Bold, raw, forbidden, The 21 Laws of Surviving a Gentlemen's Club is a wake-up call for all patrons. You don't have to be a strip club aficionado to recognize that the behavior of the average patron is evolving before your eyes----rampant narcissism, lack of focus, and no agenda all spell danger. 

Darius Allen, author and survivor, confronts this culture of misguided patrons with 21 laws that focus on priority and purpose. He reminds patrons that a gentlemen's club is one of the most voracious, capitalistic environments on Earth. Those who enter this jungle clueless and slaphappy, believing that they can escape unscathed, are sadly mistaken. 

Much of The 21 Laws of Surviving a Gentlemen's Club deals with the interaction--physical and otherwise--between a patron and a stripper, but Darius also examines the inner working of a social environment that wants to swallow up your money and spit you out. 

This book will serve as a fiery pep talk before a planned trip, a conversation starter for the bold, and a syllabus for all rookies who want to enter the jungle and avoid the infamous Walk of Shame. 




To live is to suffer, to survive is to find some meaning in the suffering. 

Friedrich Nietzsche 

The 21 laws are strictly about survival. Yes, this is a matter of survival. Before you even think about matching wits and gamesmanship with a stripper, knowing that your survival is at stake is paramount. You may believe that it’s all fun and games, but it’s no fantasy when your money disappears, and your thirst remains. Being on the receiving end of an Air Dance is downright depressing. Suffering through a VIP that you regret paying for is devastating. Although the wounds on your bank account may heal, the effect on your psyche is permanent.

Outsiders and simpletons will scoff at the use of the word survival, but for those who know, it's as fitting as the strap on a stripper’s stiletto. 

To grasp the 21 laws successfully, one must first take an honest look at the landscape. There are several types of strip clubs: fully nude, topless, bikini, or the newly created hybrids popping up called exotic clubs (primarily, nightclubs with go-go dancers). Some clubs only play hip hop’s latest strip club anthems. And as far as rock music, you can always find a club in the middle of America playing the highly appropriate “Girls, Girls, Girls” by Mötley Crüe. 

Each club offers its list of special features: full bar, cigars, champagne rooms, food menus, massage girls, porn stars, just to name a few. They also have their set of rules that may be broken depending on the stripper and the shift. 

You have your mainstream chains like Déjà Vu, Cheetahs, and the Spearmint Rhino. There’s Rick’s Cabaret, a brand that trades on the Nasdaq—yes, you can buy shares instead of making it rain. There’s the famous Sam’s Hofbrau located in downtown Los Angeles, also known as the Cake Factory. In Hollywood, you can have a crazy time at a spot aptly called Crazy Girls. If you’ve turned on the radio, you may have heard about Miami’s King of Diamonds, or Atlanta’s Magic City, clubs referenced by rap artists such as Drake and Juicy J. There are even BYOB (bring your own booze) clubs all throughout Texas that are fully nude and don’t close until 5:00 a.m.—imagine that. 

It’s impossible not to mention Las Vegas and its staple clubs like Sapphire and Crazy Horse III. Those clubs are mini coliseums with multiple VIP rooms; you can literally get lost in lust.

There is absolutely no shortage of strip clubs (it’s a multi-billion-dollar industry for a reason). Variety is the spice of life, but when discussing the different types of clubs, the bottom line is often overshadowed by bells and whistles. Too often patrons fall victim to the glamorization and the allure of the strip club industry. Once you buy into the facade, proper perspective exits the back door. 

Ask yourself this question: would you rather get bit by a Bushmaster snake or a Coral snake? 

It doesn’t matter. 

A bite from either snake can be fatal, and that’s the bottom line. 

No matter the club, they’re all jungles. Regardless of their names and status; never mind whatever is on their social media account, flyer or website; forget about the lyrics you hear in any rap song; they’re all jungles full of wildlife and endless danger. The only major differences are the level of intensity and the population of ferocious predators within. 

You have to watch out for carnivorous untamed felines—most covered in rosettes (tattoos); money tree (pole) dwelling primates; and the various species of the land roaming (Spearmint) rhino; BBW’s (Big Beautiful Woman), PAWG’s (Phat Ass White Girl), and juicy-thicks. There are Vultures that hover around the main floor waiting for you to slip up and expose your wounds. And you don’t need to be close to the water to be attacked by a pack of Piranhas—just reserve a table and keep the bottles popping. You must also be on the lookout for poisonous snakes in fishnet dresses that slither around corners, tell beautiful lies, and strike when undetected—the jungle is full of surprises. 

You can stroll into a dead club with only five strippers on stage and leave hours later, broke and despaired. A corn-fed stripper from Iowa can provide just as much venom as a tanned stripper from Florida. In addition, you can visit America’s top 10 strip clubs and still walk away highly disappointed from the selection and the lack of customer service. 

Don’t get caught up in the hype. Always see a club for what it truly is; a jungle. Your challenge is to cut through the brush, survive the terrain, and avoid the infamous Walk of Shame. 

The Walk of Shame? This phenomenon is rarely discussed, and that’s for good reason. 

Have you ever witnessed a pale-faced man escaping a club within an inch of his life? Embarrassedly, limping away, licking his wounds, and his pockets hemorrhaging from strippers gouging his funds. The once confident, charismatic smile he wore has now morphed into a lifeless, stoic stare as he hides his face like a celebrity fleeing the paparazzi. It’s a morbid sight. That dreadful look of defeat can haunt a strip club amateur for months. His pride and bank account have been pillaged. In a few days, he will be hit with ATM withdrawal fees, adding insult to injury. 

The Walk of Shame is real! 

What about the rookie who is planning his first strip club excursion with the fellas while telling his parents a fib about going to a late night movie? Even though an inaugural trip to the strip club is a common rite of passage, fathers rarely get the invite to this ceremonious event. The young man’s adrenaline is rushing while listening to the latest strip club anthem. He’s worked hard for the $300 that rests in his pocket and is foolishly over-confident that he will only spend $100 for the time of his life; the rest is for flashing. 

The rookie has a target, a stripper that he and his entourage have been following on various social media accounts. They drool over her twerk videos and bathroom selfies. In his mind, he has his plan of attack, but sadly, he will only be taking his cues from lyrics and rap videos. Finally, they enter, and he makes eye contact with his target—a stripper named Trouble, and her sinful curves are a problem. 

Four hours later, he’s begging a friend to borrow $40—his pockets are empty, his eyes are watery, and his heart is pounding. Despite his protest, they drag him out of the club and flee the vicinity. He survived his first trip, but it will take him months to recover from that Walk of Shame. 

The brave souls who've entered a dimly lit, neon-tinted club quickly realize that the spotlight is not on the stage; it’s on you. That’s when you learn that you are the prey and survival is the name of the game. 

After all that, the only thing that matters is that you live to fight another day, or rather, you live to suffer another night. You've earned your stripes, and your jeans have been plastered with glitter like a badge of honor. You have officially found meaning in the suffering. 

You are a survivor.