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Uber Hoss
Seeking the Charm in a City Known for Harm

Uber Hoss is a bald, bearded giant who drives a white Toyota SUV [without a machine gun mount] around the urban desert of Baltimore.

This past Tuesday night he picked up some fine strippers and dropped them off at work, deciding then that he had one more lift before he turned in for the night. Like Uber Joe, Uber Hoss does not like working after 9 PM, when the vamps and hoodrats rise up out of the postmodern rubble—but when duty calls it’s a call of duty, especially when concerned with booty…

I pick up my last call of the night, some skinny, working-class guy in his late forties, lives in an okay neighborhood—single homes but small and somewhat rundown. He has just won $500 playing KENO and wants to go to a strip club. We drive down to Christine’s on North Point Boulevard and he’s afraid to get out, says, “This place looks sketchy.”

I said, “Yeah, it’s a strip club. It’s supposed to be sketchy.”

So the long and the short of it is this guy pays for my drinks and gives me money to tip the girls so that I’ll basically be his bodyguard for the night.

The girls in Christine’s were really fine. I got to see all of them once. But they were wearing pasties on their nipples and string bikini bottoms—it’s the County, no full nudity. This guy doesn’t want that. He wants nude.

This is a Tuesday night and all of the strip clubs we went to were totally dead. There were rarely more patrons than dancers. Whatever is doing it, that end of the economy is not enjoying the recent economic recovery—at least not in Baltimore, City or County.

So we head down to the Haven on Haven Street and the girls there are just as hot but totally naked. So he gets a lap dance, buys a lot of drinks. We’re having a good time. But there are no backroom dances—no private stuff. At about this point I realize that this guy is determined to get laid.

So then we go down to Desire, which used to be Sherrie’s [Show Bar]. The girls there were, ehh…not so much. We had gone from beautiful, in-shape white and mixed-race girls to these skinny black girls.

I was the only white person in there other than him. There was a Puerto Rican bar tender who was pretty cool. This guy then starts to negotiate for a private “backroom dance,” and tries to talk this girl down in price. But she demands $220. He goes back there, fucks her, blows his load—and had already blown his wallet load—and it was time to go.

This is just after midnight and this guy has gone through his entire KENO winnings and is now feeling guilty as I drive him home. It turns out that he’s married and he has to explain his lateness to his wife. By the time I get him back to his Baltimore County neighborhood he’s blaming me for ruining his marriage!

Can you believe that?

In the end he has me drop him off three blocks away from his house so he can take his walk of shame. It was about 12:30 a.m. when the night ended—a cool story, but a bad idea all around and not profitable for me in the end.

Let the Weak Fall: A Guide to Urban Strife for the Misanthropic Man

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