Great news for guilt-ridden pornsick knobs and the soy-addled hot babes who give’em lap dances: the vegan strip club. At this Portland, OR depot for human degradation, the strippers don’t wear leather, and the menu features fajitas made with fake meat. However, according to a writer who attended the grand opening, tofurkey wasn’t exactly the main attraction. In fact, nary a morsel was anywhere in sight. What a shocker.
When scandalized blamer Jo contacted me about the aforementioned strip joint, I got all fired up to make remarks like “At last! Now dudely Portland hipsters can feel sanctimonious while actively oppressing women!” And “A vegan strip club makes about as much sense as Jews for Jesus, Log Cabin Republicans, and biologists who worship an invisible cosmic concierge.” I hinted at the feminism/vegetarianism connection in a recent post on the horror that is the megameatyocracy, and I’ll restate here: I have found animal cruelty to be inconsistent with the revolution. It follows that veganism, if practiced for reasons of ethics, is inconsistent with strip clubs.
But it turns out the vegan aspect of this vegan strip club thing is kind of a non-story, by dint of the paucity of actual veganosity going on there. The women employees themselves aren’t necessarily vegans, and the customers are not scanned at the door for bacon-breath. The owner is supposedly a shunner of meat, and a local Fox News report describes him as having “ideals,” but a guy who’s quoted as saying “we put the meat on the pole, not on the plate” is no heroic activist; he’s just another fucking pimp with a smirky angle.
Even real vegans, incidentally, have nothing to feel particularly sanctimonious about. Nobody’s innocent.