By New Times
By Connor Radnovich
By Robrt L. Pela and Amy Silverman
By Ray Stern
By Keegan Hamilton
By Matthew Hendley
By Monica Alonzo
By Monica Alonzo
Y'all are gonna think I'm crazier than Houston plucking his eyeball out in that London hotel room, but I'm here to spit the truth like Twista, Jesus, Buddha and Kanye West, and that truth is: Most strip clubs bite big, hairy camel balls.
Now, no one loves lookin' at nekkid women better than me and my home-girl Jett, a.k.a. the AC/DC Keira Knightley, but the majority of chichi bars in the world are all about the chedda, and nothing else. The chicks are as cold and hard as their implants, and the management would just as soon have one of their door goons grab you by the ankles, turn you upside down and shake you 'til every last nickel falls out. The customers ain't much better. They sit there like zombies, hoarding dollar bills and taking midget sips off their overpriced Heinekens, looking as if they'd whip it out and jerk it if they didn't know they'd get their hineys whupped. Usually, it's a sorry-assed, humorless scene. D-u-double-l, dull.
But like I say, there are some exceptions, one being Pantera's Show Club, at 4139 West Indian School Road, near 43rd Avenue. First off, folks there are friendly, and there's not the constant hustle to separate you from your paper. The girls seem sweet, and all-natural, at least as far as the Jettster and I could determine. And just as important, there's a nice racial mix in the stable of chicklettes, as well as in the crowd. On any one of the three stages, there are bouncy black badunkadunks, tight butter-pecan booties, and dimpled, creamy white derrières, all clothed only in the thinnest wisps of G-strings. It's a veritable Rainbow Coalition of butt cheeks, all clappin' to the finest joints in hip-hop and R&B, dropped by none other than my man DJ Turtle on the decks.
The vibe at Pantera's is akin to a neighborhood sports bar, albeit with some titty on display. But what really makes the spot dope is that, unlike the majority of the competition, Pantera's management has some freakin' imagination. The other clubs just put the bargain ballerinas on parade and let 'em work the pole. But Pantera's dice are loaded on Tuesday nights, when the crowds flow in for the weekly bouts of Foxy Boxing. That's where topless tarts pull on oversize boxing gloves and smack each other up for three rounds, with a $100 purse going to the winner, $50 to the loser.
"People really get into it," relates GM Ray Muñoz, Pantera's de facto Don King. "We've been doing it for about two months now, and the response is overwhelming. Guys come in from all over. It started with us just showing boxing on our big-screen TVs, and it was like sardines in here. That's where we got the idea to get the girls involved."
Two fellas are chosen from the audience to be corner men for the ladies, and "advise" them on the finer points of the sweet science. Injuries are rare because the gloves are almost as big as the girls, so there's not much damage they can do to each other. Usually, there are two bouts beginning around 10 p.m. But when the J-girl and I arrive one recent Tuesday night, we're a little late, and the first fight has already gone down. So while intermission's still on, we perambulate over to the VIP section to kick it with Chi-town R&B artist Sergio and his pal Michael Moore of Star Status Entertainment.
"I was in R. Kelly's first group, MGM," explains Sergio, a good-lookin', buff dude with an easygoin' way about him. "And Will Smith and I did a song together called 'Boom! Shake the Room.' Now I'm just searching for a new major deal, so I'm finishing my album and getting it ready for the summer."
"What's the name of the album?" inquires the Jenna Haze of P-town.
"It's going to be called Any Positions," he says, smiling. "A little something for the ladies."
"Ooooh, I like that," squeals the Jettster. "So tell us, why are you in the PHX?"
"I'm a snowbird," laughs the singer. "I came out here to buy a home because it's so cold in Chicago. When I got out here, everyone was like, 'Oh, my God, what are you doin' living here?' So I've been doing some concerts. I did one with Too Short and Cypress Hill's Sen Dog at the Celebrity Theatre November 6. I have another one coming up in March."
Come to find out Sergio has the same manager (Ms. Kia Kanei of Star Status Entertainment) as Soul Ghetto, the four-man group we caught singing at Jackson's on Third's Showcase Sunday a few weeks back ("All Keyed Up," December 23), and that Sergio's going to feature them on a joint from his new album. Sergio imparts the 411 that Soul Ghetto has been signed to an indie label in California, and that they're still in the running for the Showcase Sunday finals. So big ups to Soul Ghetto, who're reppin' for the 602, the 623, and the 480.
About this time, Ray taps us on the shoulder, and asks if we'd like to conversate with the honeys who'll be squaring off against each other for the next bout. He then leads us back to Pantera's dressing room where Jett's eyes nearly pop out of their sockets staring at all of that hella fine womanflesh in various states of undress. While she's slobbering all over herself, I play the gentleman with Monique, a curvaceous cutie with long, brownish-blond hair who'll be wearing the red gloves tonight, and little else.