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Yesterday's discussion of a certain notorious bouncer has lead us to another nightlife blog, this time penned by an articulate bouncer working his way through graduate school (yes, that "goon" holding the velvet rope may indeed have a REAL LIFE beyond gatekeeping):

Even my jaded sense of class envy — "She won't even look at you unless she sees a roll of hundreds" — hadn't yet made the valiant leap to what now, in retrospect, seems the perfectly logical assumption that prostitutes would frequent New York nightclubs. On Saturday, however, outside the parking garage, all that changed:

"You motherfucker!" she screamed, climbing out the passenger side of a late model Lexus. "You fuck me in a motherfuckin' car and now I gots to take a fuckin' cab home?!?"

"Yo! Stop hittin' my fuckin' car, bitch!"

"Fuck you, Anthony, you half a fuckin' man! I'm tellin' your motherfuckin' wife, you motherfucker!!!"

"Yeah?!? You fuckin' cunt..."

So that's how you get the whore out of your car. And you think we don't do service journalism.

Wholesome Entertainment [Clublife]