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The StripperHerder 2016 Year End Special. Or, Another Shitty Post About Stuff That Doesn't Matter.



  I realize that some of you may find this difficult to believe, but I have been accused a time or two of being a misogynist. I know, I was taken aback too. Pretty sure there's a much more apt word to describe me and that word is misanthrope. Learn it, love it, use it.


  Apparently the people who have accused me of misogyny either haven't read but one or two posts of my blog, or are the type of human to only remember what they find most offensive, such as when I talk about a certain girl's private parts as looking like some sort of primitive bivalve constructed by a child out of a weird colored play doh and clearly making a spirited attempt to escape her pelvis.


   For anyone who's read even half my posts, it should be self evident that I hate almost everyone, not just strippers. I'd be willing to bet that I spend a nearly equal amount of time and energy telling all you fine readers out there about the drunk, shambling ball-scratchers that I have to deal with every day as I do the annoying, hammered dancers. Whether you as a reader choose to accept that fact is entirely up to you, but a fact it remains and no amount of victimized whining will change that.







.                                    "That's a fact, son. Best leave it be. Never know if it has babies."






                                   "Nothing more savage than a cornered fact, boyo."





  So in an effort to alleviate the consternation of this small yet vocal minority, from this day forward, StripperHerder Enterprises™  LLC will be employing an ombudsman overseeing a crack team of literary anthropologists and satirmologists*1 who will ensure that I pick on both sexes 100% equally so as to avoid any excess feelings of pooty pang or butthurt.


  Therefore in 2017 it will be impossible for me to pick on one sex over another without receiving a crisply worded memo or a really critical email. Thus I will strive to keep doing what I've always done: shit on everyone, myself included, with a fair and equal depth, pungency and consistency.


 Although some spattering is inevitable.





                                                     I hate run on sentences.








        She's going home with me tonight!





  No she's not. You been had, buddy. She told four different guys she'd meet them after work and got money from all of them and you in advance, thereby negating the need to dispense sex acts in order to make a living. You were just dumb/hopeful/horny enough to buy into it. Shame on you.


  This happens pretty often. We notice a guy lurking in his car in the parking lot after closing and that poor bastard(s) is waiting for a dancer that is either:


A) Already long gone, or


B) Is prepared to stay in the club for as long as it takes the Floor Guys to chase off her would be john(s).




  Needless to say for my seasoned followers at least, I'm not real thrilled with this practice. At best it's not worth the minimal amount of money it adds to my weekly income, at worst it's going to get someone killed when some drunk fuckwit gets ripped off for $200 and decides to go all Wild West about it.


  And since it is one of my primary duties to escort our girls to their cars at the end of the night, this will eventually put me in the crosshairs. Unfortunate, since there is literally no way to stop dancers from doing this without permanently maiming them, which is unethical. So someday I'll likely either be shot or be forced to shoot someone else, or both, none of which is particularly appealing to me.




                                  "I WANT MY REASONABLY PRICED ANAL SEX, BITCH!"








                                  Looking back on 2016:




-Well done, you killed more celebrities than any year in recent memory and set the bar pretty high for 2017, I call that ambitious.


-You saw Trump elected and while that may spell the end of Murrika as we know it, at least we'll be living in interesting times.


-You were an abusive partner to my wallet, It's easy to slap around a beat up, ass-shaped piece of leather, huh?








          
      Meet some recent additions to the Dancer Corps:




Thundra: Shaped like a Stone Age Teutonic forest goddess, Thundra is a fantastically friendly gal who happens to be molded along the lines of an ideal Middle Age bride; strong as hell, capable of prolonged hard labor, nice wide hips, generous milk production capability, a general disregard of discomfort and adversity and a overall sense of 'it'll beallrightednedness around her.

  Awesome gal and a stellar example of great attitude



                                  Fact: Has more songs written about her butt than you do.





Milkweed: Super nice gal, admitted hippy. Milkweed isn't one of our hottest dancers, nor does she have one of the best bodies, but she has been graced by a stunning set of of blouse badgers and a sunny disposition.



                                                     "Just look down, honey."







'Lil Hatchet: Can't stand this bitch. Literally shaped like a tomahawk, all skinny with a sharp, prominent beak. yet much less fun to deal with. Looks like an unhealthy child with implants and a separate entity living on it's face that forces it to commit crimes.




                                     "Heroic firemen use me to smash through doors."






Princess Etheriel: Wears elf ears on the job. Seriously. Seems to do the whole cosplay thing as a gimmick but actually does it everywhere, 24/7. Possibility she may have talked herself into believing she's a fucking elf. Has geeks eating out of her hand despite the fact she's only a 6 on a good day and spends her free time journaling about trees and unicorns.


  Still like her, easy to deal with and she gets some of my obscure historical references.




                                                     "I'm +3 to fun! YAY!"




Kuttya: I can never remember which former soviet bloc state that Kuttya is from so I just call it Twazbeckistan and it makes her quite angry. Which is fun for me. She is a difficult stripper to work with in that she is pushy, bossy and generally off putting to her cornered prey, but her body sees her through most conflicts even if her face is only along for the ride. Some men just respond well to an angry Russian accented women's voice telling them to do stuff they're not sure about and Kuttya has an incredibly tuned net for finding those weak willed jellyfish.


  I respect and kinda fear Kuttya because I imagine she's got some crazy knife skills from her past life as a Chechan operative or KGB sleeper agent, but mostly because she tips good and encourages her marks to tip us as well.



  I'm easy to please like that.




                                                     "You tip me now, da?"
                                 






  Hope you enjoyed it, you animals. As I've alluded to before, I'm currently working on some other projects so keep your fingers crossed OR send me a bunch of money. Your call.




Ave Marina,
-The StripperHerder











*1 (Latin) Literally 'satire measurement specialist ' or a person hired by a misanthropic blog author to measure the amount of satire and/or complete horseshit the blog produces.

Vodzilla Lives And Wanted To Get In The Club For Free. Not On My Watch, Suzy. Or, Strippers Vs. Cars: A Continuing Saga Of Abuse And Neglect.



  Loyal Plight readers will of course remember Vodzilla, my former Arch Nemesis. I speak of her rarely anymore because she's someone else's problem now, not mine. She's such a mobile catastrophe that for our humble club, three times was the magic number for her to be fired and remain so.



                                  Vodzilla using her highly destructive Belvedere Breath.





 Or at least for as long as Sir Osfried Vandalkoch IX remains in power. He thinks that he hates her at least as much as I do, but it's actually a lot less.


  She's a knock-kneed, corduroy-tittied, weird snatched bottle killing machine whose liver is clearly made from eldritch polymers brought to life by the snuffed flickers of spent sperm cells and the petri dish scrapings of locally captured hunnit-dollah bills, y'all. The really cokey kind.


  The day that she was fired permanently is one of the more revered Floor Host Holidays at my club, recognized by all major Floor Guy Denominations as reason to drink high proof shots and do primitive, stupid shit.


  Like constructing crude effigies and burning them in fields while we scream and shoot handguns at Nature.


  Oh how we drink and scream and shoot at stuff...
  



                                            "Oh, you want some, Nature?"





  Crazy bitch tried to get in the club last othernight when I was working the door. She fucking hugged me like we had been pals, and I've grown so soft in her absence that I allowed it to take place.


  Her goal was to get in the club for free, with her man-dude. at after-hours prices.


  Not on my watch, Suzy.


  Vodvertebrates pay extra.


  I triumph once more.




  I told her that not only was I not going to let her and her companion in for free, but that she herself was too fucking drunk to enter the club, which she was, and that she could go away as quickly as possible.


  She feigned shock and she did it well. I almost believed that we had previously got along well and that my behavior was an inexplicable and assholey way to treat on old friend, perhaps brought on by some sort of brief substance abuse issue on my part.


  Despite her alcoholism, that bitch still has a few tricks left up her sleeve and they are not to be taken lightly. She has zero problem finding dudes to nail her because she has a vagina and she's not afraid to use it even if she doesn't remember who was in it the next day.


  I'm gonna be super pissed if she outlives me.







  Strippers Vs. Cars, The Battle Continues!





                                                  
                                                     "I washn't driving schmofficer."



                                                      
                                                      







  A third of the dancers I work with have one or more of the following issues with transportation:





1) Their license is suspended. Almost exclusively for DUI's.


2) They've wrecked every single vehicle they've ever turned a key in.


3) Their car got repo'ed because many of them don't understand the concepts of 'credit' or 'provable income' and therefore they regularly pay 19% interest or higher for their car loans and thus the poor cars get repossessed frequently.


4) For some of them, drugs are more important than anything else, including car payments/maintenance. Quite a few of these have figured out that there isn't much you can't barter for a blowjob and as a result they don't really need a car nor, in fact, money.


5) A lot of strippers are very hard on cars. They run into stuff. They don't comprehend the necessity of maintaining something if you want it to fucking last. They tend to think gasoline is the only liquid a vehicle needs to run. Some of them even believe in halogen fluid but can't seem to find a place to sell it to them.


  It is an exceedingly rare car that is purchased by a stripper and goes on to enjoy a long, fruitful life. And if it does, it's not with her.


6) The Sugar Daddy/Drug Dealer/Creepy Old Guy With Money that had been paying for their vehicle found someone else to service his lecherous whims and took the car away.






  

Five Reasons Why I'm A Shitty Floor Host These Days:




1) I hate people


2) I hate people


3) I hate people


4) I hate people


5) I REALLY hate drunk people



  Limiting my contact with customers limits the possibilities of them giving me money. I've learned to live with it and the other Floor Guys are generally happy with the arrangement because none of them want to do the jobs I do and I don't really want to be a Floor Guy anymore because of, you know, my hatred of other humans and suchforth.


  Another thing I despise is asking for tips. I would be a much better earner if I cared for pressuring dudes for tips. The closest thing I get to that is when people ask me how much the shuttle ride to the club is, I usually say "It's free and I work for tips." This normally nets me a small gratuity, but not always. Some people are just fucking stingy.


  My favorite is when I offer them passes to get into the club. I never mention any sort of price but instead will say something like "I'll take care of you guys and you take care of me". I might then do some math for them based on the number of guys in the group, "These will save you x amount of money at the door", hoping all the while that they'll tip me 50% of the total.


  Sometimes, when I've saved them over a hundred dollars, the last dude off the shuttle will hand me $10 like he's tossing gold coins embossed with his image to the plebians. I look at him like something unpleasant I found stuck on the sole of my shoe.


  "Gee. Thanks man. After I split this with the other Floor Guys, I'm a $1.42 closer to that Ferrari..."




                                           "Sweet! Only $1.415 million more to go..."






  One final note concerns both the above point and is a magnificent illustration of the ungratefulness of some people. It goes something like this:



  We had a guy come in to the club tonight wanting an hour room with two of our entertainers for him and his buddy. Sure I said, let's waste some dough! Easy as shit, right?


  NOPE. And I'll explain why below. Suffice to say for now, over the course of the next half hour I ran four of his cards no less than fifteen times with all of them being declined. Even after having talked to his bank twice and being told the transaction would be approved. The guy is frustrated as hell, understandably so, he just wanted to spend some of his own fucking money and it's guardian wasn't having any of it, declarations otherwise notwithstanding.


  I would like to point out at this juncture that this man had already written in a $125 tip for me on the advance receipt.*1



  SO, being the helpful, greedy Floor Host that I am, sort of, I offer to take him Downtown to an ATM so he could get some cash. And I do. Two ATM's in fact, neither of which would give him any money. Dude is way pissed at this point, and I give him a couple of smokes to calm him down as we talk about cocaine for a bit.


  The he asks me if I know about any payday loan shacks that may be open and I say yeah, but it ain't in a great part of town and he says 'take me there, I got you.' So thinking that he'd already agreed to $125, I start getting visions of a $200 tip, maybe more.


  So I text one of the other Floor Guys, explain what's going on and let him know there's a small but real chance that I'll be dead in ten minutes, but if not, then I'd be bringing some money to the table tonight.


  Yee-Ha and shit.




                  "So. You need a G or so at 3:30 in the morning? That can be arranged, my friend."






 I didn't get shot. Dude secured $1200 and the room was going to be $1000. Boom, I thought, $200 earned.


  And yet I was wrong. Got the man back to the club completely unshot and hustled him into the champagne room. Guy peeled of exactly ten hundos and asked for booze I couldn't provide and when I said I couldn't help him he said, "OK. Get the fuck out of here."


  Merry fuckin Christmas to me! These are the kind of situations I have to deal with that make me not want to deal these sorts of situations anymore. If you catch my drift.


  Two side notes about this scenario:


 - One of the other Floor Guys explained to the two dancers that the guy had fucked me out of a tip when I had gone above and beyond so that they could make a couple hundred extra on a mediocre shift. The girls tipped me a combined $60 when I walked them out and both thanked me sincerely, which I really appreciated.


  -Despite my miserable contribution, we did all right for a middlin night. Over $300.









  And finally





   Remember when I said I'd explain some shit below? Well, here it is, lest you miss it and write me angry emails...






   Chip cards, protecting your money by not letting you access it.





                              Withdrawal request denied! Our algorithms indicate that
                                          A person of your unquestionable moral fiber would
                                             never visit a tawdry clam hut and ask for $600.




  Our company has chosen to go with an already obsolete system for dealing with the rise of 'chip cards' in 'Murrika. Our system, rather than having a single transaction like all other sane methods, requires a chip card holder to sign two receipts.  I've never encountered this anywhere else before. But here you have a preliminary transaction where you must fill in any gratuities then total and sign the slip.  Based on what you tipped (or didn't tip) the transaction has to be run a second time for the actual total and a second receipt signed.


  The inefficiency of this system is staggering and the chaos it creates from drunk people who've never had to do it before is simply mind boggling. It's a testament to the fortitude and patience of our Floor Grunts that this primitive method even works at all.


  Further complicating matters is that strip clubs are one of the most charge-back ridden industries on the planet. The amount of credit card "charge back" attempts made against strip clubs are something like 1200% above the rate most industries face. As a result when a bank's security algorithms calculate risk involved with a transaction based on the number of attempted charge-backs, strip clubs are always deemed 'high risk'.


  This means that an inordinate amount of ATM cards decline when someone tries to use them in a titty bar. Since the introduction of the chip card in the US, the number of customers in my club who have to physically call their bank to release their funds has skyrocketed.


  It's a nightmare trying to explain it to a drunk fuck. Yet I have to do it several times every goddamn night I work the door.


  It's a special joy for me.


 

                                    "Totally get it, bro! Now explain it to me one more time."









 That's all you get. I have to work on pictures now or someone, somewhere will get all butthurt about it and whine.



 Point Towards Enemy,
-The StripperHerder











*1 The receipt you sign before you sign the receipt. It's very simple.

In A Past Life I Was Someone Who Didn't Care Either. Or, We Were Safe And Happy In The Trees, We Should've Just Stayed There.




  I don't believe in reincarnation. I don't believe in any sort of afterlife. I believe when you die, that's it. Oblivion, The End, Game Over; a complete cessation of life and consciousness. Maybe I'm right, maybe I'm wrong but there is no way to prove or disprove it whatsoever, and therefore not something I care to argue about really. Be the best person you can be and try not to do any damage that can't be repaired or atoned for.



                                        We don't exist. Please stop praying to us.




  Hard core Christians scare me. Seriously fucked up humans in my estimation. Able to justify virtually any atrocity in the name of their Invisible Sky-Beard and His Magic Cloud-Based Wonderland.


  Their beliefs, when boiled down with a teaspoon of rationality and a pinch of science, are like comic books for the bored and sin-obsessed. And yet they provide some of these folks with a sense of comfort, like a big 'ole invisible security Woobie for what they imagine to be their soul.


  The core value tenets for the big-league religions are basically pretty decent guidelines for how you should live your life, minus the whole kill those different from you sort of stuff that seems to surface in all the major ones from time to time.


  It always kinda surprises me how many people on Earth are willing to do horrific fucking things because they can justify it in their owns minds through religious beliefs. It is appalling how much slaughter and death has been committed in the name of faith throughout our history, and to this very day.


  Turns out that the very best things humans are good at exploiting are, in fact, other humans.





  Therefore it is in the ritualization of religion where the problems begin, not so much the fundamental tenets. Symbolism is one thing that is way out of hand in the major religions. Why is there so much incense being burned? It's symbolic of the time when St. Uckl of Blagh cut off his toes to make a fire with when his followers were freezing to death in a place of no trees. His toe bones burned miraculously for a fortnight and his people were saved. Hallelujah!





                                               St Uckl had some big ass feet.

 


  For example: do you think a God who presumably made the entire universe and everything within it, zillions of planets with trillions of lifeforms, species and cultures, would focus in our one little planet and demand of us such things as:


1) "YOU MUST PRAY TO ME X AMOUNT OF TIMES PER DAY FACING A CERTAIN DIRECTION BECAUSE IT MAKES ME DOUBT YOUR DEVOTION WHEN YOU FAIL TO DO SO."



2) "YOU MUST ATTEND CHURCH ON X DAY OF EVERY WEEK AND REFRAIN FROM EATING CERTAIN ANIMALS WHICH ARE UNBELIEVABLY FUCKING DELICIOUS, YET FORBIDDEN TO YOU ALL THE SAME FOR REASONS THAT ARE NO LONGER RELEVANT.



3) "DON'T KILL ANYONE UNLESS IT SEEMS FROM YOUR LIMITED PERSPECTIVE THAT THEY ARE TRULY EVIL OR AT LEAST SLIGHTLY DIFFERENT FROM YOU.



4) "THERE ARE A NUMBER OF SPECIFIC HEADGEAR REQUIREMENTS ASSOCIATED WITH CERTAIN FAITHS. IF YOU NUMBER AMONG ANY OF THOSE CREEDS,  PLEASE MAKE SURE YOU'RE PREPARED TO ADOPT THE APPROVED HEADGEAR REQUIREMENTS FOR A VARIETY OF FAITH BASED OUTCOME TANGENTS."


5) "BREEDING FEELS REALLY, REALLY GOOD. INSANELY GOOD. SERIOUSLY. BUT YOU'RE NOT SUPPOSED TO DO IT RECREATIONALLY. THAT'S BAD BUT I'M NOT REALLY GONNA SAY WHY. JUST DON'T DO IT."


6) "THE MAJORITY OF YOU ARE GOING TO BE POOR. AND I MEAN THAT IN THE BIBLICAL SENSE, YOU KNOW, LIKE ABJECT POVERTY. DIRT AND FLIES AND LOADS OF STARVATION AND SO FORTH. YOU'RE ALSO GOING TO BE EXPLOITED BY THOSE WITH MORE MONEY THAN YOU, WHICH IS PRACTICALLY EVERYONE.

  TRY NOT TO BE BITTER ABOUT IT AND DWELL ON THINGS YOU'LL NEVER POSSESS, IT'LL JUST MAKE YOU UNHAPPY WITH YOUR LOT IN LIFE."


7) "STOP TOUCHING YOURSELF DOWN THERE. IT'S ICKY AND IT CREEPS ME OUT."


8) "WHEN YOU ENCOUNTER SOMEONE WHO HAS DIFFERENT BELIEFS THAN YOU, EXPLAIN TO THEM GENTLY ABOUT HOW THEY ARE WRONG AND HOW THOUSANDS OF YEARS WORTH OF THEIR ANCESTORS WERE WRONG TOO. IF THEY TAKE OFFENSE AND KILL YOU IN SOME ETHNIC WAY, YOU'LL BE A MARTYR AND THAT'S A PRETTY COOL THING TO BE."



  IF YOU SHAN'T DO THESE UNREASONABLE THINGS I SHALL  BECOME VERY CROSS WITH YOU AND MAY NOT LET YOU IN TO THIS SUPER COOL PLACE I MADE WHERE EVERYTHING IS AWESOME ALL THE TIME."


  Do we really even want to worship a deity that acts like this? Petty and demanding like street corner pimp? It's not like we don't have a choice; there's lots o'Gods. us humans have created millions of them since we climbed down from the trees, became afraid of the dark and developed the ability to lie about shit we don't understand and convince others we know what we're talking about.


  It's like hypnosis only way easier.





  But enough about religion, I could go on for pages about how silly I think it is and not change a single person's mind.


  Therefore I'm gonna throw out a few tidbits that have fucking galled me over the past little while.


  First and foremost is a situation I should've seen coming from a mile away, but didn't. It goes a bit like this:


 - Recently some sort of gastro health issue sidelined one of the club's dedicated Floor Grunts, Cecil, forcing him to undergo a minor surgery that caused him to miss a couple of weeks of work. Being that we're just humble service industry folk, we don't get things like health care or 401k's or profit sharing. We trade those things for the flexibility, nonchalance and forgiving nature the hospitality industry exudes like a nectar that attracts lazy, alcoholic people.


  So Cecil's platonic lifemate takes up a collection for Cecil so he can feed his little'uns and pay the mortgage on the farm. Every shift over the next three weeks I toss in a generous amount so his wee babbies won't starve to death or have to shit in the shrubbery.


  Anyway, over the course of six shifts I threw in at least $150 if not more because I'm nice like that and I would hope that if our positions were reversed, he and the rest of the lads would do the same for me. After 3 weeks or so, he's back n the job and we're talking about DFS, or Daily Fantasy Sports.


  For the uninitiated, DFS are basically legal online sports betting based on you picking the best lineup of athletes who cost you a certain amount out of a fixed budget. For example if you're playing football, you might have a $60,000 budget and a really good player like Tom Brady may cost you $9,400 to put on your team, thus gouging your budget and forcing you to take a few cheap players who are probably going to suck in order to make your budget.


  There is definitely specialized knowledge required.


  Drafkings and Fanduel are the two biggest ones and they have just announced that they're merging. Joy.


  Now that I've educated some of you, back to my conversation with Cecil.


  So we were discussing daily fantasy and he told me he had gotten his ass handed to him this past week, none of his lineups had paid off. I totally understood because this happens to me every week. Last year I did the math and was happy to discover that throughout the entire 2015 NFL season, I spent $325 on DFS and won back $327,


  This year I'm doing much worse.


  So imagine my surprise when I asked Cecil how much he'd blown that week on DFS gambling and he admitted it was roughly $1,000. I gathered that the money that myself and the rest of the floor team and some waitresses had thrown together for him to "pay bills and put food on the table" went to fucking gambling instead.


  I just managed not to let him notice my rage seizure and made an excuse to flee before I fucking lost it. That is a scumbag move, man. But wait, dear reader, it gets better...


  He has since on several occasions won several thousand dollars but has never once offered to pay back anyone nor do I even remember being thanked for my donations to his family's well being.


  And that's all I'm going to say about that.






 -There's this song I've had to listen to 63,542 times in my career. I'm not saying it's a complete piece of audio rectal-puke because that might hurt someone's feelings or offend someone. I will say however that if you enjoy this song and that this is all you demand from your music choices, you may be mentally deficient and/or are as easily entertained as a small, simple minded child.



                                                         "I like the beat."



  I'm also not saying that if this song was one of your favorites back when it was popular that you should be dragged into the street and subsequently be beaten, humiliated and shot through the head or that if I ever attain power in this land that it might be part of my agenda to do things like this.


  But I'm implying it.


  Here's the song I'm referring to. I particularly enjoy how the "artist", who is named after a fruit, decided that amongst all the inanity and vulgarity of the song that she would incongruously cram a 'stay in school' message somewhere between titties and fucking.


  Way to stay classy.




Suckin' on my titties like you wanted me,
Callin me, all the time like blondie
Check out my chrissy behind
It's fine all of the time
Like sex on the beaches,
What else is in the teaches of peaches? huh? what?
Suckin' on my titties like you wanted me,
Callin me, all the time like blondie
Check out my Chrissy behind
It's fine all of the time
What else is in the teaches of peaches?
Like sex on the beaches. huh? what?
huh? right. what? uhh.
huh? what? right. uhh.
huh? what? right. uhh.
huh? what? right. uhh.
SIS IUD, stay in school cause it's the best.
IUD SIS, stay in school cause it's the best.
IUD SIS, stay in school cause it's the best.
IUD SIS, stay in school cause it's the best.
Suckin' on my titties like you wanted me,
Callin me, all the time like blondie
Check out my chrissy behind
It's fine all of the time.
What else is in the teaches of peaches?
Like sex on the beaches. huh? what?
Fuck the pain away. Fuck the pain away. [Repeat: x8]
huh? what? right. uhh. huh? what? right. uhh.
What else in the teaches of peaches, like sex on the beaches.
huh? what? right. uhh.
Fuck the pain away. Fuck the pain away. [Repeat: x4]



  You can't make this shit up. Yet simultaneously, millions of people decided this was good music. And that, folks, is why we're fucked. Don't ever put me in power, people. Seriously, don't vote for me if given the chance to do so, It's almost certain you'll regret it if you do. Within the privacy of my skull I am.....not a nice person.





Read the Dark Lord's Journal*1, it's about to become socially relevant.

-The StripperHerder








*1  http://darklordsjournal.blogspot.com/