We'd watched a few episodes of The Ultimate Coyote Ugly Search and it seemed like a tough gig. Like Dallas Cowgirl cheerleader boot camp morphed into So You Think You Can Dance AND you think you're the next American Idol, tossed with a dry Martooni, shaken, not stirred, and a dose of attitude from Hell's Kitchen (that guy needs Prozac, man). The payoff is this.
Ducking through the crowd at.....
.....headed toward Houdini's Magic Shop with said chillen' in tow, TWC stumbled to a crawl. I'm thinking that here is the real thing, removed from the imagery of TV.
TWC: Look, there's the Coyote Ugly girls dancing on the bar.
House Blond: Dad, I REALLY don't want to look at a bunch of bras hanging from the ceiling.
TWC: Is that what those are?
Dangling like so many scissored ties at Pinnacle Peak (Garden Grove: RIP) were dozens of BRAS. I'm thinking it's time for Lasik because I missed that entirely. Well, I saw SOMETHING, but bras? Course, the glasses were off so that the twenty-somethings wouldn't notice I was old. Hey, works for me in the mirror. Lose the specs and I'm still 27.
The House Blond was even less impressed with the trucks cruising the strip with twelve foot lettered signs inviting all comers to call 702-Sluts-R-Us to line up a Real Girl to come strip for YOU in the privacy of your hotel room. Also grateful to those in need, passing out smut fliers on the street, for sparing the kids. Just a little decorum, but a nice touch anyway.
Then there's the upscale smut............
Note to parents: You just got to 'splain that some things are icky and that the daughters need to stay off the pole. They're brighter than you think.
What exactly is Coyote Ugly? This. Or if it's really bad you chew off the other arm because she'll be looking for a one-armed man.