[It's pretty obvious that the average CollegeCandy reader has some very strong opinions. Opinions that she likes to share with everyone on the site.  We love a strong woman, so we thought we'd give her a real forum to discuss her thoughts, feelings, and perspectives. Every Friday I'll be featuring a hot topic (like supergirls!) and leaving it up to you, the readers, to duke it out. So, read it and get your debate on in the comments section below!]

A few years back, it seemed like everybody and their mother (literally) was getting their workout by “workin’ it” on a pole (even here at CollegeCandy!). But now, even though the trendiness has faded away, a lot of these pole-dancing and strip aerobics classes are still hanging around. So is it still OK to work up a sweat exotic-dancer style, or is it just skanky?

On the one hand, most of us work out because we want to look sexy (sure, health is good, but let’s be honest; you don’t suddenly decide to be “healthier” around bikini season), but during most workouts we tend to look and feel closer to “recently dragged by a truck” than “sexpot.” So it makes sense to try and make exercise feel sexy – it boosts self-confidence and makes you want to workout more. And learning to give an aerobic lap dance is probably more fun than the elliptical machine (why do you taunt me, elliptical machine!?). Plus, in my extensive scientific research (AKA: asking guys I know) I have discovered that stippercising is the #1 workout your boyfriend is likely to support – you’re shocked, I know.

But isn’t the guy side of it kind of a problem? Sure, we all want to look and feel good, but shouldn’t we want to do for ourselves? And seriously, you aren’t going to use those pole-dancing skills to entertain yourself, which means that you end up taking the class for at least the fringe benefit of being able to turn a guy on (well, more “on”). Do we really want to encourage the idea that even the things we do for ourselves are really about guys? And do we really want to explain those inevitable pictures of us showing off our mad lap-dance skills after too many tequila shots?

So what do you think? Is strippercising a sexy way to get in shape (and acquire some fun new skills along the way) or an over-sexed trend that needs to die?

There are few topics in a relationship that cause more controversy than strip clubs. Many of us can’t understand why our man would need to watch some other girl strip it off and shake her ass in his face when he can have our naked ass in his face whenever he wants it (for free, I might add).  And isn’t watching some other girl get naked a form of cheating? He wouldn’t like it if I let some random dude come over and rub his crotch in (or on) my face for $5.

So why do guys do it? And what is the appeal of having some girl rub her boobs on him if he has to stick a few bucks in her panties to do so? I haven’t spent much time in strip clubs, so I turned to someone who does. Frequently. And loves it.

Here is the strip club lowdown from a dude who knows it (very) well.

It’s amazing how universal the college experience is and how readily we all accept it as normal. Talk to any college student on any college campus in the country and you will easily find common ground: in the drinking games, in the fake ID horror stories, in the theme parties, in the hook ups.

It is only when an outsider (Read: An Old Person) looks in and comments on the college scene that we take a second look and realize that our choices really aren’t that…acceptable.

My friend recently sent me this article, in which some old dude jumps into the college scene and reports what he finds. And what was it? Just your typical weekend at any college campus: parties, makeouts, puking, etc. Only, when he talks about it it sounds a lot different than when we share our stories in a typical Saturday morning recap.

To any college student, this article is nothing new (except maybe that whole Girl Goyle thing…I have never heard of that!), but seeing it from the outside makes it seem so different.  So wrong.

When we are sitting in the college bubble, putting a garbage can in front of a drunk person not only seems normal, it seems responsible. But to an outsider, it is ludacris.

To a college student, grinding up next to someone at a college party is the universal sign for interest. But to an outsider, it is almost barbaric.

And how many girls have you seen giving impromptu lap dances to friends at a party? Or making out with some completely random guy at a party for 10 minutes before heading back to her friends? Or blacking out for a night only to get up the next day to do it all again.

It’s all normal, standard and expected as part of the college experience, but it all seems so shameful when seen through the eyes of someone else. I mean, stop and think about it for a minute: why do people to Keg Stands? And why do we devote so much energy into bouncing a quarter into a glass? And why are we so consumed with sticking our tongues into random people’s mouths in a dirty, stinky basement?

College is supposed to be preparing us for the real world, but how often do you think professionals judge their peers based on their performance in a case race?

How did we get here and is it something we should be ashamed of, or just another case of older people just not getting us? Should we care? And, more importantly, have you ever done a Girl Goyle?!

If you’re one of those girls who isn’t phased by the idea of your significant other’s face in the crotch of another chick, a naked one at that, more frigin’ power to you. However, those of you that are, like me – a woman who, regardless of my confidence prefers if my boyfriend’s face stays out of a strippers cooch – let’s discuss.

I get that guys “need” to go to the bachelor party because they want to share in their buddy’s last night of being a single guy. I understand the need to watch him squirm while the guys embarrass him by having some stripper sweat all over him; however, any man of mine, will not be partaking in such close contact festivities.

I am not – in any way – trying to directly bash strippers; you take your clothes off, look good doing it and make lots of loot. More power to you. I just won’t accept someone I touch, getting touched by a chick who gets paid to give men – all shapes and sizes – attention. So, when my boyfriend informed me that he was going to a strip club (to forwarn me and gauge my reaction) I simply tried my best to bite my tongue.

Unfortunately, being the loud, opinionated person that I am, biting my tongue was more difficult than I could handle. I told him that, while I would never tell him not to go and share in the drunken, boob-filled bliss, if one stripper climbs on his lap – or his face – he was not to come back home to me. I’m not talking about just that night either, I meant, he is not to come home to me. Ever.

Why, you ask? Because I’m hot, in love with the boy and don’t take my clothes off for anyone else. What we do is between us and us only. Not between us and the random women getting paid to rub their bodies all over him.

I will not touch him after someone else puts her openly visible hoo-ha in his face. Period.

He went to the bachelor party. He watched his buddy get whipped by a naked chick. He looked at lots of boobs and asses, I’m sure. But he had no one on his lap and, thankfully, respected my wishes and my feelings. And, while some girls would think it completely fine to have your man’s hands rummaging all over someone else, I’m not one of them. Keep all that saved up for me please.

How do you feel about strippers? I would love to hear some different opinions on the situation, ladies.

I am not easily intimidated by guys. While I wouldn’t say that I have them completely figured out, I am confident with myself and with them to the point that I can talk to nearly any type of guy in any situation. Except for one.

Male strippers.

I had no idea that I was actually afraid of them until the night of the sloppy second – which was at Lucky Cheng’s. My friends and I had planned a night of bad food (seriously, I heard that the food there sucks) and a fabulous “dragdoll” wait staff. But instead of fabulousity, we learned that 1) they do not serve dinner on Fridays and 2) we would instead be watching a male review.

One of my friends and I wanted to leave but we were out voted and I panicked as we were led behind the curtain into a smallish room filled with sweat, humidity and about 75 women, half of whom were screaming at the mostly naked guys as though they were having the most fun ever.

Those guys not only smell your fear – they seem to be drawn to it. They loved our collective panic (at least mine and my friend’s) so much that they put our group on stage for the remainder of the show. This was all before I had adequate time to even get a little buzzed to help me deal with the situation.

Now, I’m not afraid of penis. But I am afraid of feeling like I have no control and since I know and hate the feeling of being objectified, I was uncomfortable being in the position to do the objectifying. And as one stripper (who was admittedly pretty hot), gave me some weird lap dance, I felt the need to humanize him. The only way for me to do that was to talk to him.

I sat on a chair with my hands glued to my sides and averted my eyes from his body. “So, uh, do you like your job?”

He moved his crotch, which was covered by an American flag thong, too close to my face and he said, “Well, I love it right now.”

My mouth was closed really tightly and I forgot to breathe. I finally answered, “Cool. So could you, like, stop doing your job on me?”

He laughed and got off of me. My friend gave me a dollar and I jokingly put it in my bra strap. (Side bar: I showed up with a $20. No singles. You never, never, never want to ask anyone there for change there. Ever.) He took the bill with his mouth. Then somehow the mouth was on my breast. On a stage, in front of my friends and quite a few strangers. I pushed him off of me. At least he was hot. (Another side bar: don’t wear your cleavage shirts to a strip club, especially if you are as naïve as I am and will try to pull a joke like that).

At the end of the night, one guy dressed like a Native American (i.e. boots with fringe and a matching thong with fringe) and another guy dressed like a cop started talking to me (as in what’s your name, where do you go to school – like real questions) and asking me what my friends and I were doing later on.

(God, this is funnier in retrospect. At the time I wondered if I was actually living it and not dreaming that 2/5 of the Village People Redux were talking to me).

I couldn’t talk to them because they were mostly naked and I couldn’t understand how they could be almost like confidence vampires.

So while I wanted to un-objectify them, I couldn’t because they were wearing thongs and talking to me as though they were fully clothed and everything were normal.

After that night, I let myself be dragged to another night of sweaty boys in thongs. Again, they smelled my fear but this time, instead of touching me, one of them made me put my hands on his ass.

There was stubble.

So that did two things for me – it made me not quite as scared to go back to one of those places again if I had to and it made the experience like 4% less intimidating.

I guess you can’t get more human than stubble on the ass.

Pizza and porn go together like peas and carrots. I mean, who doesn’t like to scarf down slices while enjoying some fine pornography? I know I do.

So it only makes sense that pizza establishments are recently catching on.

Porno Pizza, located in Winnipeg, includes a surprise – pornographic pictures – underneath their pies for customers who must show their 18-and-up ID’s to the delivery guy.

Founder Corey Wildeman said, “We cater to certain crowds” – yea, “certain crowds” meaning, hungry, horny Canadians.

Those Canadians sure are frisky, but us Americans can top that. Cordatos in Manhattan is a place that, for 10+ bucks will buy you a pizza and a lap dance!! From dancers who have been busted for prostitution!! That’s some bang for your buck.

Sure, pizza and porn reveals the male shovenist at its best, but it’s a gimmic and it works. It’s every man’s dream, really, so why not exploit that and make everyone happy? The only negative is that once this combination catches on and there’s a pizza-porn empire, guys everywhere will have a real excuse to take us ladies out less and less, and crave delivery more and more.

And we think Americans have a weight problem now…..