I'll never forget the first time I saw "The Donkey Show. I was a little hazy on the details — my friend who got me the gig had made the place sound like some kind of debaucherous gay paradise, which sounded fun, but intimidating. Before my first shift, the bar manager told me to come check it out, just so I could see what I was getting myself into. A line snaked down the sidewalk outside the club. A few of the actors mingled with the waiting crowd; there was a guy in roller skates and gold face paint, a muscley bouncer with his shirt half unbuttoned and a haughty-looking woman in little else besides thigh-high pleather boots and butterfly pasties. Inside, male go-go dancers gyrated beneath a massive disco ball, their lithe torsos so caked in body glitter they gave off a blue glow.