Mavericks and the mysterious case of a Romanian stripper visa

I’m a firm believer that our beloved country is the golden goose who lays regular eggs. We are endowed with inordinate beauty, proud heritage (of the last 18 years) and gays can marry. The rand is firmer than R Kelly on a crate of Viagra, our infrastructure development is rapidly evolving and our competitiveness on the global marketplace has seen a steady up turn. Our culture even allows women to show their knees in public (Seriously, waddup Arabs?). Yet with all these riches we produce an unwarranted amount of weird, whacky and downright drugged-up rulings and regulations. Child rapists seem to get sentences shorter than the age of the child, government seems to use the budget as a personal play-pen and the poor are condemned while the fat cats are lauded. It’s this weird topsy-turvy social acid trip… and I haven’t even started talking about strippers.

Mavericks have recently been condemned by the Human Rights Commission for a litany of human trafficking charges. They stand accused of importing Serbians, giving them a place to stay, stable meals and then letting them keep all the tips that they make while dancing. What pricks! Clearly the almighty protectors of humanity at the HRC have never had their annual soiree in down town Serbia where their chief export are tractors, war mongering dictators and chicks that are willing to whip their baps out for a fifty. While moral and ethical standards are not on the forefront of the Serbian political agenda, they do have a fabulous Nuclear power plant and an unemployment figure of 20%. Throw in a bunch of Ukrainians (How’s Chernobyl this time of year by the way?), the odd Uzbekistani (where a quarter of the country can’t even properly pronounce their nation’s name) and a few Russian slappers whose annual average temperature is a sweltering -20 degrees, and you have half the Western Bloc in nipple tassels on a standard Maverick’s Friday. Their countries of birth don’t quite match the exotic beauty and prowess of the Mother City, and with our exchange rate they can buy a car on a night of tips when you convert Rands into Albanian Lek.

Personally I’m not one for strip joints. Sure they may do a scrumptious lunch buffet, but being able to stare directly into some Hungarian’s uterus is not my idea of a jiving weekend activity. Regardless, the ability to throw your feet behind your ears in the nude is a skill in high demand. Our prudish Cape Town beacons of promiscuity require 13 Caramel Martinis and 500 bucks before you even see a bit of nip, and then they want to be unionised. The Eastern Europeans know the deal before they leave their homelands; they aren’t coming here under the pretence of becoming dentists, they’re here to strip, and they’re free to leave whenever mid-winter Slovenia seems more appealing.

But lets let the figures speak for themselves. On a good night, one of the high demand girls can probably do 15 – 20 lap dances. At 400 bucks a pop that’s 6 – 8 grand a night, 20 nights a month and all of a sudden we have a Romanian earning enough dollar to buy out her brother’s donkey farm back home. Yes there are deductions, but at the end of the month if these girls rope in 40K then they aren’t exactly the abused sex slaves that mass media purport them to be.

Have you ever seen a miserable stripper? No, they’re fucking smiling (or sucking lollipops). Its probably not the career you dreamt of as a 6 year old, but its paying those bills while your body still has some form. The pension probably isn’t great and I doubt you get medical aid, but it’s a far cry from your average Bosnian bean farmer and you get to live in the most beautiful cosmopolitan city on the planet. There’s only one real skill; not being ugly. Its easy money in the face of adversity and I applaud the girls with the courage to go through what might be a degrading experience to earn enough to send back home. I’m on your side girls (not as in I’m nudely swinging around a lubricated pole for money, but as in I believe in your cause and stuff).

Follow @stroobz on Twitter as he wades through nuclear waste in Croatia and examines the potential for a nude pizza delivery service.

Like it? Share with your friends!

One Comment

  1. Whahahahaha, classic stroob, you had me at “(How’s Chernobyl this time of year by the way?)”

    P.S. Fully keen on a naked pizza delivery service! Mynakedpizzabynight!

Comments are closed.