The Manager's have been on a program of Floor Beast humiliation and debasement lately. They are coming to realize that the Floor Beast's are critical to the club's success, much more than they are, and therefore we wield altogether too much power for their liking.
So to reestablish their dominance they have begun a systemic plan of irritating, needless bullshit flung randomly at us from the safety of their office, like monkeys pelting hyenas with feces from their sanctuaries in the treetops. Suddenly the mediocre job we've always done of cleaning the club or acting gracious, is in question. As a result we now face petty retributions from The MisManagement.
Things like:
-No drinking after work because someone is stealing liquor that no self-respecting Floor Guy would ever drink. (Floor Guys are an excellent revenue stream for the club since we barely get a discount over the average sucker that walks through our door but will slam drinks after work anyway.)
-We used to give you your checks on Wednesday, even though technically Friday is payday. Now you can wait til Friday like the goddamn peasant you are. The good times are over, serf, hand over the fooking potatos and no one gets fired.
-Who's the Late Guy?
At this point I'm going to stop and explain the concept of 'The Late Guy' for those of you who are unfamiliar with the term.
The 'Late Guy' is the unarmed, not-interested-in-dying-for-the-club-owner's-money Floor Guy who happened to be scheduled the latest and doesn't have an awesome excuse why he has to leave right away. The Late Guy is required to stay at the club until the Manager has finished the paperwork and is supposed to stay with said Manager for either moral support (which is useless in a gunfight) or possibly to protect against ghosts.
Let's be clear, the Late Guy is unarmed. The club's insurance is basically null and void if one of it's employees uses a gun in the club for any reason, so we don't. Therefore if someone were to gain entrance to the club after hours with the intention of robbing it, what the hell is The Late Guy supposed to do? The way I see it his choices are fairly limited:
-He can state quite clearly that he has no intention of taking a bullet in the face for the fucking Owner and lead the criminal to the Manager's office and proceed to talk the equally unarmed Manager into just coughing up the dough in exchange for the consideration of not being shot in the face.
-He can run and hide using his intimate knowledge of the building to escape the robbers or hole up in a defensible room, thus avoiding getting shot in the face for the owner's money.
-He could try to defeat an armed opponent or opponents using only his razor sharp brain and ridiculously fast reflexes coupled with an unconscious and expendable stripper as a shield.
-He can use very bad language and let the robber(s) know in no uncertain terms that they were very bad people and should be ashamed of themselves.
-He can take no such actions whatsoever and still get shot in the face by criminals not smart enough to wear masks, or those bearing a grudge from a past situation. Happens all the time but isn't newsworthy because Floor Guys are scum too.
-You can have your credit card tips when you can pry them from my cold, dead fingers..
Normally the manager will hand over the credit card tips to the Floor Hosts when he has finished counting the VIP drawer. However, a manager on a petty vendetta warpath can choose to withhold those tips until he has finished doing all the paperwork and is ready to close the club up for the night. This usually takes around 45 minutes to an hour and a half.
This means that if they want their money, all the Floor Trolls are stuck waiting for the boss, not just the Late Guy. It's a sort of unit torture, like making all the men in the platoon do pushups because one guy had a jelly donut in his footlocker.
Suck a box of baboon cocks, management.
-Here is a tiny brush used to clean the nits from a wild stripper's pelt, go use it to clean the grout in the women's bathroom.
It's the chain gang equivalent of digging a ditch and then filling in back in. A bored or vindictive Manager can find no end of degradation to subject unsuspecting Floor Thogs to.*1
Soon they may taste the fruits or their scorn and the Floor Thog nation shall rise again.
PLEASE GIVE GENEROUSLY TO THE GORDON STANTON-HERBERT FERAL STRIPPER REFUGE.
Let's face it industry people, stripper's who don't retire, die or become so nasty they can't find employment anywhere often end up going feral at the end of their careers. In many clubs this leads to them being unethically released back into the wild where they wreak havoc on the the ecosystem. This cycle has created an imbalance in the ecosystem as feral strippers destroy the traditional hunter-prey relationships found throughout North America. Packs of wild strippers have been documented eating beavers and trying to mate with deer before they drag them down and devour them hooves and all.
It's like unleashing giant werewolves made of razor blades into a Disney forest, suddenly the singing stops, Nicki Minaq cuts in and cute cartoon shit starts dying horribly with lots of squirting blood and screaming.
The Gordon Stanton-Herbert Feral Stripper Refuge give clubs a place to send their aged, defeated strippers to where they can live their declining years in a safe controlled environment, as God intended. The Refuge is a no-kill freeform habitat where expired dancers can roam freely in the simulated natural world of the domestic stripper*2, such as a trailer park, a 4 acre Truckstop and two strip malls.
The resident strippers enjoy such social activities as the Vodka Pool, Slow Moving Old Man Tourist Trolley, Truckdriver Head and they coexist in a 100% Rhianna saturated environment, which seems to calm them.
It's a worthwhile cause but it doesn't come cheap. The Patron budget alone is like that of a small African nation's GDP, but we do grow our own limes. We're all green and shit because of all the dope we have to grow for the strippers.
Just give them weed and something with vampires in it and they remain docile. Your dollars provide that, give accordingly.
Yup.
-The StripperHerder
*1 Thog was the name of the first StripperHerder, as alluded to in the bible somewhere in the back. It is used as an anonymous name for a StripperHerder, as in "If you don't give me my money, I'll call a Floor-Thog".
*2 Lat: Titticus Localus
