Before I get into this blog, I’d be remiss not to extend a warm and congratulatory shoutout to Mr. Zachary "Zoolander" Pope on his lifetime achievement award for pulling more pussy than checks notes…..me. If there’s one silver lining to being mocked in a 1,500 word essay, it’s the realization that you probably fuck more than a man who can identify a village in Senegal based on a Google Maps image of a guardrail with more confidence than a clitoris. Another silver lining would be that you'd probably find the whole thing extremely funny.
But lowkey and especially deadass, if there’s one thing I understand even less than the stock market, it’s the popularity of the modern strip club. I don’t know, maybe it’s just a personal quirk but going out with a group of guys and repetitively paying money to get horny next to each other just never screamed “this is the move” to me. Are you supposed to acknowledge your boys' adjacent boners? Do you bust each other's balls and give the bulge of their cock head a noogie while saying something whimsical like “this motherfuckerrr!” or just ignore the elephant in the room entirely? Do you all hop in an Uber together afterwards, erections still tucked into your respective waistbands, and say things like “that was worth it”? Call me old fashioned, but a guy like me would rather just skip the middle man and cum at home for no cost. With all that said though, and as much as I swear against strip clubs, I have one exception and one exception only.
We've talked about it briefly in the past, but with Nick allegedly going back to DC for a bachelor party in March, I figured I’d elaborate a little more on its cultural and historical significance.
Nestled in the middle of the infamous "Shark Fin" of Wheeling, West Virginia’s bustling Center Market neighborhood, betwixt the mighty river and the mischievous creek, lies a NASCAR-themed strip club with a roster of “voluptuous” talent that was known for specializing in exotic stage performances, lap dances, and education. Aptly named for the prognosis of the staff's average position on a BMI bell curve, the establishment rose to local prominence in the early '80s thanks to the star power of Melissa "Whale Earnhardt" Cutright and her budding protégés. I think people justifiably assumed Nick and I were kidding about this place, but it was one of the few people, places, or things from our upbringing that we didn't make up in any manner.
A little after John Corbett skipped town for Hollywood and a little before Paul Bissonnette skipped gainful employment for the Wheeling Nailers, Dangerous Curves was amidst an incredible run as the premiere sports-themed adult nightclub in the upper Ohio Valley. I'd be lying if I said I was a "regular" attendee, but Nick and I both went a handful of times as juniors and seniors in high school. Their bouncer not only turned a blind eye to underage patrons, but he turned a blind eye to everything due to his severe diabetic retinopathy. He'd just feel your face and if there was any semblance of fur or stubble, you were good to go. Plus, I had a "thing" with the hostess-fed employee who was in charge of greeting people at the door and taking reservations.
Whale Earnhardt Sr.
The goat, the whole goat, and nothing but the goat. Prior to her untimely death, she was the oldest living and longest tenured employee at Dangerous Curves. We were on a first name basis and she treated me like a king whenever I came in. On Richard Petty Night, she’d give my dick complimentary strokes and she’d always rhetorically ask “Kyle, Bush?” to make sure she didn’t have to shave for me.
Whale Earnhardt Jr. (now Whale Earnhardt-Carls Jr)
Say what you want about Whale Junior not living up to her mother’s legacy. Literally whatever you want, and I'd encourage you to be as harsh as possible. Because the fact of the matter is that she was a lazy, entitled bitch who skated by on nothing but nepotism and lucky genetics. In 2009, Whale Jr. won the Daytona 500 swimsuit competition and then earned a sponsorship, and subsequently a gallstone, from Hellmann's. But she hasn't done or accomplished anything of prominence since. Nick was obsessed with her. Still is.
Lynn “Denny’s Ham Lynn” Howell
Always a safe bet, you knew exactly what you were getting with Lynn. She was also known for giving “veteran discounts” to customers who either served in the military or wanted to fuck her in the ass for five dollars.
Cyndi “Jimmy John’s Cyn” Carmichael
A sucker for cold cuts and sores, this gargantuan goddess was best known for her freaky fast life. Gone way too soon — rest in the sweetest peace, Cyn.
Blobby Labonte and Heft Gordon
Blobby and Heft were singlehandedly responsible for the massive spike of international patrons — especially those of Indonesian and Malaysian origins — in 2011.
Beth “Fat Ken’s Beth” McCoy
Mrs. McCoy was widely regarded as one of the biggest stars at Dangerous Curves, but as fat as she was, her husband "Fat Ken" was even fatter.
Marlene “Tony’s Stewart’s” Mitchell
Nicknamed after her grocery list, Marlene Mitchell was known for following a diet of strictly frozen pizza and cream soda, as well as her rambunctious antics during performances. She once jumped off stage and accidentally landed directly on top of a tiny man wearing camouflage, killing him instantly. After getting charged with wee hickular mansl— okay, I think that might be enough.
But in all seriousness, the only things I even slightly embellished about Dangerous Curves were some of the nicknames and descriptions of the strippers. I actually spent hours scouring the internet for anything that could lend credence to my claims, but couldn't find a single thing online about Dangerous Curves, aside from one Facebook page that has a grand total of two posts.
Also, the fact that it's labeled as a "gym" on Google might make you suspicious.
The main services offered by the venue may have been eschewed for legal reasons, but make no mistake about it: Dangerous Curves doubles as a gym and going there inevitably meant that you'd be burning more calories than you were taking in. For a while, it was one of the top fitness centers in the state of West Virginia and I can try my best to pay more homage to it, but much like our governor’s wife, I won't do the gym justice.