Schevelle from www.tonybatman.com writes: After being in the frozen earth of just below Canada, it was so nice to get down south to Alabama for our next booking at The Pony. Once again, that magical modern piece of machinery also known as the GPS (standing for Great Piece of Shit) took us through single lane, back woods, Deliverance-type roads.

I told Tony to drive faster when I heard the banjos. Well past the time we anticipated pulling into town, we finally arrived at what was called “the good hotel”. Now, it wasn’t bad, but the whole outside entrances, no fitness center, cars parked right outside your door thing kind of sucks after being at A Loft. So after a quick shower, off to the club we go.

Okay, so this club is part of the Fantasy Showclub chain, which means boys and girls who follow the blogs (that’s both of you) that this club is a sister club to the one in Long Beach. Recall the leopard print RV dressing room. We walk in and the club is spacious and nice, plus they had festive holiday decorations and then the dressing room….was the office. No big deal, except for, things kept coming up that they needed to do in the office, well, like office work. “Could I get to that drawer?”, “I need to batch out, I’ll just be a minute”, “Let me fire this person and then you can get dressed for the next show”.

Now I must tell you, I was promised a glorious, golden star on the outside of the door dressing room, which was under construction, when I come back.

One of the first things you would notice going into this club was the house girls. When you put that many women together, you either hate each other or you get along great…and you figure that out pretty quick. The Pony had the best girls I have seen across the country when it comes to welcoming the feature. There was a petite dancer with a beautiful behind that Tony noticed, of course, and she wanted a poster so I gave her one and signed it. Check out this teamwork, she brought over about fifteen guys after that all of whom bought posters. Despite the fact that I was only there a few days, the ladies really helped out and turned what could have been an okay time, to an extraordinary time.

Normally when I travel the hotels have some sort of fitness center inside, however this one did not, but they DID have a free membership to the gym down the street. The Riviera gym was pretty cool, except for at five o’clock all the meat heads come in and won’t leave you alone. In the gym there was a tanning bed and in this tanning bed there was to be a Schevelle, only I had to get past the guy at the front desk first.

I said, “Hey I see you have tanning beds. What does one session cost?” The guy says, “Oh…ONE session. I don’t know if we can do one session. I mean we never turn it on for ONE time, we only do sessions by the tens and hundreds.”

Okay, so maybe we wasn’t that ridiculous, but not far from it. He followed this with, “Well, if you come in and I’m here, I’ll let you in.” “Okay” I said, “What time are you here?” “Five in the morning.” “Yeah, um, I go to bed about that time so I’ll have to take my chances.” I came in the next day, different guy, no charge, no problem.

As usual, the d.j. determines significantly how well you do on stage. Dap, short for Dapper, knocked it out of the park with Tony. At one point the decibel level in the club changed noticeably and I looked around to find that everyone was up and screaming with enthusiasm. Tony, even without a cordless mic, acted as if an orchestra conductor and maneuvered the crowd with Dap into a frenzy of excitement. We need this Alabama spirit in every club. Now this would be an extraordinary story if only it contained these single occurrences, but wait…there’s more.

With all of the gossip surrounding Tiger Woods in regards to women being paid to stay quiet or paid for their sexual service to him, I began to ponder a question. How much would you take to fuck Tiger Woods, OOOORRRRRR how much would you take for Tiger to fuck you?

I asked only men because half of the fun was watching the negotiating that goes on in their head as they contemplate the answer. I picked a number and asked “So would you fuck Tiger Woods for two million dol….” “YES!” (no hesitation) “Okay, would you fuck Tiger Woods for one mil…” “YES!” “Alright, would you let Tiger Woods fuck you for one mil…..” “Shit, I’ll buy him dinner before.” Forget all the polls and questionnaires CNN or MSNBC do on the pulse of the economy. I think they could just ask that one question and get all the information that they need about the state of our economy.

I sat in the “dressing room”/office putting away my make-up, and packing up my bag on the last night. We were trying to get out before the club closed to avoid the mass exodus at five AM, which we didn’t. This was by far, the best week we had in a while. We did very well financially as well as having a great time with the all the staff and entertainers. This is indeed, a rare theme not found in all clubs. So when converging on this strange land of Alabama and collecting yet another Pony in my belt, I was stunned at the gusto and zeal I found there.

In summation, knowing that I am a Longhorn, people would ask me “So are you going to say ‘Roll Tide’?” My thought was When hell freezes over, and while hell is still really, really hot, the last night I found myself on stage being persuaded (forced by a certain emcee who will remain nameless, but his name rhymes with Shony Skatman) saying “Roll Tide, Roll.”