Who doesn’t love strippers? A few climatologists, for starters. The entertainment for the Australia-New Zealand Climate Forum included a burlesque act — hardly a strip show — during which attending scientists were invited to pop the balloons off a progressively nuder woman wearing stockings, hot pants, and a corset.
Apparently, the conference-goers were not forewarned about the nature of the act, and a number of people marched off in a huff and the 45-minute show was cut short after 10 minutes. Of course, it’s not really fair to spring something like this on an unsuspecting adult, who could be scarred for life after seeing a bare ankle or thigh. I hope the victimized scientists can get monetary compensation, or at least some kind of justice from the ongoing “investigation” into who authorized this immoral sin fest.
So admittedly, I’m rolling my eyes a bit. Just a bit. I could understand people taking offense at a strip show at a science conference. I mean, one second you’re passing the butter while discussing the net effect of methane on global climate change, when suddenly a woman in a hot pink string bikini and twirling pasties begins gyrating in your lap to Sir Mix-a-Lot.
Sorry, I need to take a moment.
. . .
But come on, a burlesque show in which none of the dancers gets remotely naked or performs any kind of nipple manipulation or hold on again . . .
. . .
Look, my point is, it’s just entertainment. Don’t get your ascot in a twist.
Now to answer the opposite question: who does love strippers? Well, me obviously (hey Moe!), and let’s not forget Richard Feynman. Argument from authority? Perhaps, but what do you want? It’s Friday and I’m talking about strippers.