the robots are constructed using mannequin limbs, windshield-wiper motors, a gate-opening motor, and CCTV cameras.

The dancing fembot concept first began to take shape for Walker after the broadcast of an infamous “sexed up” report on British television convincing the nation to go to war in Iraq.At the time, Walker says, “I started noticing these CCTV surveillance cameras on every single street corner in London, it was nuts. And those things are total garbage! They don’t even protect people, they only protect f*ckin’ property!” 

Today in Questionable Strip Club Advertising: Recruiting High Schoolers

Emperor’s Palm Beach is advertising that they’re taking applications from soon-to-be high school graduates. Seems like a questionable strategy, since another location operated by the same owners was sued for allowing an underage dancer to work. It sounds like the club might be a nice stop for traveling (legal) dancers, though. An article in the Broward-Palm Beach New Times points out that the club’s website offers hotel accommodations and “guaranteed funds.” Of one thing we can be sure: This sign undoubtedly reached more Reddit readers than potential strippers.

Which School Of Hogwarts Is Your Strip Club?

We figured, with all the Harry Potter anniversary hullabaloo around people making sure they truly are a Gryffindor the way they like to picture themselves, why should your strip club be left out? (Josephine’s a Hufflepuff and Caty is a Ravenclaw, btw.) Is the most popular girl in your dressing room more of a Cho Chan or a Pansy Parkinson? Is the biggest earner a generous Cedric Diggory or a go-for-the-win Marcus Flynt? Does your bouncer resemble Nearly Headless Nick or The Bloody Baron? Is your club maybe located in a dungeon…? Discover the true character of your workplace by taking our handy dandy quiz below:

Feel free to discuss the wisdom of our Sorting Hat in the comments. 

Strippers in Their Flag Bikinis

Are you working today and feeling like the woman at the center of this Reductress article?  Flag-themed negligee has been a stripper staple since the country’s first peeler swung a tassel at an eager soldier. Historians largely agree that Betsy Ross said upon completing the first flag,  “Ah, yes. This will make a delightful scrunchy butt bikini.”

A stripper’s body could be the most patriotic or the most atrocious way to display the flag. Do you blindly love this country (please read a book, by the way)? Then behold the red, white, and blue’s majesty as it blankets your ample bosom! Are you little less enthusiastic for a place that’s propped up by white supremacy and hell-bent on legislating sex workers into the gutter? Well, today’s the day to shove that Lycra flag straight into your ass crack!

I’m a sucker for stripper clichés, so I asked workers to submit July 4th selfies. Unsurprisingly, our submissions tended towards the white and blonde—which could be the topic of an entirely separate post that I’ll save for another day.

I Went To An Actual Vag Pageant

all photos courtesy of Hypnox

I feel nothing but pity for people who don’t “get” Twitter, anyone who has ever rejected me, and most of all, those who missed the 2nd Annual Vagina Beauty Pageant that happened this past week at Club Rouge in Portland, OR. I generally have a strong disdain for gimmicky strip club events and formal exotic dance pageants, but I feel like a child on Boxing Day now. I haven’t been able to get out of bed since realizing that I have to wait an entire year before I get to celebrate again.

I had considered entering when I read that the top vagina gets $500. I wasn’t sure what competing entailed, but felt like I had a solid entry. Plus, I thought maybe I could start charging extra for dances after I flashed customers my blue ribbon* (which I would carry on my person for the rest of my life, ready to show cops who pull me over for speeding, my future husband’s parents, etc). I boasted to a friend that I could win with toilet paper stuck to my junk, which I figure is the vaginal equivalent of doing a one-armed pushup. Ultimately, I was too confused (read: wimpy) to compete, but I did stop by to check it out just for the fresh blog material.