I sacrifice for my readers, I really do.*1 I willingly wade into horrific situations thinking to myself "This giant pile of assfuckery will make for some excellent blog material, yay! My readers will be so happy when I tell them about all the blood, fecal matter and stripper tears."
Therefore I decided to do something new here at The Plight-an interview with several dancers. I knew this was going to be like throwing my brain into a wheat thresher, yet I didn't care. I figured if strippers haven't killed me yet, surviving some one on one Q&A sessions was completely doable. Now that I'm out of the hospital and the doctors have assured me there was 'minimal lasting damage' to my psyche, I'm ready to publish the astonishing results.
I recommend drinking heavily while you read the following material, it will help you understand what the hell they're saying. I will warn you however that some of the transcript below is of a disturbing nature and shouldn't be viewed by the faint of heart or stomach. I have carefully chosen some of the more interesting responses and edited out all references to Satan, The Unholy Triumverate and vaginal lesions.
You're welcome.
Without further ado I give you excerpts from the...
Interviews With Strippers
Our first featured dancer is Lin-duh, stage name Stormy. Age: Unknown, but pretty old. Stormy's been in the industry for a long time, presumably since womens underwear were known as 'bloomers'. She's a seasoned veteran (read: depressing and world weary) who could've retired many years ago had she the merest inkling of investment sense or any financial acumen whatsoever. But no, she still shucks for bucks and it is a heart rending experience to witness.
Me: "How did you get started in the industry?"
Stormy: "Well I wanted to go to college and become a doctor, but back then they didn't let women go to school past the seventh grade so I got a job slinging drinks at the local saloon. Soon after that I noticed that if I let men pinch my bottom and grab my boobies, they gave me a better tip. Then one day I went to a carnival and saw the tent where women would dance the hootchie and I said to myself 'I can do that' and the rest is history."
Me: "Ancient history".
Stormy: "What?"
Me: "Nothing. I see you have breast implants. When did you get them and did they boost your income?"
Stormy: "They're pretty recent, like 1987 I think. And yeah they did help out a lot at first, but now they really don't and I can't for the life of me figure out why. I mean, look at them, they're perfect!"
At this point in the conversation, Stormy pulled down her top and two pale, liver spotted badgers lunged out straight at my face. After I realized these were her tits, I got up off the floor, sat back down in my chair and holstered my pistol. Then I resumed the interview.
Me: "So how old are you, Stormy?"
Stormy: "A gentleman never asks and a lady never tells, but I'm not ashamed to admit that I'm 38."
Me: "Thirty...?"
Stormy: "Eight. That's right. Should I show you my tits again to prove it?"
Me: "Gosh, no! I'll mark down 36 just to be safe."
Stormy: "You're so sweet."
Me: (Shudder)
This next excerpt is from my enlightening conversation with Sarissa, stage name Clarissa. Age: probably 22 but her people's religion forbade the use of calenders, so she's not really sure. Sarissa is what some bigoted, judgmental folks might call 'trailer trash', but nothing could be further from the truth, she lived in a house in fact.*2 Sarissa was raised a strict Xxxxxxxxian, which is pronounced 'Bun jo EE An', but since the Church of Bunjo, Fiddler, forbids the learning of letters and numbers, it's spelled Xxxxxxxxx.
Me: So Clarissa, last Tuesday I heard you had a pro ball player make it rain on you. How much did you end up making that night?"
Clarissa: "What's a Tuesday?"
Me: "Um, the day that happened before the day that happened before yesterday.
Clarissa: "Oh you mean last Crimpkin*3? Well yeah there was this enormous bla....African American fella and he threw a bunch of all those dollary things that the Condemned use to pay for stuff. My Dad always takes what I make and burns it so we won't go to WalCerberon when we die."
Me: "Um...."
Clarissa: "WalCerberon is like a really bad place. My Dad says it would be like Detroit if the Lions ever won the Superbowl, but I don't know what that means and my Mom says that Dad is a horrible sinner and will stand in line forever in WalCerberon for his heinous knowledge."
Me: "....absolutely. So how is it that you're a stripper for a living? If your parents are that strict and your religion that fuc......traditional in it's observances, how is it OK for you to take off your clothes for money?"
Clarissa: "Because the Prophet Merle says so, silly. We started really young at the local Grange when the Prophet Merle had his bible burnings. Stripping is the sacred responsibility of all girls he says...."
Me: "I'm gonna stop you right there before we go down a path that's, quite frankly, really creepy. Let's get back on topic. You're from a very small town*4, how was it making the adjustment to city life?"
Clarissa: "Well it wasn't easy. Dad makes me wear a blindfold to and from the club where I work at so I don't see sinful things like stores or foreign cars. So mostly it was just a matter of stopping myself running and screaming every time I saw what I now know are called 'people of other races'. They were really scary at first.
Then I had to get used to drinking what everyone calls booze around here. I couldn't believe it at first how people would drink this stuff and then stagger around doing stupid things. We have that stuff too sorta, except our is always clear and comes in mason jars and we use it to power our tractor that we're allowed to use every other Pluppton.*5 My Uncle Dad makes it in his dancing barn and we were raised on it. The stuff they serve where I work has been thinned out with a lot of water I think. Someone should do something about it."
Me: "So you've been dancing naked and drinking moonshine since you were ten or something is what you're saying."
Clarissa: "Oh gosh no, younger than that, we...."
Me: "This interview's over."
Our next gem comes from a dancer named Brittney, stage name Anastasia. I refer to her as Anastasia XXIX because according to my records she's the 29th different stripper I've worked with in 15 years who calls herself 'Anastasia'.*6
Anastasia is not the brightest bulb on the Christmas Tree, poor thing. But because Our Lord Savior sometimes tries to prove he's not a total prick, she has a really great ass and a mesmerizing face. She makes it work for her despite her handicaps of two testicle-sized boobies and crotch full of shaved pastrami engaged in a constant border war with her thongs.
Me: "So why did you choose the stage name 'Anastasia'?"
Anastasia: "I totally saw this cartoon once and it had a princess named Anastasia and I thought hey that would be a great name for a stripper and I bet no other girl would ever think of it. Hee-hee."
Me: "Can you spell Anastasia for me?"
Anastasia: "Ay-en-ee I think, 7, ess-ach-why-ay. Or something like that. I'm not totally a great speller. Hee-hee."
Me: "Your breasts are like two small mounds of uninteresting silly putty. Do you feel this ever holds you back from making more money in your chosen profession?"
Anastasia: "Wow, yeah, like totally! If I could afford it I would get like double D's crammed in me tomorrow! I met this guy once who said if I came to his house he would do them for like a thousand dollars, but I didn't have it at the time and I haven't seen him since. I totally wish I would've taken him up on his offer when I had the chance, good luck like that doesn't come round very often. Hee-hee."
Me: "Um, it didn't occur to you that he was probably a serial killer or something?"
Anastasia: "No, I'm like totally a great judge of character and stuff. He was a really nice guy. Hee-hee."
Me: "You're probably totally right. So what kind of car do you drive?"
Anastasia: "A Scion TC. It's stands for totally cute! Hee-hee."
Me: "Thank you for participating. Totally"
My next interview is with Melinda, stage name Eyrnyrtristananniaka, or something like that. She confuses syllables with class somehow and chose the most idiotically complex titty-name ever conceived. Melinda is fucking stunningly hot. Seriously, if my jaded, hypercritical ass says she's stunningly hot, then believe you me, she's hotter than a homeless kid's bike.
Fortunately for mankind, she has little to no idea how to actually do her job. If I could somehow transplant a malevolent old stripper's monstrous brain into her delicious, lithe and taut little body, I could create something capable of altering entire local economies as guys lined up to give her money and she spent it on astronomically priced fashion accessories and expensive cars that she wrecked 3 days later. She would have virtually unlimited earning power and soon her income would eclipse medium sized African nations' GDP.
This girl is that hot. RIDICULOUSLY SO.
But I've gone on about her insane good looks enough. Here's a portion of the interview...
Me: "Fuck you're hot. How did you get this hot?"
Melinda: (blushing)*7 "I don't know. I just grew up this way."
Me: "Snarling baby Jesus, you're smokin. I want to make a broth out of your panties."
Melinda: "What?"
Me: "I said 'When did you realize your exceptional good looks could provide you a means of making a living?'"
Melinda: "Well I realized when I was probably 10 or so that I was a lot prettier than all the other girls and was only gonna get hotter as I went through puberty and into my teens. I always figured I'd be a model, but they say I'm not tall enough so I became a stripper instead."
Me: "God was good to us that day for a change."
Melinda: (smiling uncomfortably and edging away from me) "Yeah, I guess."
Me: "Do you have any pets?"
Melinda: "Yeah I have a pet hedgehog named Sonic and a bunny rabbit named Sedgewick. They are SO cute!!!"
Me: "Oh, I bet they are...."
Melinda: "You're scaring me. I'm leaving now!" (She flees the room.)
Me: "Wait! What kind of car do you drive?"
The final dancer I'll include in this installment is Quim, stage name Fucking Quim, Lesasaurus Rex, Miserable Dyke, Angry-Meat-Eating-Cunt-Devouring-GunTwat. She's one of my all time favorites as you can probably tell from my fond nicknames for her.
Quim is a miserable person. Not miserable like me, as in just crusty and disagreeable like someone's obstinate grandpa, nope. Quim is a full on easy to hate bitch. She's never been happy in her entire life and even when chin deep in snizz she's probably still a depressed sociopathic alcovore.
But enough loving praise, here's the excerpt:
Me: "So why are you such a cunt?"
Quim: "I'm not a cunt, you're just a giant fucking asshole."
Me ....."OK, I'll give you that one. But no, really, you're a raging cunt. Why?"
Quim: "Just because I like to get drunk at work and fight with my girlfriend doesn't make me a bad person. You think because you have a dick that everything you perceive is the way things really are. Well I got news for you, having a dick doesn't necessarily make you a good judge of reality, asshole."*8
Me: "So you've never had a dick. Attached to you, I mean?"
Quim: "Of course not."
Me: "Well then you obviously don't have the slightest idea what you're talking about, penially."
Quim: "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"
Me: "What kind of car do you drive?"
Quim: "What the fuck does that have to do with anything?"
Me: "What's your favorite color?"
Quim: "Are you fucking crazy?"
Me: "I'm guessing it's a sort of pink that gets kinda ruddy toward the edges. Maybe even bordering on brownish."
Quim: "Fuck you! I'm fucking out of here."
Me: "It's a Scion TC, isn't it?"
So there you have some of it. I have pages and pages more of interviews I have yet to
Share away, please
-The StripperHerder
*1 No I don't. I would've had to do all the crap anyway, but I do think of my cherished readers when I'm moving a mound of feces with my hands or mopping up some stripper spoor.
*2 A less compassionate but possibly more candid author may have chosen any of the following terms to describe the 'house' Sarissa was brought up in: shack, hovel, dilapidated cabin, abandoned outhouse, shed, pygmy barn, pile of random lumber, shithole.
*3 Near as I can tell, this translates to either 'Tuesday', or is a generic measure of time roughly equal to 72 hours.
*4 Again, a less charitable interviewer may have opted to use any of the following terms; cult stronghold, compound, armed camp of religious nuts, Crazyville.
*5 I don't know, Friday maybe?
*6 My research indicates that exactly 0.0% of the girls who've chosen the stage name 'Anastasia' have any idea that the name was made famous by a lost Romonov princess and all the furor that surrounded her disappearance for many years thereafter and even to today. Mostly they just associate it with Disney which, again, is kinda creepy.
*7 Real strippers don't blush. They are no longer physically capable of it unless they're having a stroke.
*8 Although I haven't researched it, I'm pretty sure it does. Once you get past all the sweaty, rutty things it wants you to do, that is.
