For those in the, ahem, “service” industry (and by that I mean strippers), there’s no greater frenemy than a cheap celebrity. Sure, they’re famous, and everyone likes fame and the recognition that comes with it, but it would be nice if Mr. Hi-I-Make-Millions-Of-Dollars-A-Year actually, you know, spent like a celebrity instead of having a tight wallet.
And today’s tightwad is Plaxico Burress, who, according to the NEW YORK POST, spent a few hours getting drunk at a nude bar (Head Quarters, if you must know) before capping himself in the leg last week. Oh, and he didn’t pay a cent there that night. Nor does he ever pay well, apparently:
Burress, 31, already was known at the club for being a “cheap,” customer, and “very rude, conceited, full of himself,” sources said.
“He’s the most unpopular celebrity that’s been there,” said another source, adding he routinely paid strippers the minimum $20 for lap dances, in contrast to other big-name customers, who fork over as much as $200.
gun-smuggling cohort teammate, Antonio Pierce, has a much better reputation at the strip club, according to “unnamed sources.” By which the POST means strippers. But for real, Plaxico, you’re one of the highest paid wideouts in the league, you’re coming off a Super Bowl win, and you’re in a strip joint putting away two bottles of Patron with two teammates. Slap down an Andy Jackson or two once in a while, man!
It’s also worth mentioning that if Plaxico and his two teammates, Pierce and Ahmad Bradshaw, actually did drink two whole bottles of Patron by themselves, then Burress must have been plenty drunk when he shot himself. Or was it the non-alcoholic Patron? The one they sell right next to the O’Doul’s and the toothy blowjobs? Because then it’s okay.
Now, how much money Plaxico spends at a nude bar is, at best, tangentially relevant to him shooting himself, unless you think there’s some karmatic reason he unloaded a Glock into his own leg. But still, this is New York, where everything is big news, and if you’re going to make headlines, don’t do so hours after you leave a gentlemen’s club where you never spend any money. It’s like, uh, shooting yourself in the foot.
All the same, I like the thought process behind the evening’s plans, if not the execution. So if you don’t mind me, I’ll be heading off to a club to make some new “friends.”
By which I mean strippers.