text: What a monumental shithole Treasures.\n\nCover charge at 4:30 in the afternoon was $33.00. Almost immediately upon entering you're besieged with hustling bitches trying to shake you down for table dances at twenty bucks a pop. Should you decline, they'll step up their marketing skills by offering you a package of five dances for only one-hundred dollars. \nGod, they're clever. I think that works out to, oh wait, twenty dollars a dance.\nAs I said, clever.\n\nWhen servers ask for your drink order, they'll immediately ask how you're going to pay for it, suggesting perhaps you may be homeless and without funds for such a wondrous event. \nThe look on your face suggests you're experiencing a wtf moment. \n\n          \" Cash or credit card?\" she annoyingly barks while you're still in disbelief.\n\nShaken down at the door, now insulted, as if you were going to swill down a beer and beeline it for an awaiting cab without paying, you begin to reassess if any of this was worth it.\n\nWhether your response is cash or credit, they'll demand payment up front prior to taking the order. I believe this is because, and this is only conjecture mind you, their default statement is to not trust anyone who graces their shit hole establishment for fear they're part shit hole too. It's a projection thing I guess.\n\nDon't get suckered into a VIP dance in the back room by one of the many fleeting nubiles promenading about.. They're there for one reason. To take you to the 'back room'.\nIf you do get suckered into a back room dance, the fee starts at $100 with a $32 two-drink minimum, again, all paid up front of course. And god help you if you happen to get caught up in the moment, losing count of your five song 'deal'. The sixth song just shot the price up to $250 along with a now $50 two-drink minimum. \nIt's like being penalized for getting caught up in the music and whirling tits!\n\nYou're now knee-deep in the shit, having unwittingly purchased the multi-dance package and guess what? This time, the dancer doesn't shake you down for loot, she waltzes you over to some guy bigger than all outdoors, whose tone of voice is lower than a 30\" subwoofer and whose countenance is that of a guard at Buckingham Palace.\n\n   \"Two hundred fifty bucks pal, how you gonna pay?\" \n\nI panic.\nThe eighth song just began playing and I don't know what the rules are. The seventh shot the price from twenty to thirty-five. After everything I've seen thus far, I'm thinking they're going to ask me to pony up a nut when song number eight begins playing.\nI cut my losses and head for the door.\n\nWhen you've had enough of their bullshit and want to take a cab back to the hotel, guess what, no cabs. \nOh there are cabs, a cab line and a valet, but you're not going anywhere...not just yet. \nThat's because you'll need to grease the valet, this or else wait in a terminally long line of losers who didn't have money to line the valet's pockets.\n\nHere's what I did.\nI saw an off-duty cab about 100 yards from their driveway entrance and started toward it.\n\n   \"HE'S OFF DUTY!\" the valet shouts. \n\n    \"FUCK YOU,\" I respond politely. \n\nI offered the taxi driver a fifty to take me anywhere as fast as he could. This so I could begin erasing the entire shitty experience out of my memory. \nHe declines, saying he'll get in trouble with va-ray. (Asian)\nI make it a Franklin.\n\n  \" Hop in\" he says.\n\nEverything about Treasures smells to high heaven, including the plethora of Russian whores in cheap perfume and glitter. You'll know who they are immediately.\nThey speak with the same dialect as that ugly bitch from Rocky & Bullwinkle.\n\nI would only come back here if I won the lottery.