There are many reasons not to like strip clubs, but as reprehensible as they are, it's hard not to love what they embody: the exaggerated and unapologetic catering to vices that tiptoes along the fringes of acceptable society and the outlaws they attract. It's like the pre-Giuliani gentrified Times Square. Realistically, life was gritty in Manhattan during the 1970's--blackouts, heatwaves, serial killers, disco--but when you can safely experience it because you're decades removed from it, the cesspool that was New York, like strip clubs, somehow, paradoxically, becomes romantic.

Anyways, trying to justify bad taste is kind of silly when the subject matter is predicated on taking the most undignified traits of humanity and decorating them with neon, glitter, smoke, and mirrors. That incongruity is what I tried to capture with this series. Hopefully, these amount to more than just crass jokes about sex and misogynistic innuendo. What's truly being ridiculed here is the lengths people will go to to come up with a novel way of enticing the male libido. Those depths have been plumbed for centuries and no one has ever hit the bottom.

Or maybe I just love puns and vulgarity the size of a cocktail napkin.