J.R.'s Pig Pen

Saturday night. Hogs lined up outside J.R.'s Pig Pen. Well, rice-hogs anyway. These are the guys who end up getting wedgies when they show up at a respectable strip club.

No minors admitted. Without extra cover charge.

When things get rolling, J.R.'s gals will be up on stage shakin' what they got.

If this is your first visit to the Pig Pen, avoid a faux pas: the dancers' foster parents get dibs on the back-bar seats.

For hungry patrons, J.R. keeps a pan broiling. And if you've stopped in for dinner, might I recommend the house home-brew as well? Not that it's any good, but you don't want to be sober when your plate comes.

On the upper floor J.R. provides a cornucopia of entertainment for the discriminating* skank.

Tubbin' time! Come on in, the water's hot ... and acrid ... and just a little bit salty ...

When you think "reroll," do you think cocked dice? Stress dice? A class 3 beam weapon?

J.R. thinks toilet paper. Because he's conservation minded ... and too cheap to buy more ... .

The Tire-Chain Suite: perfect for the honeymooner in all of us. Bride provided at reasonable rates, or bring your own.

Have no fear over cleanliness. J.R. changes these sheets as frequently as he changes his own underwear.