This is my last Hatchet article, my terminus Oedipus rexus. I will not scribble for this rag again as long as my chest beats on this Godforsaken patch of earth called Foggy Bottom. So says I. So says my God. So says my Hatchet editor, Helder “Satan” Gil.
For this elegy I was going to impart the boundless wisdom gained from four long and tortuous years of truly living the GW experience. But then I realized that would be like giving away $120,000. It would be like giving a part of my nurtured soul, my fortified body, my buff and blue being to the millions of Hatchet readers and I will NOT share this.
I was then going to interview our venerable President Trachtenberg but it was too difficult to arrange. So I decided to interview someone more accessible – a venerable stripper. I am not talking about those desperate K-Mart brand, frat-party strippers that use bottles. I am talking about those statuesque saline sirens at the distinguished gentlemen’s club on M Street, Camelot.
Before I could make the nocturnal excursion, however, I discovered an acquaintance of mine was quite the familiar boy with Washington’s women of sin. For his protection, I will call him “Dirty Joe.” Dirty Joe started out at Georgetown U. in 1994.
(This is a true story. If you ask me on the street I will even give you his name and number for your verification after ascertaining you’re not his mother.) It was the brisk, fulgent fall of ’94 and Dirty Joe was your regular, clean-eared lad fresh as Yoplait yogurt.
He came over to GW numerous times to visit during our freshman year. None of the Thurston frumps found him enticing despite his Georgetown status. He was like most Georgetown pups – boring, crispy clean and lame-o. I still remember going to the Georgetown dorm, New South, freshman year to watch these clones play cut-throat computer Jeopardy all night. Dirty Joe didn’t even experiment with doobie smoking, new hairstyles or nose picking until his sophomore year.
Then, that sophomore spring he met Sammy the Bull (protective alias), a British student from Britain. Sammy the Bull was loaded out of his linguini like a lot of the foreigners at Georgetown and GW. Sammy the Bull and Dirty Joe would occasionally go to Joanna’s together, a less exclusive stripping establishment adjacent to Camelot. (According to Dirty Joe, Joanna’s is named after the owner’s lesbian wife.)
As Dirty Joe says, “(Sammy the Bull) was a bullshitter.” He would b.s. to other Georgetown students that his mom starred in “Octopussy.” He tried to b.s. the strippers into getting involved with him and did manage to have a stripper girlfriend for a while.
Dirty Joe did not become “Dirty” Joe until spring his junior year. It was then that he and Sammy began attending Joanna’s four to five times a week. They got caught up in b.s.ing a pair of Joanna’s strippers into believing they were in the music industry. Sammy and Dirty Joe would buy them champagne and arrive at the club in rented limousines financed by bounced checks. They offered to take these women to the Grammies. The strippers lapped it up. (Lap dancing is illegal in D.C.)
One night Dirty Joe found himself, Sammy and the two strippers back at Sammy’s place at 3 a.m. For this article, I will call the strippers “Dolly Parton” and “Suzanne Summers.” Dolly and Suzanne pulled out some coke. Dirty Joe estimates 80 percent of the full-time strippers in D.C. do coke. Dirty Joe never tried coke, but if you were alone with two gorgeous strippers with breasts bigger than your head, what would you do?
Yeah duh, so after puffing the powder, Dirty Joe was devirginated by Suzanne Summers. NOT, but they did have sex. Dirty Joe couldn’t recount the highlight reel to me very well because at the time of intercourse he was distracted by his racing pulse, constricted throat and the other effects of the cocaine. He doesn’t think he gave Suzanne Summers a stellar performance, although she did call him “Thighmaster.”
Dirty Joe claims he never became addicted to the cocaine. He was addicted to the lifestyle. Sammy would take Dirty Joe to expensive restaurants like Four Seasons. They would spend their evenings at Joanna’s snorting coke late into the night. They bought their cocaine from some Mexican dude named Plato that lived by DuPont Circle.
Dirty Joe admits he was pretty messed up for a while. He would walk back to Georgetown from Sammy’s Rosslyn apartment many a morning. The light of dawn and rush hour traffic would accompany him across Key Bridge. He would sleep all day and began getting headaches only cocaine would stop.
Two things happened that ended the merriment. First, Sammy ran up a monstrous tab at Joanna’s and $700 when the ensuing check bounced. Second, the night of the Grammies, Dirty Joe and Sammy the Bull stood up the pair of strippers at the airport. Messages left on their telephone machines by the strippers implied it would not be safe for them to return to the establishment.
Sammy the Bull flunked out of school. Dirty Joe is back in the Boston area. He received all Ws that final semester and now works on a hockey newsletter. He no longer does cocaine and his parents never did find out about his usage or the stripper nights. Cocaine highs are accompanied by cocaine lows and Dirty Joe said, “I milked the depression act pretty hard with my parents and the school.”
Dirty Joe says if he had to do it all over again he probably would, “I knew I was in a fantasy world.”
Good for you Dirty Joe. Good for you. And to the rest of you, good-bye forever.
This article appeared in the April 23, 1998 issue of the Hatchet.