Week 3 on stands in Night Life, Week 2 Pharoah’s Review, Buffalo.com a go!

November 28, 2006

    Don’t forget!  If you’re near a radio on Wednesday morning, make sure to tune in to 1340 AM at 11 AM (or thereabouts) as I’ll be on the air for ‘Dialog with Scott Leffler’, a one hour radio interview/call in show to plug the column as well as the upcoming book along with my other books.  Feel free to call in and mess with the show!  I encourage it! 
     Speaking of that, the new issue of Night Life is on stands today with a scathing, scorching diatribe on how parents need to beat their kids if they misbehave in public.  It’s week 3 of my ‘Big Words I Know By Heart’ column and next month I’ll be replying to reader comments and questions on the last week of the month, so read up, digest, and for the LOVE OF GOD email me at ‘bigwordsmailbag@yahoo.com’.  To date I’ve gotten 0 emails in that box (unless you count penis enlargement ads) and I know it takes a while to build up a column following, but what the f?  Show me some love, folks!
     And it sounds like the Buffalo.com blog is a go.  They are launching in February but starting up well before hand, so I’ll keep you posted.  I’ve been asked to keep quiet about it on the radio show, so keep that on the Q-T.  Instead of moving my official site again, I’m thinking I’m going to do a sister site that’s PG-13 Rated entitled ‘Buy My Books!’.  It’s sort of an in joke for the email newsletter masses.  You can subscribe for free by emailing me (once again) at ‘bigwordsmailbag@yahoo.com’.  Drop your pen?  Here it is again: bigwordsmailbag@yahoo.com.  Oh, and if you want to see your name in print on the last week of December in the illustrious pages of Night Life magazine, buffalo’s premier weekly paper about booze, porn, and tom waters’ fascination with both, you can feel free to shoot me an email at:


Did you get that?  Since last week’s column was a reprint of ‘A Dying Breed’ from ‘First Person, Last Straw’, I won’t be posting it here.  I will, however, repost the Pharoah’s review from last week’s issue.
Enjoy and I’ll talk to some of you on air this Wednesday, Tom Waters

Drink Like An Egyptian: Pharoah’s Gentleman’s Club

By the time you read this, adult star Brittany Andrews will be gone from Pharoah’s. Originally, I was going to interview her, but I got such a runaround from her agent that I decided the project was far too high maintenance to waste my time with. I’ve had my share of primadonnas for one lifetime, and actresses like Brittany are a dime a dozen. Instead, my buddies and I went on a regular night out to Pharoah’s. And by regular, I mean extraordinary.

Having left Otto’s completely demolished with a small army of drunken, sex crazed deviants in tow, we make a mass exodus to Pharoah’s on a Wednesday. What is it with me and Wednesdays? We’re a baker’s dozen of plastered men and women who roll in with me for the occasion of Intentionally Bald Mike’s 27th birthday. We pop in, hit the bar, and line up for our first round of drink orders. The place is mobbed for any week day, and ten minutes go by at the bar with cash in hand waiting to get our first round. In my younger days, I would have blown up, walked out or complained in a dramatic fashion. Now that I’m older, I realize that they have important regulars to take care of, and it is really, really busy.

Rhonda, one of the two gorgeous bartenders working the line, pops up with her rackstastic self and fills my needs. She’s got some sort of strappy affair over her chest that pulls my line of sight in like a vacuum while we tally up our orders. Blue Light and a double of Maker’s Mark for me, Cosmo for Lindsay, Blue Light for IBM, and many, many assorted drinks for Joey Martin, Tony ‘The Daiq’, Heather, Little Chris, Stephanie, Colleen, Johanna, and Beth. I feel like the last three minutes of Romper Room calling out all these names.

Jenna, a voluptuous blonde, is working the main stage to ‘Sweet Leaf’. The crop of dancers is phenomenal this year, and it’s only Pharoah’s 2nd year in business. A leggy brunette with shoulder length curly hair and white hose seesaws on stage to hip hop. She’s got a button nose and keeps working the stage while we take a higher vantage point at one of the smaller stages to the right. A blonde in red satin works a pole at our table and I feel bad because I’m liquid rich and paper poor. My buddy IBM is called to the stage (after Tony ‘the Daiq’ sets it up) for his birthday and two leggy brunettes sit him in a chair and go to work on him to 50 Cent’s ‘It’s Your Birthday’ or whatever it’s called. He gets the full lap dance treatment, the DJ gives Night Life their due props over the mic, and everybody but me hit’s the rail to catch the action up close and personal.

After they break him in, the girls lay IBM out on the stage bent over and start flaying him 27 times in the ass with a bullwhip for every year on this planet. Cheyanne throttles him like a pack mule. Instead of crying uncle, he takes it like a man and limps gingerly back to his seat afterwards. IBM is gonna have a whole new fetish going into his 27th year. Joey Martins, Tony ‘the Daiq’ and myself go up to the bar and grab a round of shots. Yaegermeister for them and Maker’s Mark for me. We grab a smoke and go for another round of shots. A slim blonde twirls on the gold pole with high silver heels and everyone is pleased. Another blonde with a French maid outfit and a brunette with a leopard bra (Angela and Kiara) share the stage. IBM hits the rail like a lost puppy. Everyone is wondering where Joey Martins and Tony ‘the Daiq’ are and it’s decided that they’re getting extensive lap dances in the lounge towards the back. They come out and a lap dance is purchased for IBM, who remains in back for two full songs and comes out looking pretty fulfilled on all counts. If you’ve never been, Pharoah’s has their bathrooms and their ATM machine located ten feet from the lap dance rooms, which is both evil and a brilliant execution of design flow at the same time. Two more rounds of shots are done with the ladies, the gents, and Rhonda, and my notes begin to degenerate into scrambling chicken scratch not unlike the note pad of a stroke patient. Midnight comes and goes, and we all have to get up so very, very early. On the way home, IBM, Lindsay and I pop in to Mighty Taco and I manage to shovel an entire Mighty Pack down my drunken bottomless hole of a drunken mouth.

Pharoah’s opened with a strong pedigree and delivered with top notch talent. The massive influx of patrons is a testament to what they do right in adult entertainment. To pack a parking lot with well behaved porn freaks on a Wednesday is no small feat and from what manager Bob Warner tells me, it’s a common occurrence. They pack them in and keep the boys in line with astoundingly hot house dancers, reasonably priced drink specials and a full slate of headliners. I am impressed. King Tutankhamen is only spinning in his grave because he wants a lap dance. Badly. We had a mythic time at Pharoah’s. I look forward to coming back after Brittany Andrews gets the hell out of town.

Twenty lashes and eleven to grow on,

Tom ‘strapless’ Waters

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