I have a bunch of tidbits that I emailed myself from work over the last couple of weeks and I think it's about time I addressed them in my mighty online domain. Like a Huron war party, I'm gonna be moving fast. Burnin stuff, scalpin folks and not even lingering on any one topic long enough for a little light hearted cannibalism and/or sodomy.
This installment is going to be rapid fire and intentionally merciless. It may well alienate some of my readers but that's a chance I'm willing to take based on the fact that I make zero money from this blog, ergo, less people reading it will make absolutely no difference in my life whatsoever.
Therefore I feel a sense of freedom, rather than tension, as I begin to write this. Possibly even a shiver of anticipation, but I can't tell, it may just be the shakes.
Without further ado, I give you:
A bunch of crap, written down.
1) Hi! Did you miss me?
Nope. Didn't even notice you were gone as a matter of fact. Your stage name is like some sort of city or state or something, right? Prague, maybe? I don't know. Your absence never really registered with me because I don't come to work to make friends, I come to work to make money
AND YOU NEVER EVEN TIPPED ME A RED CENT YOU CHEAPSKATE BITCH.
Oh I remember you all right, Helsinki, but recalling is far from the same sentiment as 'missing'. Indeed, had I actually noticed you were gone I would have celebrated. I would have got drunk on vodka and shot off some guns. Possibly even in my apartment. Who knows?
What I do know is that you're back apparently and I can look forward to my fortunes increasing exactly 0% because of it. Point in fact, as long as you're at the club my fortunes will literally decrease due to the fact that you will inevitably leech some dances from other dancers who will tip when they make some dough.
So smile at someone else with your vacant "what is air?" look and don't ask me for anything beyond what my basic duties require because you haven't earned special treatment, nor do you merit it.*1
2) Daywalkers: The Brenda Fleeholm-Scagley Story
Just kidding. If there is someone out there named Brenda Fleeholm-Scagley, I certainly don't know about her/it. I just thought that it was a good name for a Daywalker, or what a non titty-bar employee might refer to as a 'day-shift dancer'.
You see, strip clubs in mediocre markets are hard up for dancers who aren't that scary to work the far less lucrative hours when the majority of Americans are at work. Most serious strippers are either in a dormant state from 6 AM until 9 PM, or have been up for 83 hours but still feel OK, or are even buying a new BMW coupe only to wreck it on the way out of the parking lot.
With only extremely rare exceptions, Daywalkers are the gorgons and boogeywomen of the tit industry. Most are banned from working night shifts and will literally be told to go the fuck home if they try to linger, possibly clinging to a rafter, past what is considered 'Day Shift'.
The things a strip club attracts, both customers and staff, during daylight hours, is shocking and repulsive. Wrinkled, leathery, fat, lecherous old retirees vie for the attention of wrinkled, leathery, fat and frequently criminal dancers. Girls with so much ink they look like a ghetto wall lurching from shadow to shadow; hissing and clawing at one other from under tables.
Fighting over potato skins.
Laugh if you must, but clearly there is a market for chubby, slattern crackwhores because half the clubs in The Town are open for some sort of day shift.*2
3) Adderall as a stripper currency:
Did you know that despite the cash rich environment that most strippers dwell in, there is in fact, a flourishing barter/grey market economy within most club ecosystems? This is a fact. Despite the best efforts of the Guild Of Floor Guys intelligence operatives however, not much is known of this underworld trade system.
At this point we have cracked only a small part of the code, which it turns out deals exclusively with the market equivalents for various strength Adderall pills. For strictly educational purposes I will cite a few examples below, to help the curious reader try to fathom stripper ideology with the tacit warning that truly understanding how strippers think may fucking well ruin your life.
Ready?
-A 5mg Adderall is worth any of the following: A really tiny line of sidewalk coke*3, two or three apples depending on variety and growing conditions in state of origin, one set of fake eyelashes, an illegally downloaded Disney movie on DVD, a gently used thong, one hour's worth of babysitter payment, a roach, a $5 prepaid Itunes card, a set of roller skates, a whole booklet of Arby's coupons.
-A 7.5mg Adderall is worth any of the following: A pack of Newports, a whole booklet of McDonald's coupons, a medium line of fairly decent coke, three hours babysitter payment, a six pack of Corona, three or four crab legs depending on species and season, a cheap bra that's barely been sweat in, a small marijuana cigarette poorly rolled in what appears to be flavored rolling burlap.
-A 10mg Adderall is worth any of the following: A pack of American Spirit cigarettes with optional Lil Wayne lighter, a box of upscale raspberry wine, a large high quality marijuana cigarette poorly rolled in what appears to be brown wallpaper, four hours worth of babysitter labor, a twelve lb turkey, six 'classy' wine glasses.
-A 12.5mg Adderall is worth any of the following: We don't know. Based on the information available, the 12.5mg Adderall seems to be some sort of mythical 'missing link', a dosage not familiar to the native tribes of our base migratory stripper herds. It's like a Holy Grail for strippers that none of them care about as long as higher dosages are available.
Weird.
-A 15mg Adderall is worth any of the following: An infant young enough that the Mother hasn't really become attached to it yet, a giant line of shitty coke or a fat line of medium coke, a fruit basket containing at least one pineapple and 3 mangoes, five hours worth of babysitter payment, a third of a bottle of Hennessy (with cork), 185 hours worth of VHS porn, or a cute bunny in its own cage.
-A 20mg Adderall is worth any of the following: A running 86 Geo, a bottle of cheap champagne with a sweet French name, 7 hours of babysitter payment, the killing of a homeless person, having someone organize your DVDs alphabetically then change it to chronologically then by Oscar Nominations, then by stars' hair color.....
-A 30mg Adderall is worth any of he following: A thumbnail sized bag of good weed, one hour's rental for a Disney Princess, a night's protection by PMS-13 or similar strip club gang, a stolen pimped out moped, getting your hair did, a sweet-ass blunt packed with some kind of Kush derivative.
4) If you're too fat/ugly/pregnant to appear on the stage. Then you shouldn't be working at the club.
Sometimes, especially when the owner is in town and could turn up at the club, certain dancers aren't allowed to go on stage at all. They frighten and discourage the customers, which is bad. The only advantage to having them around is to make all the other strippers look that much better, but in the long run, it's never worth it. I've seen hideous dancers cause customer stampedes where everyone not visually impaired makes a rush for the door in an attempt to flee the ugly.
Some girls love going on stage and some hate it. But the bottom line is that if you're judged by the management to be too grotesque to clamber up on the stage and gyrate around for drunk, idiot men, then you shouldn't be allowed to work at the club at all.
I never understood the logic behind this.
5) The 50's housewife look.
of better looks for women than 'Rosy the Riveter'.
Some fashion-twat somewhere decided that because Madmen was such a big hit, the 50's hausfrau look really needed to make a comeback. And because humans are sheep, the 50's hausfrau look is back. This just goes to prove that you don't need to bother creating something new, just rehash old shit and spoon feed it to society. Don't worry, they'll eat it.
They always eat it.
I can't even fathom what it would be like to feel the overwhelming need to change the way I look and dress in accordance with what's in fashion at the time. It would be maddening. And to think some people crave it and look forward to wasting their money on buying new clothes and accessories they don't need is mind blowing.
It's almost as if they are trying to cover some sort of deficiency in their character by wrapping themselves in the latest designer rags. Kinda sad, really. But if it makes you happy, have at it. Buy that overpriced rainment! Pursuit of happiness! PURSUIT OF HAPPINESS!
I work with a couple of girls who are neurotic about this. Every new bag, boot or bra that comes along is to be obtained or longed after. These objects complete them in some way they can't articulate. The other girls, whom they hate, will make fun of them if they don't have the required things. Just like a fucking elementary school.
But rather than think to themselves "These other females that I hate and whose opinions should mean nothing to me nonetheless seem to dictate that I buy stuff I really can't afford, to appease them and make me seem more like one of them. Who, again, I hate." Or maybe "Gosh this thinking stuff is real hard. I better camel-flage myself to look more like everyone else so no one asks me to think about stuff."
If I were her and I hated those other girls and truly didn't care what they thought of me, I'd make a 'designer handbag' out of cardboard, fish bones and duct tape and conceal a small crowbar within it and just wait for the opportunity...
I'm proud to say that I've been a jeans and t-shirt kind of guy since I was five and will be one until the day I perish. Happily, jeans and t-shirts never go out of style, even if the jeans get super gay and the shirts ill fitting and ironic. I just wear stuff that I can manage to find that covers my mammoth frame and that doesn't cost much so when I get too fat for it or a tiny, enraged man rips it all up trying to avoid being thrown out of the club, I'm not out of pocket much.
That is literally all I ask of my clothing.
And on a related topic:
6) Shoes
What the fuck is it with shoes? This, even more than clothing, I simply don't understand. It used to be a mainly feminine disease but these days it seems like I know just as many guys who care way too much about shoes as I do loony bitches. They get extremely excited by new Nike shoes, unreasonably so you might even say. They're fucking athletic shoes for shit's sake. Poorly built, designed for an extremely limited lifespan of usefulness.
Utter crap in other words. No real intrinsic value.
But golly, some celebrities who make a lot of money off them have convinced you that you neeeed them to be cool and you unconditionally believe them because they are cooler than thou.
You are a sad little monkey. Collect your baubles and scramble back up your tree to covet them all the better in the canopy sunset. So pretty....
7) And finally, shoe-fillers. And by that I mean feet.
In this fetid industry I've run into to any number of foot fetishists. They are generally mousy, bespectacled little worms of mankind who ooze about the club trying to buy a dancers worn out shoes. Its skeeves you out because as soon as you discover they're a foot craver, you can't help but picture them humping on a shoe, or strutting around their living room wearing nothing but a stinky shoe and a creepy smile.
Because you know that's what the sick bastards do. They jizz in shoes.
How fucked up is that? Because something had a foot in it, they have to stick their wang in it too. This is a fetish I will never understand. Can anyone explain to me what is sexy about a foot?
As an experiment, I am now going to type in 'world's sexiest feet' in google image search and post the 1st pic that comes up below, probably with a hilarious caption.
Ready?
Personally nothing about the above picture is arousing. They're fucking feet. Sweaty and as gross on girls as they are on guys. The way I see it if you're going to perv out on something a chick has worn, at the very least make sure it's something that's touched her peugot*4, for a peugeot is goddamn sexy.
Ultimately, all this falls under 'pursuit of happiness' and therefore as long as it's consensual, I support any man's right to stick his dick in a shoe that has been legally purchased. Shoes don't have rights. If they did I'm pretty sure the right not to have a dick stuck in them would be among the Shoe Nation's Bill of Rights. Their marching songs might include:
"All Sweat, No Spunk"
"Feet, Not Inches"
"By the Grace of God I Am Penis Free"
Seriously, if you need to run naked through the jungle with hermits crabs clamped onto your balls, pursued relentlessly by a giant footed bitch with a spear and bone splinters through her nipples just to get off sexually, god bless ya. I don't even want to think about what happened to you to spawn that fantasy.
You must be English...
And that, venerated readers, is the end. Total trademark no-warning ending. No cliffhanger for you.
Although I just may, in the near future, have an officially licensed StripperHerder T-Shirt for you to waste your hard earned dollars on. We'll see. I'm looking into sweatshops.
If you're good readers I may allow you to send me money. You have been craving a reason to do so for quite some time now and I have heard your silent cries.
I SAID I'm looking into sweatshops. Now go watch your TV and crave shit you don't need. Like my possible future shirt.
Love,
-The StripperHerder
*1 But because I'm not a complete monster I will grudgingly admit that while you certainly don't tip no matter how much money you've made, at least you're not a drunken trainwreck and I have yet to prise your demon nails from another dancer's eye sockets. So that's something I guess.
*2 Which doesn't always make sense. Our club regularly loses money during day shift but persistently stays open despite the fact, for no apparent reason.
*3 Coke that has been stepped on so many times that it's roughly as effective as snorting the powdered shower scrapings from the 1996 U.S. Olympic Women's Shot Putters team.
*4 I'm about 90% sure 'Peugeot' is French for pussy. I might be wrong but I doubt it.
