No. 186 – Little Miss Dangerous

Performer: Ted Nugent

Songwriter: Ted Nugent

Original Release: Little Miss Dangerous

Year: 1986

Definitive Version: None.

I know: How can a flaming liberal have a song on his list from the right-wing scourge of the entertainment world? I’ll answer that by asking a question: What do Two-String Ted’s politics have to do with a song about … well, I don’t know whether it’s about a stripper per se, but it might as well be? Exactly—nothing.

OK, so the Nuge’s politics are distasteful to me, but why should that matter when I listen to his music? Perhaps his canon these days includes more politically bent material. I don’t listen to it, so I don’t care. I think the political discourse in this country has devolved to the point where politics is brought into every facet—even things that are overtly ANTI-political. That’s not a good thing.

Liberals can be just as intolerant as conservatives, and intolerance of ideas—as long as they don’t espouse ignorance—is a violation of the concept of liberalism. I know I’m guilty of this violating from time to time, too, but people should have the right to different informed opinions without being pilloried for it. Just as American Exceptionalism should prove itself by deeds and not words, so should American Liberalism.

OK, enough nonsense. Let’s talk not about the songwriter’s politics, but his song’s subject. I came to Little Miss Dangerous through an excellent Miami Vice episode about a stripper who hooked and then murdered her johns.

I never met a murderous stripper/hooker during my time at the dance establishments of Columbus, thank goodness. I never met a nonmurderous stripper/hooker either, although once when I was with Dakota, she pointed out a potential transaction being contemplated close to where we sat that involved two dancers and six well-heeled gentlemen.

As I said, the sex at the strip clubs I went to mostly was suggested. Some nights it was more suggested than others, though. Two particular incidents stand out in this regard, although neither one involved this song.

The first was at Dockside Dolls when I went after Dakota disappeared. There was a dancer named Amia, who was a willowy, petite blonde. She seemed new to the business and somewhat naïve, which made her even more attractive. Scott took a liking to her when we went together one night, and I started patronizing her. (I decided that purchasing my brother’s dancer wasn’t cheating.)

Anyway, Amia and I were in the Gold Room, and she was working her white magic on me when she abruptly stopped and dismounted, moving to a different position. She said, “I have to stop; that’s feeling too good.”

Well, don’t stop on my account. I mean, what would be the worst that could happen: Amia would come home with me? I didn’t see a downside to that, but she knew she was dangerously close to an uncrossable line, so she stopped. Sigh.

The other time was at a different establishment called The Dollhouse (not to be confused with THEE Dollhouse). It had one main room that was the main room in name if not scope. For an extra $10, however, you gained admittance to a VIP area that had a small bar and a single center stage. It also had individual rooms where you could get a more private performance. Those had a $20 entry fee.

I was feeling saucy this particular night, so I decided to see what it was all about. My dance partner was a bubbly brunette named Francesca. The performance was standard (or even substandard depending on your grading curve) until at one point she did a handstand and flopped on top of me with her back to my chest so her legs were wrapped over my shoulders. This put the proverbial Gates of Venus inches from my face.

Oh man. I understand that it’s called a strip TEASE, but this was downright cruel. It was like putting a filet mignon in front of a starving man and telling him he couldn’t have a taste. Fortunately, she didn’t stay long in that position … but she certainly earned her tip.

When I left the VIP area, I had quite a story for Scott, who attended the ballet with me that night, and he had one for me, too. But that’s a story for another time.