Walking away from the Mayan Theater on Tuesday night, dazed, my ears still ringing and images of brightly-colored wrestling unitards still flashing before my eyes, I was transported back through time and space to a little strip club in Montana called Shotgun Willie’s, on a hot night last August. I was sitting on the stage, handcuffed to the pole by a naked young blonde woman for what's called a "hostage dance." Out of the......