Storytime with Capper: A brony's trip to the gentlemen's club

Another you say? Well I certainly don't want to leave anyone hanging. So I have decided to recount the tale of the brony in the gentlemen's club for posterity. And we can't do it 140 characters at a time. So sit back and relax as it's time for a little bit of "Storytime with Capper", here on Horse-News.
As some bored people might recall, I had been absent from my computer for much of Saturday, due to the fact I was travelling. Where I was going was never specified, suffice it to say I was visiting a friend to celebrate his birthday. As what would come as a shock to no one, he wanted to celebrate by drinking and watching women expose themselves and dance for his entertainment. To which I remembered that this is America and that it was completely legal and acceptable for us to do so.



We entered our local gentlemen's club around 5pm, just in time for happy hour and sandwiches. The place began to fill up around 7pm, as my friend and I, now a few drinks in and becoming acquainted with a few of the dancers, were holed up in a booth next to the door. And that's about the time that he strolled in.
Or "they" I should say rather.
He was about 5 foot 10, 170 pounds, pale, messy blonde hair, glasses, but most notably wearing a very distinctive article of clothing:

This Rainbow Dash shirt. He and his pals (one of whom closely resembled Chumlee from Pawnstars) took the only remaining table, which happened to be right next to the stage. I watched casually as the server came around to take drink orders, and noticed as his 2 friends ordered shots and beers, he sipped an icewater.
Which led to one of 2 conclusions: Either he is flat broke, or he is the designated driver for his companions. Then I remembered that this strip club charges $3 for a glass of water and $4 for beer, so it was safe to say he was the latter, and therefore a hero.

The way his friends kept patting him on the back, coupled with his less-than-enthused facial expression, also led me to assume he was having a bit of bad luck. Given he was in a topless bar wearing brony merch, I can think of several situations that would lead to this condition, but whether it was >tfw no waifu or a case of >she isn't real is difficult to say.
As the drinks continued to come, and as he continued to stay sober and depressed, I determined there was only one course of action: provide this man with a pick-me-up.

And so it was decided.
I watched his reactions to the various ladies who stepped across the stage, and many of them only had his passing attention. And then she was there. A cute Asian girl (supposedly from Thailand according to the DJ), dressed in a light blue fishnet top, and a matching blue/rainbow pattern tutu, with a dyed streak of hair in multiple colors. aka; Rainbow Dash.
He jolted in his seat the moment she set foot on the stage, and didn't let her out of his site for a moment.
Ding Ding we had a winner (despite the fact her breasts were way too high on her torso).

When she was finished with her routine (set to Queens of the Stone Age's "Little Sister"), I motioned for her to come to our booth, which she did with a peppy little bounce.
I reached into my wallet, produced a couple presidents that had tendencies to kill things, and pointed at our designated hero, once again, appearing dejected and sober in his seat (he may have realized that she didn't have hooves).
"Take care of him," I said, placing the bills in the designated area.

And did she ever.
She raced around to the other side of the stage where he was sitting, spun him around in his chair and got to work. If there was any more friction, he could have lit that shirt on fire without ever taking it off. This seemed to go on for quite some time, (much longer than I would expect anyway) until the girl finally dismounted him, and the tell-tale signs of permagrin were etched into his face. She then took him by the hand and led him away, to parts unknown. What they did and where they did it, I have no idea. But I'm sure it is completely legal in this state.
Surely.
When he finally returned, there wasn't a frown to be found, and he was finally having fun. Which everyone in the club did from that point on. Dancing. Singing along with some of the songs. Inventing new ways to get alcohol into our bodies without using our hands. I think even Mr. Rainbow Dash himself even got up to dance when the DJ started playing "Backstreet's Back". I think. I was too busy having people do shots off my chest on a bar-ledge to notice.

At some point in the evening between the birthday boy spanking machine and the Jagerbombs, the mysterious brony and his friends disappeared (I was there for nearly 10 hours when I finally stumbled out into the parking lot) leaving behind a table of shotglasses and beer bottles (and one glass of ice water).
I never said a word to the guy.
Which is okay.
Some things are best left unsaid.
Strip club brony, wherever you are, thanks for keeping your drunk friends off the road. Hope you enjoyed yourself.