Bandaids Show Lounge

Visit: 09/​13/​2015
Hoooooooooooooood! Yes, this place is hood. Not bullet wounds and C-​Sectionscars hood, but most certainly a hood spot.
It was $ 6 a piece for us to get in which isn’t bad, but the place is verysmall. It’s basically a dive bar with stripper poles.
It’s really small, which isn’t bad, but if you are a stuck up stripper (yep, won’t even call them dancers) then you are going to stick out. And this placehad quite a few strippers who don’t know manners or how to hustle; specificallythe African American dancer with her hair in a bun that walked by and gave us adirty look. We apologize that our money isn’t good enough for you ma’am.
There were three stages: two small ones in the bar area with one of them inthe corner and the main stage in the club area. Of course there were lots ofmirrors which were where the dancers on each stage were looking.
There was a smoke area outside where the strippers can go to smoke as welland then come back to you or by you smelling like smoke.
The best part was the signs in the bathroom heavily dissuading prostitution;there were MULTIPLE signs. Usually when you have multiple signs about one topicit is because that particular topic is an ongoing issue. Just saying.

It’s a six dollar cover. Not a bad place for the price, but not a top quality one with politicians. Small seating areas but worth it. The women are great, beers cold, and good tunes.

Best strip club I’ve been too in az. Everyone here is super friendly and want to make you feel welcome. This place has the hottest girls. Thank you for making my birthday enjoyable

LOVE THIS PLACE… Diamond in the rough thats for sure… small place but dancers aim to please. Wont be going to Jaguars anymore after going to this place!

5 stars! Its a small club but still one of the most affordable in town. Women here are pretty hot unlike some of the other small clubs. Money well spent

this place sucks worst place in town

Marginal dancers, poor choreography, many out of shape dancers with to many stretch marks. Blonde bartender cutest of bunch to bad she didn’t dance.

5 star reviews aren’t just for the fanciest places on Earth. Oh no. 5 stars within a class. Bandaids is in it’s own class of dirty, run down, last stop stripper establishments and within that class, Bandaids is primo.
I’ve never had a bad time here. Never.

This is a ghetto place, no offense. The girls are happy, customers are happy, but put your game face on when you walk in. The place is a money machine for the owner, low overhead, positive cash flow.
Why is this place called bandaids show lounge? Because its small, the dancers wear less than bikinis, and/​or the building is long and skinny like a bandaid. There are three stages, really just two 2×2 raised areas, and a bigger main stage. This place could be a set for a movie scene requiring a ghetto strip club. Dont get me wrong, its colorful, lots of character. When it comes to strip clubs, the main thing is the talent. This place has a lot of local talent. And one or two top tier girls, either by virtue of body, youth, personality, or some combination. Saturday this place was crowded up until 2am, of course, it only takes a few people in a small place, but still. Top girl — in my opinion, phoenix. 21 (stated age) and hot. She could be 16, 17, 18. Thin body, white.

As it turns out, Bandaids is not as bad as any of these reviews indicate and is very rarely as scandalous as these reviewers report.
Real girls: some implants, some without. Some girls with tattoos, some without. Big boobs, small boobs, middling boobs. Big wrecking ball booties, small booties. Male/​female/​gay/​couple friendly. Cheap drinks, strange regulars, ugly signage. The occasional girl that shouldn’t be stripping anymore. All in all, a lot of variety under one roof– and isn’t that what makes a titty bar entertaining? If you want an army of malnourished blonds with bolt on breasts to stare blankly at you while they take your money, then skedaddle on to Bourbon Street, my friend.
Bandaids has personality; you may like that personality or you may not. Depending on your behavior, you could be charmed, chatted up, romanced, shanked, talked shit to or put firmly in your place. So be nice.
Bottom line: these girls are lots of fun, but they aren’t accustomed to taking shit from anybody. Especially you. :)

Everything you could want out of a run of the mill strip bar.
Decent looking girls.
Ok drink prices
gruffy voiced Dj
but the SHINING STAR is the new cocktail waitress Heather… MMMM MMMM good. If only she danced.
P. S. I have yet to see anything close to a BJ or HJ, but one never knows what a late visit this week may find…

What can i say? i am a smutty bitch. Been to all the seedy places in town an then some. Ok, so your a middle class man, married, your wife NEVER puts out, what is a man to do???
Hummmm
BANDAIDS…
Disco!
I am telling you i have never in my life seen more cocks out in one room at the same time.
the girls, gritty an down an dirty in more than one way!
But hey!
the smell in the bar is a mix of that really bad stuff you could buy in the bathrooms and put on yourself to smell good and then straight up cum buckets.
Yeah really…
But i think for 10 buck and the investment of a condom you may have a VERY nice evening. I am sure you will leave with empty balls!
And there is NOTHING wrong with that…
I saw blow jobs, grinding with cock going in an out{ i did not see the investment of a condom on that certain person, hummm?} a few hand finishes here an there…
I would say DRINK before you go fer sure!
good times to be had for all…

On name alone we HAD to check this place out, just for kicks.
Ouch!
Bandaids indeed; this place hurts and not in a good way. And you might want to spritz that with some iodine for good measure.
I’ve got no qualms with talent, don’t get me wrong; the female form is a beautiful thing to behold in all of its varied curve-​tastic shape and form. A woman is a woman is a beautiful woman, and I’m a sucker. By default, naked womanhood warrants an automatic 3-​star baseline from me, but the slummy and desperate atmosphere in this dive is a soulsuck for all that dare enter.
The squat brick building sits all by its lonesome under a tacky illuminated «Bandaids Show Lounge» sign, the surrounding parking lot emanating with «damn, I’mma get mugged out here» uncertainty and darkness.
Once inside (yes, you go in through a sketchy looking front door that looks as welcoming as the sketchy looking service door), you’re met by security and carded; the girls headed for the bar while another friend and myself were subjected to a [sub-​standard*] pat down — *sub-​standard: the folding knife clipped and visible in my front pocket (CA law) went unnoticed. A printed «no sideways caps, no baggy/​saggy jeans, no long tees» dress code posted by the door should have been a red flag. Classy!
After getting a few beers from the pretty bartender (she was actually really, really good-​looking — hottest girl on staff, setting false precedent for what the stage talent would look like), we made our way past shady regulars at the bar with their necks crook’d to the lounge, finding a couple of tables near, but not next to, the center stage.
Most of us sat talking and laughing with each other, occasionally glancing at the stage just to see what’s up and watching the depraved humanity of the other patrons in the place, mostly empty on a Friday night…
… the out-​of-​towner business man in the dark corner, getting dances from any girl that would come his way.
… the mouth-​breather waiting with stalker-​ish anticipation for a dance with one of the, er, more amply-​bossomed strippers.
… the table of youngins, dressed exactly how the posted dress code prohibited.
Girl after girl (a couple of «a’ight» girls, most «everyday» girls, and at least one «is that a girl?» girls) came to the stage, gyrated to cliché strip club music — some exhibiting-​gymnast calibre pole skills and limberness — then cruised the showroom floor, peddling their wares with a repeated-​to-​monotone-​perfection «…would you like a dance? …would you like a dance?» propositioning. Sales Basics 101: Always Be Closing, right?
None of us partook in the festivities, but two friends in an adjoining party did. One, quite simply because he was bored and someone paid for it. The other, a recent migrant from war-​torn and fundamentalist Afghanistan, got one of the [few] Barbie-​esque dancers who would keep him entranced and occupied for 4 – 5 songs… and about $ 100.
After a quick 30 minutes, we’d thought we’d seen the whole rotation of «meh» talent and skeevy behavior. And that’s when we saw it…
…the epitome of tacky divey strip club attire…
…the summation of the Bandaids experience…
…that’s when we saw it…
…The HOOD-​KINI*!
It was time to leave… quickly. As we braved the parking lot, it was joke after FirstAid-​alluding and Infectious-​disease related joke. Automatic hilarity at the mere mention during the rest of our trip.
«Band-​Aids», because correlating «possibility of infection» and adult entertainment is savvy business sense.
_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​_​
Yes, yes. A hooded bikini.
In black and neon. A hood to obscure her face, while thin straps and patches of material covered her naughty bits. A. Hooded. Bikini. If she were gonna take your money, she might as well look the part.

This is THE WORST strip club I have ever been to. I have been to a lot of seedy clubs as well. I’ve been to clubs where every chick is coked out of her mind to the point where she can’t even dance, clubs where chicks are dancing around while the other strippers are watching their babies, even places where girls say they have been raped by club owners. Nothing, and I mean NOTHING is as bad as this club.
The New York City bouncer out front was a nice guy, and thats where it stopped. The girls here are downright disgusting. These girls don’t even look good enough to work the counter at MVD. The place is also crawling with undesirables at all times of the day and night. Their drinks are about $ 7 for a captain and coke, there were no girls dancing when we were there, the three girls who were working were basically asking if we wanted dances and when I said no, then rolled their eyes and walked away. Well, maybe these girls could dance on stage and THEN ask for a private dance… I want to see what you’re made of first.
The dress code out front, the disgusting women, the attitude from bartenders, and the overall grossness of this place earn it a one star. It would be negative one if it were an option. Hi LIter, Bombshells, and even Cheetah’s are a ton better than this place. They are cheaper, have better talent, and are very friendly places. Even the overpriced Bourbon Street would be a better bet than this.

If I ever got the urge to become a stripper, I would get a job at Bandaids. As Dottsy so eloquently explained, these are your average, run-​of-​the-​mill girls you would find working in your neighborhood. I can’t compete with the likes of Candy and Barbie at the Scottsdale clubs, but I may be able to hold a candle to girls of Bandaids.
While I must admit I have less of an imagination than Dottsy (I don’t find myself wondering what people would look like if they stripped. Often.) I recognize and appreciate this establishment for what it is.
I had my power hour here back in the day when the hooch stopped pouring at 1am. This is really very irrelevant to my review, but at the same time, seems wrong to omit.
I kind of feel like they used the remnants of someones drink for my vodka tonic this past Saturday, which is unfortunate because I paid $ 8, but the $ 6 Corona served me well and I was not horribly chapped by the high cost considering this is a strip club.
As a woman, I don’t have to pay a cover charge. That means that I can walk in and look at boobies for free. Wait, why am I not giving this place 5 stars???
Really what more do I need to say?

As a card carrying member of the GABC when my son visits, I have to say the vibe change here was refreshing. I was expecting a whole lot worse from what I had read, and I tend to lay the pole horizontal and set it low regardless of where I get my lap dance on. It leaves room for the pleasant surprises.
With the illusion of security, this place is pretty entertaining. They pat down and wand the dudes, but the dudettes that I observed heading in before me were given only a cursory glance and purse check, while I got the wand and a full pat down, but just short of a full cavity search. Out front before entry some dude dressed in camo swat gear came around the corner from the side parking lot in a rush, it was laughable.
The crowd was mixed, and rather well behaved. Service was pretty good for a club of this caliber as well. The talent was somewhere in the mid range for me. I mean this is one of my favorite sports titties and beer, so it is hard to complain, but I did not feel compelled to shell out many dollars, nor did the crowd from what I noticed. I certainly never even entertained getting a lap dance as I did not find any worthy of my lap.
I would return just to crowd watch, well worth the five dollar cover, the titties and beer a big bonus.

The motherfucking dive bar of strip clubs.
If you BYOC (bring yo own company, bitches!) it is awesome. In this case, I was the company for a totally non-​trashy, very classy female friend of mine who was in the mood to slum it. She lives down the block an had been wanting to check the place out for a while, so after a few hours of daydrinking, we hit the spot.
Wow.
Stretch marks. Lots of grinding and wandering hands. Tits everywhere… and shit, that’s just the male patrons, holmes. I was wearing all black (as usual) and put on my sunglasses for the lulz now and then, and my exceptionally skinny and lovely companion was paying with a stack $ 1’s that she won in a dice game the night before… so the ladies and waitress probably figured that she was a stripper (she’s actually an RN in an ICU) and that I was her coke dealer, and the guys were jealous that I was hanging with a hot babe whom I didn’t have to pay for attention. So I guess that made me by default the coolest motherfucker in the place. How could I not give it 5 stars after that?
In reality we had a sociological discussion about the patrons and employees, and discussed a few articles in the latest issue of the New Yorker, which she happened to have in her purse.
Some of the characters we saw:
Saigon ’68 — Old dude who only got dances from the asian girls, reliving the glory days in ‘nam.
Hombre — in his sunday finest with cowboy hat and boots, looking very confused. He might have jumped the border last week.
PCC — White haired, super thin, wrinkly cracker who probably wandered in from the Phoenix Country Club across the street, in shorts, white polo, knee high white socks, and of course velcro sneakers. He looked reminiscent of a corpse… except when he got several dances from well endowed black women, at which point he really became alive.
Short Dick Man — He had clearly sprouted some wood, and it wasn’t very impressive.
Vatos — galore.
So — think dive bar that is totally ghetto fab. If you wait around long enough, they’ll have 2 for 1 drink specials, though I am sure that the «grey goose» I ordered was some shitty well shit and not the goose. Whatever.
Ghetto fabbbbbbbbbbbbbbbuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu!

Absolutely horrifying.
This is clearly where strippers go to die. Fat, old, bored, and heinous looking moms and meth-​heads giving not-​so-​discreet handjobs to shifty patrons… nobody tipping at all (which begs the question, «why do they come to work?»)… and an overwhelming cloud of depression and angst looming over the whole nasty parade.
The place was surprisingly active for a Wednesday afternoon. It took several minutes for my eyes to adjust to the darkness — I imagine keeping it so dark can only help given the sorry state of the girls. There’s no VIP room that I could tell (unless you count the shabby bathrooms), but that didn’t stop the shenanigans going on out in the open for my virgin eyes to see. There were definitely men being «gotten off» here which disgusted me to no end. I have no idea how much it costs, but it can’t be terribly expensive (and yet it’s surely too much).
Another possible «up-​side» to this place (depending on your perspective) is that they will serve you an illegal amount of alcohol… the law be damned. This is perhaps another aid to help make the beasts on stage easier to stomach.
Speaking of stomachs, Eric was right — there were definitely some very pregnant ladies here. Kinda disturbing. My friend decided she wanted to get a dance from either the oldest girl or the fattest girl in the joint. The girl she picked put her mouth on my friend’s vagina through her pants and did some sort of heavy breathing and moaning… my friend looked mortified and all she could do was let out some uncomfortable panicked laughter. She was also groped and molested beyond her comfort levels.
Nothing in here was sexy at all — it’s basically a really dark and moderately scary dive bar with a bunch of whores walking around with their ugly boobs out willing to do whatever for a few bucks. These girls clearly don’t make much money (unless the special services pay well)… my friend and I would tip 5 bucks to the stage dancers (and their center stage is a joke) and they would thank us with a surprised look as though it had never happened before.
The seating looked like it was purchased from a conference hall at the Ramada Inn that was shut down 10 years ago and the girls looked like they wandered in off Van Buren 10 years ago. I suggest you stay away, however I can attest (as Eric P pointed out) that this was a source of some amazing comedy and laughter… hence the extra star.
Edit Dec 2014 —
I feel bad about saying «whores,» «fat,» «ugly boobs,» «heinous looking,» and «beasts.» Those are ugly words and I wasn’t raised to talk like that — I was just trying to be funny. Also, I regret not mentioning that someone brought in some shrimp cocktails in styrofoam cups to sell. Like, where the hell did they come from? He came in through the front door. The regulars and bartender acted like it was a normal thing for a dude to walk in off the street selling seafood in a dark, dank strip club.

[DISCLAIMER: the rating of five stars for Bandaids does not directly correlate with the intentions of the establishment, instead, the volumes of unintentional comedy and unsolicited astonishment that may be had at this specific joint]
Walking into Bandaids was like witnessing the sneak premier of the cinematic masterpiece ‘Showgirls’ — and what I mean is, one is piqued with curiosity, wonderment, the promise of mindblowing mockery, and the anticipation of an inevitable Spidey exit. This is where the comparison to showgirls ends. Actually, I don’t rememer. Did showgirls feature a stripper in her 3^rd trimester?
Whereas the tagline for Showgirls was «Leave your inhibitions at the door», Bandaids follows up with «…and your guns, knives, nerve gases, babies, peg legs, raptor jesuses, gold crown deodorizers, and herpes.» Although I think most in there ignored that last one.
So, upon entrance, you are greeted with a very Judge Dredd-​like chain-​link protected cashier who takes your Abe Lincoln and motions you over to the bar. One thing about strip clubs in general, is, you don’t really wanna schooch by anyone … but at Bandaids, they make this awkward dream a reality for everyone! The walk up to the bar is like cutting to seats 34 and 35 at Giants Stadium. I felt like Tyler Durden contemplating whether to give the vatos the butt or the crotch as they stare blankly at «the talent».
Whoa boy. This place has talent like the old Washington Bullets … but shorter, fatter, and more pregnant.
I gave one of my buddies a dollar to snap into one of the monster’s string and she gave him a «whusssuuup» that featured her sweet gold grill. To appreciate this, you must know that my friend is quite possibly the sweetest guy on the planet, and gave a friendly «Hi!» to her in return before about-​facing to our bistro style table where 8 Coors Lights were posting up our jaws.
This was a nice, natural cue for a quick exit, rattled our half-​drained beers into the bins and shot out. We couldn’t stomach anymore of anything.
But wait.
On this page you will notice Jason C., and along with the others in our laughter-​induced group, came his big mouth. This was his opportunity to mock the sawed-​off, convertible, primer-​gray Chevy Blazer parked mere feet from the entrance/​exit to Bandaids, and although the details are lost as to the specifics, mentioned something about «check out THIS fucking thing!», which was the perfect timing for one of the busted, ghetto-​flab strippers to walk out and proceed to angrily say something like «Fuck you. That’s mine. What of it?» In response, and generally because he’s a giant puss with scary strippers, said something like, «Oh. Its nice. I like it.» before shitting himself.
I’m sure the rest of the group howling with laughter really set her mind at peace.
Anyway. That’s the Bandaids story, and you can have one just like it if you give it a chance.

Picture it, if you will. Little old me, drinking at the Bikini Lounge from 2 in the afternoon until midnight with 3 friends. Drinking, drinking, drinking. So after 10+ hours of living solely off of beer, there can surely be no better idea than going to a strip club. Right?
So we pack up and head on over. A high cover (sorry, for the life of me I don’t remember how much) and a 2 drink minimum (which I do realize is standard) later, we’re immersed in black light. As my eyes adjust, I start to see that this is really not the crowd I expected to see in a strip club. There is ZERO energy. No talking. No laughing. Nothing but rows of guys sitting and looking blankly at the dancers.
We found some empty chairs in the back, and settled in there, and I was able to turn my attention to the girls. Ok, look: I know they can’t all be Elizabeth Berkley (may the Lord keep her feisty Nomi Malone safe and warm forever). But I didn’t expect this apathy. Bored looking women taking their short turns on the small round main stage, and more bored looking women walking around offering lapdances in vain. The thing about stripping is this: I thought the point was that you could make a lot of money. But we were there at midnight on a Saturday night, and these girls were getting NOTHING. In the hour we were there, I saw ONE man put money in a girl’s pants on stage… and I watched, and it was a one dollar bill. Seriously.
I sat there with my 3 friends (2 men, one other woman), all of us in a row, all of us suddenly sober, staring with our eyes and mouths wide open. I could feel my male friends’ good mood deflate (ha! don’t be dirty), as my girl friend and I felt like gender traitors just by being there.
I thought these kind of places were supposed to be rowdy and fun. Was I expecting too much? It was the most depressing experience. I sort of feel bad even writing this, because nobody involved with that joint can be happy, I’m sure. But I figured I owe it to all you Unilocal gentleman (and the ladies, too… who am I to presume?) to steer you away from this one.