Jumbo’s is certainly one of the most surreal strip club experiences I’ve ever had. A friend of mine, recently returned from reporting on the Serb/Croatian war, came to visit me in L.A. wanting a rollicking good time to get his mind off the Serbian rape houses, mass graves, and torture chambers he had been reporting on for the last two years. I happily drove him on a bar crawl, along with another friend, a reporter for the UK Independent. (As a side note, if you ever have a chance to go on a drunk crawl with two foreign correspondents, I HIGHLY recommend it.) I saved the best for last. Our final destination was Jumbo’s Clown Room. Why Jumbo’s? Because you can see high class ass at The Grove these days. If you want to see GOOD plastic surgery, just walk about Beverly Hills, or run along the Santa Monica beaches. You’ve got to dig to find despair on display. You’ve got to turn off the light and wait for the floor to start moving. In Los Angeles, we hide our deformed cousin in the attic and stuff a rag in his mouth while the neighbors come and visit. Those scratching sounds you hear are the denizens of east Hollywood demanding to be saved. Jumbo’s did not disappoint. My friend recognized the accent of the bar wench and they began having a long conversation in German. A half eaten birthday cake sagged off the side of the stage, while the dancer slowly churned her torso under breasts that had been bolted on like a doctor had juiced two grapefruits on her chest and left them. The decor can only be described as your grandma’s living room circa 1962. I only wish there was more plastic on the furniture.
(323) 666-1187, 5153 Hollywood Blvd, Los Angeles