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No more Club Risk? Where will the whores go? Paul Ryan This weekend I traveled to Superior, WI for some heavy drinking. I pretended to make the five-hour drive from La Crosse in celebration of a friend leaving for graduate school, but I had ulterior motives. Ulterior foam party motives. Shut up, I'm awesome. There used to be a dance club in Superior called Club Risk. It's gone out of business, but I didn't know that until it was too late. Club Risk was hilarious. There was no sign outside, only the words "CLUB RISK" spray painted in huge letters on the side of the decrepit building. Upon driving past Club Risk, one would often wonder if it was a club or simply an abandoned building where local gangs beat the hell out of people. As it turned out, Club Risk was a little bit of both. The male clientele at the club were the type of people who enjoyed beating up wiseasses like me. There were occasional fights at the club, which obviously came as a shock to no one. When a person tells you there was a fight at the club "where the sign looks like someone vomited paint onto a wall", you don't even pretend to look surprised. Most of the females at the club were, to be honest, skanks. But who says that's a bad thing? I've always found skanks to be very mysterious and fascinating. I mean, when you go to a club in a big city like Minneapolis and see skanks, you just assume you never see them in the daytime because it's a large city. You never really think too hard about where the skanks come from. But in a smaller city like Superior, it's possible to see people at a bar, and then randomly see them elsewhere the next day. So as you stare at a hammered woman grinding her groin against the side of a midget's face*, you say to yourself, "I've never seen girls this skanky around Superior in the daytime. In fact, I don't think I've ever seen girls this skanky anywhere in the daytime. Where the hell do they come from?" *I'm not making that up. I actually saw a midget at Club Risk nearly suffocate in the crotch area of a large woman's dress. Occurences like that were the reason I kept returning to Club Risk. But what about the foam parties I mentioned earlier? There were two reasons I enjoyed Club Risk: people watching and foam parties. For the uninitiated, a foam party is something normally found in spring break hot spots like Cancun. The dance club has foam continuously sprayed all over, so it's almost like dancing in a gigantic bubble bath. If you've never drank a Pabst Blue Ribbon while foam is blasted directly into your face, then you've, um . . . well . . . then you've never drank a Pabst Blue Ribbon while foam is blasted directly into your face. I swear, it seems cool when you're wasted and a bunch of guys from Club Risk have punched you in the head repeatedly. Anyway, it was all for not. Club Risk had been closed forever. There was no foam party. There were no perverted midgets grinding with women large enough to mistake them for food and eat them. There were no toothless whores making out with drunk ghetto guys who had open sores on their lips. There were no naive college guys puking their guts out in the dirt parking lot beside the club, and then raising their vomit-covered faces to say, "Dude, somebody took my wallet." I guess the town of Superior just doesn't know a good thing until its gone.
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Alcohol vapor: get drunk off booze fumes
