One of the former strippers I read for purely textual pleasure (this is the other one) describes one night when the marks were even freer than usual with their dollars:
One of my single most lucrative nights came when, as soon as I got on stage, I climbed atop the pole and hung suspended several feet above the floor, then called out to the crowd, “I do celebrity impersonations! Free table dance to the first man who figures out who I am.” Then, keeping my legs wrapped around the pole, I fell back and hung upside-down, with my eyes closed and my fingertips dangling a foot above the stage, and when the audience gave up guessing I flipped back to an upright position and called out … wait for it …
And my God, how the money rolled in.
Besides, Nicolae Ceauşescu just wasn’t sexy.