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A Woman's View of Redneck Heaven

Redneck Heaven: It's ... something.
Redneck Heaven: It's ... something.

In this occasional series, Teresa Lensch provides a woman's view of area "breastaurants." She previously filed dispatches from Twin Peaks, Tilted Kilt, Bikini's and Wild Pitch.

Redneck Heaven was solely responsible, in July of 2013, for changing the nudity laws in Lewisville, when it decided to have its waitresses prance around the parking lot in just pasties and body paint.

Flash forward: I round up some brave girlfriends to come along with me to see what's going on inside "the place that changed Lewisville naked stuff when it comes to food ... forever."

Friend 1: "Oh God, there's a bikini car wash out front."

Friend 2: "Want your car washed?"

Friend 1: "No. No, I don't."

Waitress/Car Washer 1: "Hi ladies, welcome to Redneck Heaven!"

Gross Guy 1: (cue lecherous staring and gross hand gestures) "Hey baby, you missed a spot!"

We aren't even inside yet. We duck in, and we see waitresses giving each other piggy back rides in booty shorts and bras while we wait for our hostess to take the pen out of her cleavage and write our names on the waiting list. In the meantime, I note that she has "13" tattooed on her left breast. Hey, it's our lucky night!

I intentionally picked a night where there are no costumes or gimmicks. Unless you consider scantily-clad 'Merican girls getting touchy-touchy on customers a gimmick. Okay, it's a gimmick. But we are allowed to take pictures tonight, unlike on their theme nights. And everywhere I look, there are picture opportunities. Butt-crawling shorts on women who really shouldn't be wearing them. "Staph" written on the back of the bussers' shirts (who does that? Do they even know what it means? You're serving FOOD here, people!). And two couples on dates who I'm sure are breaking up tonight. Because that is the only reason any sane man would bring his date here. Else they might just be assholes.

The food here is decent and it's cheap. The drinks are really cheap, too. Problem is, the whole place is really cheap. I feel really cheap just being here, and I think any woman would feel the same way. I WANNA GO HOME! Our waitress is very sweet in her shorts and bra and she introduces us to her trainee, who is obviously sedated. I'm not a doctor, but if it doesn't blink like a duck, can't enunciate clearly like a duck, has no filter like a duck ...

Trainee 1: "Hey there, I'm gonna give y'all some lovin." (Rubs two of our backs)

My inside voice: "Oh my god, please stop touching me!"

Trainee 1: "I just quit dancing and this is the only place that would hire me without experience. When you dance, it's all cash so it's like you aren't even working. I feel like a fish back in the ocean."

Friends 1 & 2: (cue eye roll)

Gross Guy 2: "Hey sweetie, get over here." (slaps knee)

Trainee 1: "Be right back."

This seems to be the wonderland of those just retired from the ranks of the gentlemen's clubs, and the breeding ground for those about to enter it. It's the gateway restaurant. A half-way house for those willing to earn less in exchange for keeping a tad more clothing on. And I think the customers here know it. It's depressing. I see waitresses sitting on customer's knees, draping tightly over drunk men's backs, bending over to toe-touch to the delight of dozens of tables. I am not going to judge, I'm not going to linger. I'm just going to pay our tab and go.

Then I'm going to go take a shower. I owe my girlfriends big time. BIG. TIME. I'll pay for your next parking lot carwash, how about that? Thanks, ladies.


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