Thou shall have no other distractions before me
I am the stripper, thy entertainer, who brought you out of your house of boredom, and thou shall have no other distractions before me. Texting thy booty call can probably wait another three to seven minutes, so put your damn phone away. At least do what the on-call nurses and truck drivers do when their devices start buzzing: put a couple dollars on the rack, get up, and walk away to answer. Mine is a divine performance, and thou shall pay attention.
Thou shall not record or photograph my image
Since the dawn of hip hop and butt-rock music videos, many have forgotten that this isn’t just a sin, it’s illegal by the laws of Man. In most states it's actually a Class A Misdemeanor to record in a club. Performers want to be famous in the club -- our temple -- not on YouTube.
Thou shall not present thy junk
Nobody wants to see selfies of your nethers: not your girlfriend, not your Snapchat buddies, and certainly not a stripper. It is a true test of a dancer's poker face when presented with a picture of a stranger’s Linus in the lap dance room. Every time a customer scrolls through his cellular gallery, saying, “I want to show you something,” strippers mentally prep themselves for photos of smiling children... of the instrument that fertilized the egg that made them.
Thou shall give alms
Paying a cover fee alone doesn’t make you entitled to gaze at a dancer’s divine visage. Us strippers beat up our bodies doing Olympics-level pole tricks. If you can’t afford to see Cirque du Soleil, you definitely shouldn’t be going to a club. For those on a budget, handeth over $1 per dance. Honor thy dancer.
Thou shall not covet attention
Encouraging your girlfriend to lap-hump on you at the bar or at the rack isn't arousing to anyone, even if R. Kelly's “Bump and Grind” is playing. Either way, folks are here for a show, not a spectacle you’ve created.