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Stinkier Than Rancid Chutney On A Raccoon Carcass. Or, If I Was More Charming I Might Be Considered A Curmudgeon, But Unfortunately I'm Just An Asshole.



  There's this girl I work with who's olfactory sense doesn't work. This is the only explanation I can come up as to why she comes into work reeking like reanimated hippie corpse slathered in yeast infection. There's just no other plausible reason for her stink.

 
  She smells homeless. She smells like someone who hasn't bathed. Ever. The advent of deodorant obviously went unnoticed by her, she didn't get the memo. Her pits exude a pungent mammalian funk that is both tangily repulsive and cloyingly determined to hang around long after she's moved on.


  Finally some motivated dancer pulled her aside and let her know as gently as possible that she had an odor reminiscent of a Wendy's dumpster inhabited by Grateful Dead fans and actually handed her some pit-stick.






                                "Shit! Someone's throwing away a perfectly good stripper torso!"




  I hope that this works. I have to deal with any number of unpleasant smells in my line of work; clogged and peaking toilets, lots of barf, occasional feces, toilet fetuses, stinky customers, etc etc. So having to put up with one less nasty stank would be a welcome thing.



  I wrote a haiku about it:



                          



                    Sweaty manky-skank
               Holy Zeus you fucking reek
                  Old fish, spent condoms





  I find it serviceable, if lacking in elegance.







  Beards, Glasses and The Lemming-Like Appeal of Fashion.




  I shaved my beard off recently because I got sick of other men complimenting my facial hair. It was fucking weird. People get all fucking queer and shit when it comes to trendy cuntery. I would never think to compliment another dude on his facial hair if I didn't even know the guy. I have friends who've grown beards you could breed marsupials in, and I said "Hey, that's a great ecosystem you have growing from your chin" or something like that. But that's because they were my friend, not some random male I encountered in a titty bar.

 
  It's a shame too, because I had a sweet beard.



  Geek chic has reached such a fervor that all these human sheep wear non prescription eyeglasses around all the time. Whatever floats you're boat, man. If you're such an insecure person that you have to mimic what all the other insecure people do to get through the day and fit in, then more power to you. I'm very glad I don't feel those pressures, but I suppose I can see why that giving in to them makes a person feel better. The herd provides warmth and security...

 


  People who wear fake eyeglasses also enjoy shitty music. This is a fact.




                                                        "Pierce the Veil rules!"




  Maybe I'm just an asshole*1, but I just don't understand doing something because some famous person did it first. I realize that the average American is a fucking idiot, but even idiots can sometimes make a choice of their own. If your identity is tied to trends and fashions, do you have any real substance or are you just an unimaginative part of the herd?


  Like I said, I'm probably just an asshole. Maybe Nickelback and Rihanna are great artists and I'm just too closed minded to see it. I can only hope.




 So, while I'm on the subject, let's touch upon inevitable road rage. It's relevant.


  My day job requires me to be constantly on the road. I drive all day and have managed to not kill a single person, either involuntarily, or extremely on purpose.


  Yet.


  Ironically my night job sometimes has me driving a giant limo bus around douchebag infested streets, and I STILL haven't killed one.


  Yet.


  So one of the things about our society that pisses me off are some of the new car safety features emerging these days, or as I call them SAIC, Self Absorbed Idiot Countermeasures. Cars today can stop for you whether you're going forward or in reverse in case you're too busy to do it yourself. They can also auto-correct (see what I did there?) if you happen to meander out of your lane because you were watching a funny kitten video on your phone while hurtling along at 65 MPH and couldn't be bothered to pay attention.

  It drives me apeshit that manufacturers' are just pandering to this demographic of irresponsible fuckwits. Driving a car is a fucking privilege, not a right. An automobile is a large, heavy slab of complex machinery capable of great speed which requires a fair measure of concentration and common sense to operate safely.

  One of my favorite of these features is the auto parallel parking system. Because parking is fookin hard, man.





                                "You drive like a hammered Japanese businesswoman, Michael."






  If you cannot successfully parallel park your own vehicle, you simply should not be driving at all. There I said it. Ladies, I hate to say it, but for whatever mysterious gender based reason, a lot of you are really bad at this. You know who you are and you've accepted the fact and you've moved on, I get it.*2

 
  Stay the fuck out of my way.

 
  If I were a TV executive I'd make a show called 'Girls Attempting To Parallel Park.' I used to work at a restaurant and one of the few joys of working there was watching women attempt street parking while I had a smoke break. It was mesmerizing.




                              "I was just texting my friend about how I was sure it would fit..."






  One time I witnessed a perfectly executed 74 Point parking maneuver. It took 11 minutes. The spot itself was substantially smaller than a football field, I don't think I could've fit anything much bigger than a Navy Destroyer in there myself, but she was driving a Kia which is much smaller and better handling than a warship.

 
  She was so proud of herself I couldn't bring myself to call her a dumb twat.





                         "Eh, no big deal. I managed to squeeze it it between the caddy and the hyundai."








  Ah, the hate keeps me warm at night, allowing me to keep the thermostat at 50 all through winter. I thought frakking was supposed to lower my gas bills.

 
  What happened with all that?



  


  Fuck it, I'm drunk enough for now. Thus the cheesy and abrupt ending, something of a trademark by now I would assume. 



  Tune in next week when I tackle some tough philosophical questions such as:



A) What if God is a stripper?

B) If I were trapped at work during the Zompacalypse, how many stripper carcasses would it take to sustain me until the zombie population thinned out enough for me to seek out other humans to devour?*3

C) If I were an All Powerful Being, how would things be different?


D) And so forth





Buy Armenian,
-The StripperHerder







*1 There's no 'maybe' about it.**



 


    **I've come to terms with it.





*2 There are 17 Identified and Confirmed Excellent Female Automobile Pilots (ICEFLAPS) in the tri-state area and one or more of them may be reading this right now.



*3 Hipster burger with a piquant goat cheese and a solar-hydroponically grown slice of tomato is a particular favorite.

Anger Management Valedictorian. Or, Goddamn That's An Ugly Bitch. Like Barking Ugly. Make It Go Away.



  Argh, I'm fucking tired. Working like a dog doesn't leave much time to tend to my beloved flock of Herderites and I apologize. Maybe when I'm rich and a man of leisure I'll be able to crank out my patented brand of wrathful schlock with more regularity. One can always hope.

  As most of my regular readers know, I'm an angry man. Not angry in an always-hitting-other-humans-and-perpetually-in-and-out-of-jail sort of way. I have mastered my rage-bear and those who haven't aren't only angry, they're fucking stupid as well. You can be a pissed off person and still be a productive member of society, you just have to find something to channel your bitter, seething maleficence into.

  Some people box, some have talk shows, I have this blog. It may not be much but goddamn it, it's mine.

  So now that I've established the theme of this installment, let's get right down to it.




                               

                               Shit that pisses me off



  Makeshift roadside memorials: Until about 15 years ago I never saw one of these sad, forlorn little crosses marking the spot where some unfortunate person died in a car wreck. I realize that dealing with grief and the loss of a loved one sucks, my Dad was killed in a motorcycle accident many years ago. Yet I've never been to the spot where it happened, nor felt any desire to go there. When I want to mourn or remember my Pop, I go to where his body is buried, right alongside my Grandpa and Grandma.

  Why people feel the desire to put some sort of memorial up where the accident occurred I will never understand. Why should everyone else traveling that stretch of road who happens to glance in that direction be forced to share your grief? Do your mourning at the grave, quit ruining my drive time. That's why we made cemeteries in the first place.





                                     Help keep America beautiful by mourning in proper places.


  


  Birthdays: So one day a while back, your Mom's fetid vagina squeezed you out into this world all slathered in blood-mucus and agony. Congratulations, you were birthed. It's one hell of an accomplishment.

  Nobody fucking cares that you joined the population of the earth X amount of years ago. Why is the anniversary of the day your tortured your Mother's brat chute and emerged into the world 100% incapable of caring for yourself in any way important or relevant to anyone outside your circle of friends and family?

  It's not.

  It's not medieval times any more. Child mortality rate is not 50% and hasn't been for a long time, at least not in this country. It's not like every other child is still carried off by insert plague's name here. Who fucking cares that you've survived another year, it's not an exceptionally hard to achieve milestone anymore.

  We have medicine and science and shitforth.

  I've seen so many people come to the club and the first thing out of their mouths is that it's their birthday as if I give the tiniest nugget of shit about that. Fuck you. Fuck your Mom. Fuck your birthday. Suck goat balls and die. I hope you contract typhus for your birthday.

  Back when I was in grade school and it was my birthday, I had to bring in treats for the class, that's just the way it was done. If it was your calfing-day, you brought the fucking treats.



  So where's my Snickers, birthtwat?



  My family was so broke growing up that when it was my birthday I brought in a snack pack of raisins. When my teacher said in a condescending manner "Oh you brought raisins in for the Class?" I replied, " No Ma'am, I brought in a single raisin for every worthless fuck in the classroom, and two for you."

  Thus was my school record pretty much set on it's course, potential be damned.

  Don't even get me started on the whole 'safety-pinning money to your clothes' thing, how goddamn ghetto can you get?





                                                 "I keeping it realz, comrade."




  People who partake of your goodwill, inconvenience you and promise to tip you in recompense for putting up with their drunken cuntshittery: First off I've only got about a 25% hit rate from those who promised they'd "Make sure they took care of me." I seriously doubt most other people who rely on tips for a living have a much higher percentage. Basically stating in any form "That I will tip you later", means that A) You have no intention of giving me any money to make your experience better, and B) you're too fucking stupid/selfish/assholey to realize that the best way to make any club experience better is to tip, and tip up front.

  Money up front guaranties that you've got the service people's attention, and solid credibility right off the bat. By dangling the promise of income in front of their faces, you have set off alarm bells that warn you may be a broke, stingy piece of shit fucklog.

  We can smell your kind. All fuckloggy and shit...


  We Floor Grubs refer to this as being Goundhog Dayed. The following video provides an analogy of the process.

  (Please note that the validity of this analogy ends at roughly 28 seconds, after that it's pure fantasy.)



http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7NjNOAncIlI











  Rihanna: Rihanna pisses me off because she's a mediocre singer, a ghetto promoting slice of ho, and the fact that I have to listen to her every 3 songs on any given night I work at The Slut Shack for 10-12  hour at a time.

  She must be stopped. Someone do something. Please God help us. Kyrie Eleison.


  #endherevil    #Rihannathroatpunch*1





                            "My fivehead is actually larger than either of my butt cheeks. Weird, heh?"






Tiny car douchebags: It takes more than a Powerchip and a custom exhaust to make your faggoty Civic a fucking race car, you sideburn-having-rap-loving-child-rapist. There's a special place reserved in Hell for people like you who wouldn't know class if it dropped out a tree and skull fucked them.


  


  Enough about my petty hates. Let's talk about Strippers.




  I may have mentioned before about how I hate amateur nights. No, really I do. Maybe you missed it.


  Well last Friday night, this tried to audition:







                                                          "Gizzme a jobs."







And this:








                        "The name's Angie. I enjoy moonlight walks, Italian food and meth fueled butt-rape."







  And unfortunately this as well:






                                                      Miss Buchenwald 2013.





  Seriously, this one girl was maybe 5'2" and couldn't have weighed an ounce more than 70 lbs. To say she was slender would be to miss the opportunity to say "She's like an over tattooed Gollum with nipples and a leopard print loincloth", and I refuse to do that on principle.









  Fuck it all, I believe I'm done. I urge everyone in America to vote third party. I also urge everyone in America to send me some money. I won't be able to continue this blog when I'm homeless.



Viva La Perfecto Tit-tahs,
-The StripperHerder



*1 I'm really starting to like these fake hashtag** things.



  **I'm proud to say that I don't really even know what a hashtag is

No, Use A 12 Gauge, You Can Pull The Trigger With A Toe. Or, You Are A Hideous Fat Wretch, Why Are You Climbing That Pole? Or Even, An Amalgamation Of The Last Several Weeks, Pan Fried With Extra Cunt.




  I'm not sure if I've mentioned it before, but I hate my job. I work with whiny bitches, drunk douchebags and All American assholes. It's worn me away to the soggy, bloated stick.

  Yes, yes I hear you. If I hate my job so much, just quit. I've heard this argument before and I would love to. Unfortunately I like having a roof over my head and a warm place to get drunk more than I hate my job. Just slightly, but still more. I've been homeless before and I don't relish the thought of returning to that life, it wasn't much fun.




                                                           Me, age 29



  Therefore I must continue in this industry and strive to not hurt other human beings while I do it. Hurting other humans is baaaad. Making money goooood.

  Which is as good a place as any to voice my opinion on greed. Greed is the worst human trait that we've ever evolved. Maybe it's innate in some people, I don't know. I do not have a degree that makes my job title anything that ends with ologist so I'm not really qualified to offer an opinion as to why greed exists, I just know it turns otherwise reasonable people into raging dickclowns whom I despise and wish death upon.



                           Rare pic of Strip Club Owner enjoying entree after appetizer of flayed puppy.






  Why have I gone to this topic you may ask, well I'll tell you. Since that last time I've written here, the owner decided, in his infinite wisdom, that we must raise our prices. Making $50,000 a month was no longer satisfactory to him, despite his millions, so he forced all his clubs to raise their prices. Both dance and drink prices.

  I'm no business major but I'm pretty sure that if you're unhappy with your business's income, raising your prices is not the answer. I used to work for a concert club that booked mostly local, insanely shitty acts that nobody would come to. The drink prices there were already outrageous and add in the fact that there were 2 other bars within 1000 feet that had much cheaper drinks and you would think that the owner would get it. 'I'm charging too much for a beer', he would think, 'if I sell them for less I can sell more of them and actually make more money.'



                                                  There's a lot to be said for volume.




  But that's not what happened. What did happen is that the bands would load in and then they would go to one of the other bars and drink cheaply until 15 minutes before their set, play and then go to another club that wasn't our club and continue to value drink.

  The owner never got it. It got so bad that they couldn't book much of anything that wasn't teen screamo or hip hop and if you're reduced to catering to either of those crowds, you're fucked. Your time in the industry is coming to an end.



                                       This is generally not a good sign when arriving at work.




  What we should've done is not charged $6 a bottle for Bud in the first place, thereby selling a lot more of it and also increasing the likelihood that the bands would actually drink AT YOUR CLUB and you could book acts which would put people through the door.

  I realize its a crazy concept to not overcharge, but stay with me here. A 12 pack of Bud-shite costs the bar around $8, or roughly .66 cents a beer. So if you charge $4 for that beer, you've made about $3.34. You may sell 200 of them in a night and wow, that's a great profit. Good for you.

  But if you get to the point where you're only selling 30 of them in a night, there's a problem. 30 beers at $3.34 profit equals $100.02. If you drop the price by a dollar and sell twice as many you'll make $140.40. Volume will win 90% of the time over profit margin.

  Sell more, make more.

  Therefore raising the prices on everything is not the solution to your greed problem. In a strip club context it's going to:

A) Cause fewer customers to spend money on dances. If every other titty bar in town has cheaper dances of equal quality, why would anyone pay an extra $10 for our product?

B) Start costing us dancers who, while making more money per dance, are selling less dances and making less money than they were at the old prices.

C) Cause the bar to sell fewer drinks and even with a higher profit margin, NOT make up the lost revenue.




           


            Greed is the worst thing ever.





                                         "I can't be expected to live on $25,000 a week."





  I realize at this point that I've barely touched on the subjects that inspired the title to this installment, so I'm going to take a break and lose at some poker.



  Ha! I'm back, and yes I did lose at poker because I have a hard time sticking to my game plan when I've been drinking, which is ironically the only time I really enjoy playing poker. Dumb, huh?


  Anyway things that are dumb is as good a segue into my next subject as any.



                                     

                                                     Stupidity


  Stupidity sucks to have to deal with. When people drink their IQ goes down and their judgement gets all fuckered up, thus leading to premature deaths and amusing internet videos. But when you're already an idiot to start with and then you drink, boy do you get fucking stupid. Like kitten-born-with-half-a-brain stupid.

  Some examples:


  Since we don't allow people to wear hats in the club you must check them at the door. We take your hat and give you a little ticket with a number on it and when you're ready to leave you give us the ticket back and we find the hat that corresponds to that number and then you get your hat back. Pretty simple, no?

  I had a guy the other night who actually asked me "We get our hats back at the end of the night, right?"

  Nope. We got a dumpster full of hats that we fill with dog shit, uneaten french fries and used condoms and then throw at homeless people in a misguided attempt to to make their lives better.





                                                  "I better get this back, young man."





  The very same night I had a guy who had come into the club and about 15 minutes later wanted to go out front to have a cigarette. I pointed out that we have a patio and that he could take his drink with him if he went there instead of out front. Then he asked me, this gentleman who'd arrived from outside 15 minutes ago,

 "Is it cold out there?"

 I wanted to say yes it is. It is so very, bitterly cold out there that I may have to cut your buddy open and push you inside him to keep you alive. Humans weren't designed to withstand 60 degree temperatures for more than a few minutes.


  Stupidity Add-On 1)


  Day shift dancers and night shift dancers.


  This should really be self explanatory, especially for anyone who's been in a strip club more than 3 times in their lives. Maybe day shifts are awesome in some city I don't live in, but here they're a joke. Quite frankly most of the clubs I've worked at here in the good ole Town could actually improve their bottom line by closing down their day shifts and opening up at 3 or 4 rather than 11, but unfortunately greed comes into play here. The owners can't stand the thought of someone with $100 to spend that they might not get a piece of.

  So they open at 11 and don't make enough money 80-90% of the time to cover operating costs, much less turn a profit. Why they can't see that they would have more money in their pockets each week if they just shut down the pathetic day shift I will never understand.

 Thus day shifts here are like a wildlife preserve that provide habitat for old, crazy ugly and just plain nasty dancers. If a girl is just too damn gross to be allowed on a night shift, sometimes they're offered a day shift position because in a sparsely populated environment, any titties are better than no titties.



                              Due to her lack of tentacles or open sores, Lucinda was the pride of Day Shift






A lot of day walkers are not even allowed to stay on into a night shift because they are repulsive and embarrassing to normal patrons, and quite frankly if you spend your early afternoons in a strip club, you have some serious problems of your own and should seek counseling.



  Stupidity Add-On 2 )



  Shift change



  For some reason it still surprises me when patrons come into the club at 6-8PM, an awkward time in this industry where the scary, drunk day shift girls are leaving and some of the hotter night shift girls are starting to trickle in, and are surprised that there aren't very many dancers running around and usually even less customers.

  People actually get pissed off about this. They come in, look around and leave in a huff, often making shitty comments to the Door Girl about how the club sucks (as if she runs the place). If you want to go in to a club and have it rocking no matter what time you stroll in, go to a top ten market city you fucking cunt.

  Folks in this town don't go out much on weekdays, and when they do it's not until 10-11PM. Most of the dancers realize this and even if they get in at 8 or 9, aren't going to make an appearance on the floor until around 10. They know from experience that things aren't going to be very good until then.

  So therefore if you go to a strip club in the early evening with any sort of expectations beyond sitting around and sipping some drinks for a couple of hours until the light-fearing strippers can be bothered to emerge, you're a fucking idiot.




                        "Me like strippers. It bad me are too dumb to figure out the best time to see dem!"




  Another facet of this behavior are customers that for some reason don't like to hang out at places that aren't busy. I have lots of these jizzstains come into the club and while there may be 30 strippers around not doing much of anything, if there aren't enough other customers there, they leave. Dude, it's a strip club. If you're choosing to leave because there aren't enough other men there, you might be looking for the wrong sort of club.

  Maybe look for clubs with names like The Tool Shed, The Cock Cage, or Le Jizzerables. I think you may be confused about some things...

  Perhaps I'm just completely insane, but provided there's enough dancers to make a decent rotation, there are many advantages to going to a titty bar that's not very busy.

  -You don't have to wait long for drinks
  -You have your choice of entertainers for private dancers
  -There's little competition for the dancers' attention
  -Plenty of elbow room
  -You probably won't have to stand in a puddle of other dude's piss when you use the bathroom


  Sometimes when the club is slammin busy, you can't get a drink inside 15 minutes unless you go get it yourself. If a dancer is seriously hot, you probably won't be able to get a dance for her unless you tip a Floor Mammal to get her for you or even, in extreme cases, get any dancer to dance for you without some kind of assistance (which you won't get without tipping someone...)


  These are things I will never understand. Strip club logic isn't complicated.




  What's next? Oh yeah...



       

           Even More Stupidity: 


         Trying to get into a strip club for free


  If you're going to try to get into a strip club for free because you're clearly way too important/cool/broke to pay the cover charge, try to avoid a couple of things.

  First off don't say that you that you were in the club last week and spent 'X thousands of dollars', and here's why.

  We would fucking remember you, asshole.

  If you're going to drop several grand in a club, somehow or someway that money passed through the Floor Gripes and we were directly involved in every facet of your time here. We got the girls, we brought your bottles, we obtained the club funny money for you, we set up the VIP rooms.

  We waited on you hand and foot because that's what you do for whales, you cater to their every whim and hope they tip fat. Or we positioned our best tipping girls with you and got everyone into a champagne room. This is known as Trickle Down Strippernomics.

  The point is if you really were in the club previously and did indeed spend thousands of dollars, we would remember you. We're like elephants when it comes to spenders, we have an ancestral memory.



  Another thing that should be avoided is claiming you're an area club owner or a professional athlete. I've actually been in a club before when someone came in claiming to be the owner of insert bar name here when the actual owner is sitting 50 feet away. It's pretty funny.



                                                   "Seriously, I'm Donald Trump."





  A 5'6" 160 lb guy does not, in fact, play for your local NFL team. If on the outside chance he does, it's for the practice squad and that doesn't count. It's like trying to claim that you're a professional boxer because Mike Tyson beat the shit out of you in a Vegas parking lot.



                                               "I find your mattitude refugnant to my sensamilities!"





  The bottom line here is this. If you truly are a guy who's going to spend four or five digits at our establishment tonight, then why should a cover charge make any difference to you? Nothing says "I'm going to blow stupid amounts of money here tonight" than casually paying the cover charge for your whole entourage without batting an eyelash.

  That gives you instant credibility while arguing about pocket change at the door makes you seem like you're a broke, miserly bitch.




  Fuck it. I have more general aggravation to go over it, but this installment is getting out of hand.


  If you can find time in your busy schedule, take a moment to share this blog with someone you know who also hates humanity.


-The StripperHerder*













*Holy crap, no footnotes.