Spearmint Rhino Las Vegas Gentlemen’s Club Review


They say no press is bad press. If this is the case, then the proprietors of Spearmint Rhino should thank their girls for unwittingly supplying two of their caste to our party, for further entertainment at home, when we left. Otherwise, the club would not have even warranted a review. Give those girls a raise. Oh, wait. You charge them to dance there. Swell.

God, but it looks so purty from the outside...

Bereft of a notebook, I sat at a table provided by the lower management of The Spearmint Rhino (3344 S Highland Dr. Las Vegas, (702) 966-3600) with a small gathering of friends and colleagues. Friday nights at Spearmint are an experiment in over-absorption: packed with patrons, more girls than the 20,000 square feet of space should hold, deafening music, and lights so low your eyes and brain have to work overtime for cursory, tunnel vision aesthetics.

Gosh, this is a truly hard thing for a writer to have to say, but my time spent at the club was truly unremarkable. My esteemed colleague Paul, charmingly jaded to the whole scene, sipped his drink and talked to the lingerie clad girls in his lap like he was buying car insurance. My girlfriend struck up a conversation with another patron on how to talk dirty to strippers in foreign languages, and paid little attention to the dancers themselves. My best bud Dan sat and brooded, pining for entertainment. The party as a whole was entirely underwhelmed. This is not something you want to attribute to an overly expensive night on the town, especially one that involved boobs and crotch-grinding.

If you do not take advantage of the limo service from your strip hotel, you will shell out thirty clams for a cover, and will never be guaranteed a seat. The girls will find one for you, you know, if you are going to pay them to ride your lap for three minutes. In fact they will try to steal one from someone else. The problem simply comes down to overcrowding. While there are more girls per square foot here than perhaps at any other topless establishment in town, there are probably three or four times the patrons. Thus, the dancers have no need to finesse your funny munny out of you. If you deny their immediate demand for a dance, they can always find someone else.

One of the most entertaining aspects of the night was when we tried to leave. Trying to navigate drunken girls (some of which we acquired while there) through the labyrinth of halls, gift shops (!), and special rooms to a working exit was a Herculean challenge. It was like a hedge maze of breasts, poorly planned décor, and shame. The night got a helluva lot better, but only after we high-tailed it out of there with our acquisitions and found better watering holes.

On my patented Sliding Scale of Titty Bars, the club will rank a two, for the sole reason that the physical quality of the dancers is so high. All of the high quality strippers in Las Vegas dance here at some point, but the elbow-to-elbow atmosphere, high cover charge, and lack of literally anything else to do but shell out money for overpriced drinks and unenthusiastic lap dances kills the score for the club. Seriously though, attributing bawdy witticisms so pathetic as this club feels like calling a retard a retard to his face and then laughing. I don’t feel overly comfortable with it, but my rabid fans demand it.

Gentlemen’s Clubber Tip #3: Do not be afraid to say, “No.” In the first half hour of your visit, answer in the resoundingly negative to all requests for a dance. Strippers talk to one another throughout the night, identifying the high rollers, the penniless losers, and the suckers. If they spot you for a pushover, you will be asked rather impersonally if you want a dance for the rest of the night. Holding off is the signal that you will not be won over until attention has been paid, laps have been occupied, and sexy caresses have been exchanged. Also, you do not want to run out of cash early, dude. If you haven’t spent any cash for more than a half hour, you will be made to feel like a pariah, which in titty bar terms means: the lowest scumbag on the planet who should probably leave. The line to feed them is, “I would love to, honey, but I just got here, and I want to get the lay of the land.” Do NOT tell them to come back later, because they will, like a hobo when you walk into and then out of a 7-11. Tell the girl you will find her.

By the same token: buying a drink for a stripper may seem like the gentlemanly thing to do, but it eats into the cash you brought for your own entertainment. Do it, if you are feeling charitable, but there are plenty of other losers there, man, probably with more cash than you. It is not like you are going to get anything out of these girls. Finally, some of the girls will – WILL – ask you for a cigarette. Check your cigarette status before assenting. Handing one out will get you a smile or a kiss on the cheek, so go for it, but the butts from the machines in these places are overpriced. One of your less attractive girls actually asked me to buy her a pack at the convenience store across the freeway. The answer should always be, “Hell, no.” Say it with conviction. They can smell a weakling.

For more titty bar tips, and the reviews that go with them, clicky clicky Mr. Sticky.

PS. For the most self-serving, useless website you may ever encounter, go here. The site tells you next to nothing, but invites you to call them to arrange overly expensive parties, and their FAQ section is a lesson in how to talk yourself up, and pretend like somebody actually asked.

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