I guess sex still sells. And sells well.

This blog post in the New York Times writes of a Wall Street area "gentlemen's" club owner who says his business has risen 20% since all this financial sturm und drang has begun.

Call it the retail therapy of the Master of the Universe set. When things look bleakest, damn the wallet, and go over the top. That's why this particular business owner decided to introduce a premium package: The $1,000 lap dance.
For your one large, you get a 20 minute lap dance, a bottle of Dom Perignon champagne and a private champagne room. As a special bonus, you get to keep the girl's G-string.

Let's hope the wife or girlfriend doesn't check your credit card bills. Or your pockets.

Seems to me if you're willing to cough up $1,000 you can have not just the lap dance but the entire mattress dance as well. And in a room that's not sticky or charging you by the hour. But I guess that's just me wanting the most, er, bang for my buck, so to speak.

And I guess I'm missing the point about the whole Big Swinging wallet thing. Dropping that kind of cash for a quickie with your pants on is more about impressing your friends, or maybe convincing yourself that you're still raking in the really big bucks.

The club's owner swears there's a market for this. Male ego is the last thing to go, I suppose.

Former governor of New York Eliot Spitzer paid $3,000 for a beautiful young call girl, who in all likelihood gave him much more than a lap dance. You can't put a price on memories like that. Or can you? Considering Spitzer's record as a Wall Street watchdog, maybe we should have paid his bill for him. And given what's happened on the Street lately, we should have let him keep the G-string. Gratis.

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