Associated Press writer Mitch Stacy, evidently bored with lobbing questions at members of this year’s Super Bowl teams, decided to get away from press-row and write a piece about the local color in and around Tampa Bay: And by “local color” I mean “strip clubs.” Mr. Stacy revealed in his piece that there are no fewer than 43 such establishments in this year’s Super Bowl city, places with names like Lip Stixx and the Bliss Cabaret. Stacy reports that, because of all the tourists and athletes flocking to Tampa this week, some of said clubs have brought in independent contractors from other cities to help keep up with demand, and one is even erecting a tent to handle all the overflow. And though Tampa has had a no-lap-dance ordinance on the books for years, the local cops say they’ll be too busy insuring public safety to worry about enforcing it.
Of course, any time the words “NFL” and “strip club” come up in the same piece, our minds all turn to the league’s most notorious patron of such places: Pacman Jones. This is Pacman’s legacy whether he likes it or not – to forever be the guy who liked making it rain so much that he threw away a lucrative career as a football star. Seriously Pacman…they’re only ti**ies. If you need to see some that bad, just hire a ho to come back to the crib, or put in a porn tape, or buy yourself a camera and start stalking college girls. I realize some of those girls have magnificent ones, but even the most magnificent ones in the history of the world are not so magnificent that it’s worth literally tossing away millions of dollars. And yes Pacman, we know you’re walking the straight-and-narrow, and are absolutely not in Tampa Bay right now doing a tour of those 43 strip clubs. If somebody wants to find you they’ll have to call the library. And ask for Adam.
(hattip: Boomer of Bear Goggles On)Tags: Pacman Jones, super bowl