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Hit Me, But Not With Your Breasts

Somewhere during the long stretch of super-nothingness that separates the Los Angeles basin from the Las Vegas desert on the 15 North, it appears like an oasis: a billboard boasting $3 blackjack 24-7 at Hooters.

If you’re a feminist—and, as Gloria Allred says, “If you’re not a feminist, you must be a bigot,”—you might have a small problem with partaking of this cheap gaming op because of the boobs-in-your-face trade-off. But in this day of economic struggling, a $3 blackjack table is not just tempting—it’s as downright seductive as those infamous too-tight, owl-laden tees.

Will you have to stand for a while to get a seat at the one $3 table? Probably. Will you have to endure some leers, some lewdness, and some rudeness from the male contingent? Maybe. It all depends on how low you go with your tee. Will it be worth it? Depends on whether you’d rather lose your fifty bucks in five hands, or in 16. Grab a little cash and meet us there. We’ll be the ones in the turtlenecks and comfy shoes.