A vegan strip club opens in Portland, Oregon. No joke.

Tofu and titties, oh my!

Unfortunately, the above-mentioned demographics may end up sinking the venue. The lesbians will start out appreciating the naked ladies but will inevitably end up embroiled in a heated debate about whether same sex marriage is an institution that apes the patriarchy, whether the balkanization of the gay community is a good thing or a bad thing, or whether so-and-so’s ex stepped over the line by calling at 2am and OHMYGOD GIRL NO SHE DI-INT WHASSUP WIT’ DAT HUSSY YOU BETTA BLOCK HER CALLS MMMMHMM. The lesbians will simply forget that there are topless women prancing around and become engrossed in conversation.

The pissy emo boys will furtively walk in alone with their heads lowered, wrestling with the normal heterosexual desire of looking at boobs and the competing emo boy desire to appear sensitive and to avoid looking like Neanderthals. On the surface, they will appear detached and uninterested, but inside, they are torn. On one hand, they are experiencing natural carnal desires, but simultaneously, they are disgusted with themselves. Eventually, they will scurry home to cry into their sleeve and write a poem or a song about their feelings.

The strippers will end up quitting in frustration when their g-strings come up dollar-less.