We're jumping about, getting people to clap along with us. I'm jigging about like a seal on a trampoline, scanning the audience. Women of all ages, shapes and sizes are already going berserk, and we haven't done anything yet. This is unbelievable. Male strip shows, along with teeny boyband gigs, are the only places where women can congregate together and be part of a faceless mass, and we know we're just a part of the whole experience.
Tongues are firmly in cheeks.
We stand in a line and pull out bananas and dildos from our pockets, shove 'em between our legs, and jiggle them around. Women are screaming as if Jim Morrison had suddenly appeared and was selling Tupperware at ridiculously low prices. We step out one by one as Dean introduces us, and I jump forward, run my hands over my crotch, and then snap my fingers and point at the audience like the barman in The Love Boat does in the opening credits. The music changes to Hot Stuff, and an enormous whoop goes up. This was the best fucking doss I've ever had in my entire life.