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We Are Only As Powerful As Management Allows Us To Be. Or, The More I Let Strippers Get Away With The More Money I Make, So Management Can Gargle A Squeeze Bottle Of Bear Jizz.




  It's a funny, sad, cyclical little world the strip club. Each can pretend that they're different in some way from all the others, but really they're all the same. There are basic equations that must be observed or a club hasn't got a chance at competing, much less surviving. Facts must be acknowledged, certain conventions must be accepted and the poor, misbegotten management team has to deal with several facets of reality which aren't going to change no matter how hard they try.


  If they try...


  Chief among these is the fundamental truth that the majority of strippers are on lots of drugs.*1 Heavy, addictive, debilitating drugs which would cripple any effort at maintaining a 'normal' job, like a secretary, nurse or professional MMA fighter.


  Another is that the Floor Guys will only deal with a certain level of apathy from the mismanagement before they just say 'fuck it', throw their dignity on the ground like a soiled gauntlet and proceed to become unrepentant pimps. Most of us Floor Louts would love to work in a clean, crime free environment bereft of whoring and drug snorting, but have learned from experience that you can make better money by wading into the filth and getting your soul all cruddy.


  On top of all that is that the Owner will be breathing down your neck about every little thing, most of which contradict each other. Examples of this include:



1) "I want the most dancers on staff of any club in the area, but they can't be ugly or gross in any way."


2) "Sure I know that this particular stripper is a whore and a drug dealer who is selling narcotics to a third of the rest of my staff, but you can't fire her because she makes a lot of money for the club."


3) "While I'm completely ignoring my previous statement, I don't want my liquor license endangered under any circumstances. See to it. Without firing a bitch."


4) "I'm going to yell at you for for stuff I know nothing about, so get used to it. I'm going to stress you out and get mildly aroused doing it. If I come into the club during day shift and there is some patchwork nightmare shuffling about on stage then I will demand you fire it instantly. However if I'm safely ensconced in my nuclear-proof mansion 5 states away and see that my day shift dancer count has gone down by even one I will immediately call and berate you for firing something I would have insisted you fire had I actually been there."

"This will be unbelievably frustrating to you but I don't care because my signature is on your paycheck."





  This is the serpent-eating-it's-own-tail reality of the titty club business. You have to have dancers. You can't be too hard on them or they'll go elsewhere and you can't let them run roughshod all over you or soon they consume you and everything you love, shitting out a trail of broken dreams and sundered hopes on their way to whatever it is they seek.


  Getting between a stripper and what she wants is seldom a place you want to be. They are ruthless, manipulative and utterly without goodwill or mercy when the next Coach bag or eight ball*2 is on the line.




  That being said, it is galling yet amusing to me when the management team calls together a company meeting to outline new or revised rules of operation that they have no intention of standing behind outside of maybe a few days. They will rant and rave and maybe even have a power point presentation about things that have to change in the way the club runs. They will feel extremely good about how the meeting went and the dynamic new attitude they have instilled in their staff.


  They may even go out for drinks afterward and congratulate themselves on a meeting well executed, objectives realized and a new direction embarked upon.


  But this is all bullshit. A big steamy pile of self serving ass discharge that means absolutely nothing outside of them being able to say 'synergistic'.


  Nothing will change for more than 72 hours. Three days seems to be the memory limit of most managers and then everything will revert back to how things have always been.*3


  This always happens. Usually after some minor catastrophe like a fine from the state, or a liquor inventory coming up a few bottles short. The point is to annoy the shit out of your underlings and subject them to a Dog and Pony show which wastes their time and will result in no lasting change because you haven't either the will nor support to enact it.


  But this is, beyond counting the money and filling in the columns, the purpose of a Manager. To boldly lead the team into extremely temporary changes and just as boldly run away into standard practice and pretend change was never on the agenda or had been mentioned at all.




  So for the leadership of the club to approach the Guild Of Stripperherders with complaints of lax enforcement, is sorta funny. They expect me to prick up my ears like a dutiful hound and spring to my masters commands, teeth flashing and manhood magnificently erect as I bring down a full grown female stripper who's on enough crank to fund a Hell's Angels chapter.


  But this old dog has been tricked way too many times to just throw itself into a fight it can't win for a master that doesn't really care. I've snitched on so many dancers over the years; for meeting customers after work, for leaving with customers, for selling drugs, for doing drugs and in my experience, nothing ever happens.


  Management can talk a good game but when all is said and done, they fail miserably. This puts the FloorBortions in the position of both relying on the girls for income and being expected to police them at the same time.


  This doesn't work at all unless the powers that be back us up every now and then.



  So we Floor Ghouls walk the fine line between the Sorta Mighty Managers and the Seemingly Omnipotent Strippers. It sucks, but when you learn to ignore the majority of everything that's said to you by anything with a mouthhole and just get on with doing your job, it all becomes simpler and less stressful.



  You'll never feel good about being a Floor Grunt and you get used to that. At best you're a well dressed thug-in-waiting who sometimes mops up vomit and fecal matter and has grown hateful of two legged mammals. You nights are tormented by Rhianna and AutoTune and the cackling of wasted entertainers quaffing liquor like it's Kool Aid while butchering the English language.



  You are insulted, lied to, challenged and second guessed at every turn. Occasionally you get punched or hit on the head with a random object. On really special nights, you might even get a weapon pulled on you.


  Whatever.


  You deal with it and wait for the night to be over so you can go home and drink the shame away. Shame is very alcohol resistant but if you have any future in the industry whatsoever, you find that you are equally shame resistant as well.


  Or you don't make it.




 If you want pictures, put them in yourself. This isn't a 'See Dick Run' book.
-The StripperHerder













*1 The term 'majority' can mean anywhere from 51% to 99% depending on your level of cynicism.



*2 An eighth of an ounce of cocaine, not a billiard ball. I figured I'd mention it for the more innocent among you. Just in case...



*3 Trust me. I've been through so many of these that I could script write them for the well meaning managers.

Stripper Meta-Types. Or, 'The Wild, Wonderful World Of Strippers', Narrated By Morgan Freeman.




  Classifying different kinds of strippers can be a real challenge because depending on how drunk and/or messed up on drugs they are, you may get several completely different strippers inhabiting the same body on any given week.


  This brief study of dancer meta-types will attempt to shed some light on the varying species of stripper you may encounter withing the strip club ecosystem. Please bear in mind that even though most strippers have been domesticated to some degree, you will eventually cross paths with a wild stripper if you frequent clubs often enough.


  While wild strippers are clearly a danger to everyone and everything around them, even apparently docile dancers can go all rutting-moose crazy on you at the slightest provocation. When in doubt remember these simple rules for interacting with a stripper you're not familiar with.


1) Always use caution when approaching or tipping an unknown stripper. Assume she's feral and work your way down from there.


2) When tipping a girl on stage it is recommended that you simply place the dollar on the stage in front of at first, rather than tipping in the garter or thong as this allows the stripper to become acclimated to your presence before you actually dare to touch her. They can be skittish and unwittingly put your eye out with their deadly 6-or-more inch spike heels when spooked.


3) Sometimes you should let them smell or lick your hand first.*1




4) Baiting reluctant strippers by pouring a small amount of tequila on the stage is not only frowned upon, but is indeed illegal in many states. Shame on you.


5) When introducing yourself to a stripper, point to yourself and say your name slowly and then state again it monosyllabically. "Hi, my name is Bryan. Brrrry. Annnn." Most strippers can usually grasp this within 3 or 4 tries but sadly their retention rate is less than 3% over the next 5 minutes.


6) Strippers who have been at it a while are exceedingly good at reading body language. In fact they rarely listen, care or indeed have any idea what you're talking about. They receive the majority of their information by tone of voice and body movement.


  Kinda like zebras.









                         Stripper Meta Types






  The Mantid: Mantid strippers are easy to spot because of their hunched over posture. Their heads stick out over their chests and their upper backs are unnaturally curved, forcing the shoulders down and inwards. As a result of years of this horrible posture, their titties are generally kind of weird and slightly down-pointing.


  Mantids are terribly insecure and have appalling body image. Their entire condition is created by years of trying to fold in on themselves and thus be less noticeable. They rarely wear excessive jewelry, have piercings or much in the way of tattoos and generally just want to left alone and given money to either talk or go away.


  See also: Self Hating Stripper, Depressing Chick and Forlorn Boobies




                                                  Can you spot the Mantid?






  The Harpy: All harpies are drunks. They also usually possess very poor eyesight which is why they rely on echo-location to navigate the confines of whatever club they are currently haunting. Harpies are easy to identify by their loud screaming and mad cackling laughter. At first glance it appears they are merely haggard alcoholics staggering around trying to glom drinks, and they are.


  What isn't so apparent is they use full volume vocalizations and the resulting echoes to find their way around since they are blind drunk and have the visual acuity of a mole to begin with.


  Harpies are generally older dancers, most of whom are destined to die in fiery car crashes.



  See also: Braying Snizz, Shrieking Sheila, Bitch That Shutteth Up Not (biblical) and Yappy Mouthed Horror Train




                              Rare daylight picture of a Beach Harpy. Indigenous to Florida.









  The Jekyll*2: A kind hearted, soft spoken stripper who is pleasant to be around, non annoying and all in all more naughty than whorey and more girl-next-door than jaded-street-predator. She is a smiling, delectable little treat to have perched on your lap.


  Then she drinks her secret potion*3 and disappears into the bathroom.


  What emerges is a screeching, violent whirlwind of rolling eyes and slurred insults, interspersed with multiple counts of assault and battery. The tiny waif-like creature who was, seemingly just moments ago, parked on your lap and chatting lightly about stuff you don't give a fuck about is now a raving, spittle-spraying monster bearing down on your good time like a malevolent iceberg stalking an unsuspecting ocean liner.


  When a Jekyll goes into Hyde-Mode, nothing in its path will escape unscathed. A fully transformed Jekyll would kick an infant down a gully or throw a baby raccoon against a brick wall without the slightest hesitation if it had the gall to try being helpful.


  Floor Turds everywhere has learned that the only desirable way to deal with a full blown Hyde running amok in your club is to flee in the opposite direction and spew misinformation madly. So when the frantic radio traffic starts coming in like 911 calls reporting Godzilla, you calmly say into your radio "Sorry, I'm on the shitter, man." and hope no one with a radio saw you running out the kitchen door.


  The only things that differentiate a Jekyll from a Harpy is about 20 hard years in the industry and the weathered-oak like countenance this produces. That and the fact that Harpys are drunk before they even walk through the door whereas Jekylls have an incubation period, like a virus.



  See also: 'Fuck! What is that bitch on?', 85 lb She Bears, Rage Gollum and 'It was attractive 3 minutes ago...'





                   "I received no attention as a child, that's why I bring a chainsaw to work."


  
  
  
  The Weeble: When a dancer's guts protrudes farther than her breasts, she is known as a Weeble*4. Weebles desperately need to either lose some brat-belly or get some implants because her current shape, although more aerodynamic that the classic hourglass shape, is gross.


  Disgust and prank dances will only get you so far in this industry. At some point you either have to make a change or quit.





  See also: Unfortunately Breasted Cheesesteak Gobbler, Drive-Thru Lizard,  and Chubby Skank





                                             Shoplifting Weeble.
                                                   
                                                            




The Medusa: Seriously, what the fuck is up with this bitch's hair? It looks like a completely different organism is choosing, against all reason, to dwell on a bitch's head. Medusas' hair gives you the impression that if you, for some inexplicable reason, were to bring a litter of cute, frolicky puppies into a strip club and a Medusa were to sit opposite from you at a table, then the puppies would suddenly disappear one by one into the mass of aberrant protein the lives on the stripper's scalp.


  There would be unpleasant crunching sounds, possibly some mewling of small animal pain, and the Medusa would look at you and burp.


  If you value your freedom and sanity, only look upon a Medusa in the reflection of your cell phone's screen.



  See also: Fright Weaved Ghetto-Beak, Bad Hair Year, and Drunk Bitch Who Got Rained On Then Tazed.




                                            A Medusa in the pupal stage

  


  The Fawn: Like in the brutal world of nature, Fawns don't last long in the wild. They either grown into adults, or they are eaten by predators and therefore subsumed back into the ecosystem; cycle of life and so forth...


  Fawns are easily identified by their total and utter lack of stage skills. They bumble around on the stage trying to mimic a more experienced stripper's moves and are pathetic and demoralizing to watch. They also tend to cling to the pole and rarely stray from the comfort and safety it provides. It's like alpha male of their herd, nothing can possible go wrong in its presence...


  They are not so much stupid as they are incredibly gullible. Any Fawn who manages to stay in the business eventually develops either what passes for intelligence in the right light, or a rodent-like cleverness that is just as good for dealing with the drunk twats they feed off of.




  See also: Three Day Lifespan, Larval Druggie, and Veal



                              "I'm going to last exactly 3 days in this industry."







  The Dust Bunny: Amazingly stupid. You cannot even believe she got this far without a crash helmet and a an ID that says "Just Barely Not Retarded, But Treat As Such Just To Be Safe".




                                            "I'm working on a degree in vacuuming!"







  Dust Bunnies are the vacant eyed backbone of any strip club's workforce. At any given time at least a third of a titty shack's dance corps will be Dust Bunnies, whose very existence proves beyond the shadow of a doubt that there is indeed a higher power and he sorta likes us. Because if it were a crueler being, strip clubs wouldn't exist and these poor, cerebrally challenged muff-cretins would be either dead, property of a fiendish Arab oil baron, or U.S. Senators.


  Here is an example of advanced Dust Bunny dogma:



  A) I work with a dancer who thinks some girls have grotesquely enlarged inner labia that dangle below the general vuval area because the have been fucked too much. They (or at least this one stunning example) believes that having sex too often will stretch the labia minora to the point it looks like there should be plates in them.


  I explained to her that while I don't have a vagina and all the related bits, that I was pretty sure that getting fucked all the time didn't have any thing to do with it and that it was, in fact, a genetic thing. If your Mom had giant crinklies, you're probably gonna have giant crinklies too.


  I cited an example of course, although I'm sure it had little impact on her beliefs. I told her to look up a porn star named Nina Hartley.


  Nina Hartley was one of the first porn stars I ever.......enjoyed pornography to. That was damn near 30 years ago. She recently returned to porn when the whole "Milf" thing went all crazy a few years back and is back to doing porn again (if she ever stopped, don't really know). And guess what? Despite the insane amount of cock she's had over a very long career, her naughty bits still look pretty much the same.


  So if she hasn't developed drag-lip yet, it's a fairly logical conclusion that excessive screwing doesn't cause it. Feel free to correct me if I'm wrong.


  She countered by naming several porn stars I've never heard of*5 who apparently have unruly inner labia. I told her that I was almost positive that I watch more porn than her and while I agree that by my very exacting standards of pretty poonage, more girls than not have some degree of extraneous inner lipage, but that frequent sex has nothing whatsoever to do with it.


  I failed to convince her of course, but she's an idiot so who cares?



  See also: Thong Algae, Dumb As A Spoon, and If She Could Only Think With Her Breasts





                                                  Nina Hartley in the 80's.







                                      Nina Hartley nowadays. More curves, same clam.





  So there it is. I feel like I'm done writing now.


  Tune in next time when I touch upon the subjects of dealing with an insane manager and taking the highway to the danger zone.



May the Porn be with you,

-The StripperHerder















*1 I might be confusing this action with dogs, I sometimes make that mistake. Sorry, no one's perfect.





*2 Otherwise known as well.....the other guy. If you don't know who I'm talking about, then please stop reading this blog immediately and go read some classics for fuck's sake.





*3 Patron, chilled with lime.




*4 Weebles wobble, but contrary to popular belief, they also fall down.**




      ** If you don't have the slightest idea what I'm referring to here then you are either:

   
                A) Under 35, or


                B) Foreign


Which are equally bad.




*5 She claims to watch a lot of porn. Ha. Fucking amateur.