A Slightly Tardy StripperHerder Christ-Mass Special! Or, Happy Belated 8th Anniversary, StripperHerder! Let's Celebrate With Reprinted Christmas Shit Even Though The Anniversary Was In October!

  It's that time of year again, The Holiday Season. That special time where some folks try to be slightly less assholey for a couple of weeks and where other folks become more assholey just because they hate Christmas.


  Personally I don't really enjoy Christmas, but then again, after this many years in my current job, I don't enjoy any Holidays anymore, the hospitality industry has ruined them all for me. That being said I used to love Xmas as a kid; the tree, the lights, the toys and all the cookies and whatnot.


  Really did it for me.


  Then I became an adult and realized what a pain in the ass it is.


  My family keeps it simple. Get together, have some dinner, do a hug or two and call it a night. We don't exchange gifts because we're all broke most of the time. When I can, I give a few people $50 and call it a job well done. Merry Holiday and so forth.


  I fucking love my family, we don't take anything too seriously.


  So, happy Whatever-You-Believe-In Day!





                    ******************************






  This past October marked my 8th anniversary of writing this pile of shit. I would've commemorated it in its own post, but I was too lazy if you can believe that. So this is the closest I'm gonna get to a self congratulatory post.


  In the very trite words of a lot of bloggers who never imagined themselves writing a blog for eight years when they first started, I can't believe I'm still writing this blog. I figured it'd be less then 10 posts and I would get bored and move on to something else I wouldn't finish. I didn't anticipate the restorative, cathartic release that writing it gave me, nor did I fully appreciate the enormity of inspiration that my occupation constantly provides me.


  Such Plight of the StripperHerder staples as: Drunk strippers, wasted strippers, drunk customers, drunk people in general, lost phones, the glory of heroin, completely unnecessary violence, The ATM, men's bathrooms, women's bathrooms, the threat of feces, the promise of blood and the reality of vomit.


  Lost phones, ripped shirts, stripper gangs, human garbage, stupid wretches, missing Ray Bans, angry girlfriends/wives, bachelor parties (shitglobs), stingy millionaires, annoying thousandaires, dipshit hundredaires, the broke, the mentally challenged yet wholly unsupervised, lost phones, complainers, criminals, rappers with over inflated egos, VIP wannabes, name droppers, hooligans, people from Quebec, hat fans, various organized crime affiliates, lost keys, misplaced phones, random discarded underwear, incredulity over our local liquor laws, prison bus riders, the cheap, day shift, the creatures that haunt day shift, Ancient Strippers, stolen phones, liquor control, non tippers, men who believe every strip club is a thinly veiled brothel, lost phones, Crimppers*1, locker babies*2, drooling smack-hooked spuzz sponges.


  Oh yeah, and lost phones.


  So thank you for continuing to read, in such numbers that the site suggested I try advertising. And while I wasn't wild about the idea, even though it could make me money, I looked into it anyway.


  Luckily for you, dear reader, I found that there aren't any advertisers even remotely comfortable with my subject matter, much less my colorful use of language to even consider running ads on my blog. Seems narrow minded to me, I could totally see some beneficial product tie ins, things like:



-Guns: I like guns without getting carried away with it. Why not read about deranged titty dancers and then download a 10% off coupon for the latest compact .45?


-Booze: I love booze. If it hadn't been for booze and booze related products, roughly 85% of this blog wouldn't exist. Booze makers should embrace me as a stunning example of alcohol's ability to entertain and create while doing minimal damage over the short term, kinda.


-Stripper Shoe Manufacturers: If you advertised on my blog, many pervy foot guys would buy shoes from your site to trade with strippers for their used shoes so they could hump those used shoes later in a Burger King parking lot while listening to the theme from Conan or a Taylor Swift song and using three packs of honey mustard sauce for lube.


-Condoms: You're desperate/wise/wealthy enough to pay for sex, you gonna do it raw dog? Endanger your trailer/health/fortune for the added pleasure of unprotected sex? Seems risky, brother. Better to wrap the rascal than have it erupt in sores/knock up a gold digger/cost you $60 more a month in child support.


-Lawyers: Yeah I hate them. I blame them for basically destroying this nation. However, it should be obvious that any dedicated reader of this blog may at one point or another require legal representation because of their blatantly troglodyte sense of humor, which is not in favor in current times.


  Thought crimes are just around the corner.


-Any company manipulated as a front for a rogue AI: My readers are of above average intelligence despite the overall quality of the content of this blog. It's catchy, yo. Ergo, if you pay me handsomely to advocate a product that's tantamount to abject slavery, I'll make it seem like a buttery dream that's totally obtainable because I'm tired of working.


  Just fucking pay me. I have no conscious anymore because of drunk people.






                  ****************************



 

    The following are Christmas carols from when I worked at Cathleen's Cooze Cathedral, a dark place where my life meant every bit as much to management and ownership as a prairie dog means to an ocean liner. When I worked there, a bottle of rum had more value to the place than I did. There were hundreds of lazy, morally malleable cunts out there who would happily punch their grandmas to have my job.


  So I let one of them have it and I think it killed him.




  Here's your fucking carols:





   1) The 12 Days of Christmas.



 On the first day of Christmas
  My true love sent to me
  A Cum Sock in a Onesie


  On the second day of Christmas
  My true love sent to me
  Two Soiled Thongs
  And a Cum Sock in a Onesie.

  
 On the third day of Christmas
 My true love sent to me
 Three Barf Piles
 Two Soiled Thongs
 And a Cum Sock in a Onesie


 On the fourth day of Christmas
 My true love sent to me
 Four Convulsing Sluts
 Three Barf Piles
 Two Soiled Thongs
 And a Cum Sock in a Onesie


 On the fifth day of Christmas
 My true love sent to me
 Five Bags of Smack
 Four Convulsing Sluts
 Three Barf Piles
 Two Soiled Thongs
 And a Cum Sock in a Onesie



 On the sixth day of Christmas
 My true love sent to me
 Six Johns' a Jizzing
 Five Bags of Smack
 Four Convulsing Sluts
 Three Barf Piles
 Two Soiled Thongs
 And a Cum Sock in a Onesie


 On the seventh day of Christmas
 My true love sent to me
 Seven Lawsuits Pending
 Six Johns' a Jizzing
 Five Bags of Smack
 Four Convulsing Sluts
 Three Barf Piles
 Two Soiled Thongs
 And a Cum Sock in a Onesie


 On the eighth day of Christmas
 My true love sent to me
 Eight Doctors Spending
 Seven Lawsuits Pending
 Six Johns' a Jizzing
 Five Bags of Smack
 Four Convulsing Sluts
 Three Barf Piles
 Two Soiled Thongs
 And a Cum Sock in a Onesie


 On the ninth day of Christmas
 My true love sent to me
 Nine Ho's Complaining
 Eight Doctors Spending
 Seven Lawsuits Pending
 Six Johns' a Jizzing
 Five Bags of Smack
 Four Convulsing Sluts
 Three Barf Piles
 Two Soiled Thongs
 And a Cum Sock in a Onesie


 On the tenth day of Christmas
 My true love sent to me
 Ten Teat's a Leaking
 Nine Ho's Complaining
 Eight Doctors Spending
 Seven Lawsuits Pending
 Six Johns' a Jizzing
 Five Bags of Smack
 Four Convulsing Sluts
 Three Barf Piles
 Two Soiled Thongs
 And a Cum Sock in a Onesie


 On the eleventh day of Christmas
 My true love sent to me
 Eleven Vice Cops Searching
 Ten Teat's a Leaking
 Nine Ho's Complaining
 Eight Doctors Spending
 Seven Lawsuits Pending
 Six Johns' a Jizzing
 Five Bags of Smack
 Four Convulsing Sluts
 Three Barf Piles
 Two Soiled Thongs
 And a Cum Sock in a Onesie


 On the twelfth day of Christmas
 My true love sent to me
 Twelve Tough Guys Swinging
 Eleven Vice Cops Searching
 Ten Teat's a Leaking
 Nine Ho's Complaining
 Eight Doctors Spending
 Seven Lawsuits Pending
 Six Johns' a Jizzing
 Five Bags of Smack
 Four Convulsing Sluts
 Three Barf Piles
 Two Soiled Thongs


And a Cum Sock in a Onesie 










Do You Hear What I Hear?*3






Said the Floor Host to the Stripper
Do you see what I see?
(do you see what I see?)
A wad of cash in that fucker's hand
Do you see what I see?
(do you see what I see?)
Some dough, some cheese
In that Douchebag's mitt
Go earn you some of it
Then tip me some of it


Said the Manager to the Stripper
Do you hear what I hear?
(do you hear what I hear?)
Ringing through the air, you deaf cunt
Do you hear what I hear?
(do you hear what I hear?)
Your name, your name
called by the DJ
Get your ass on the fucking stage
Get your fat ass on the stage


Said the Manager to the Floor Host
Do you know what I know?
(do you know what I know?)
I can destroy you with a fucking word
do you know what I know?
(do you know what I know?)
Your soul, your soul
blackens by the day
You'll be just like me some day
You'll be worse than me some day


Said the Owner to his underlings
Listen to what I say
(listen to what I say)
Pray for death people underfoot
Listen to what I say
(listen to what I say)
Your jobs, you jobs
Fucking mine to take!
Thirst for cash cannot be slaked
My thirst for cash can not be slaked



MOWWA-FAKKA.






  So, that's it.


  That's the post.


  There you have it.


  It's done now.


  That's all, folks.


  Go peruse something else.


  Thanks for reading!




  And might I say, in the most sincere spirit of Christmas, fuck your pictures.


 




Gut Notting.
-The StripperHerder


 
















  *1 A portmanteau of Criminal/Stripper: Dancers who always try to gouge their drunk prey and expect the Floor Staff to mindlessly back them up.**


 
  **See also: Stripinals (Stripper/Criminals)





*2 Locker Babies: Infants either born at, or brought into work in duffle bags due to lack of baby sittage who are stashed in a stripper's locker with a handy hamster bottle and a convenient nosebag of mashed bananas to sustain them through a six hour shift.


  There are harnesses you can buy to secure your offspring to a wall while you earn a living. These are the types of products that should be buying ad space on my blog. If I had a kid, I would totally buy a brat-sling that had built in Disney VR goggles and food/water supply for up to 3 days of absence with a self cleaning diaper.

A Post NOT ABOUT ME: A StripperHerder First. Or, Milestones In Twerkformer Relations

  I have a few friends who work in this industry and some of them I actually stay in touch with. The following story is about my buddy Berg, who I used to work with at Griselda's Gash Gallery, but who moved to Florida some years ago.


  Berg's a good dude. He's big like me, friendlier than me, complains less than me and doesn't miss shifts, which I sometimes do. All in all, any titty bar would be better off with Berg working for them than me. Probably.

                                  "I am Berg, born of ice and I greet you, titty-seeker."





   Funny though, when we talk and compare notes, there are a lot a parallels in our "career" paths. To enumerate these similarities, I'm gonna use one of my favorite literary cheats: The List.


  Ready? I knew you would be.



A) Neither one of us gets any respect. We both joined very long lived and established Floor Staffs at clubs that don't really feature a revolving door policy on new hires. Ergo, we'll never be equal to the 'senior' Floor Drubs no matter what we do or what miracles we pull squalling from our asses.


B) He gets schedule-fucked too. He cops to the fact that he and the Manager in charge of scheduling don't get along all that well, thus are some of his schedule woes created. I on the other hand thought I got along very well with my scheduling Manager, yet we have what would best be described as a multifaceted relationship. I.e., we get on well face to face, but judging by his actions, he doesn't like me very much and the moment my back is turned he work-fucks me. Shorting my days, preferring any and all Floor Grunts over me, never scheduling me on his nights, etc etc.


  Actions speak louder than words, Sir Ornery RipClaw VIII.


C) All the extra shit Berg does is taken for granted by his Mana-Jurs. Sounds vaguely fucking familiar to me. Berg is like me in his view of his job situation. He wants the club he works at to look and smell as good as possible, so therefore he knows how to use a broom and dustpan and more importantly, understands when they need to be deployed. He cheerfully mops up vomit, because it's part of the job.


  He happily refrains from beating drunk twats senseless on a nightly basis and actually gets along with the majority of the dancer herd, both of which can be hit or miss with me.


D) In three years he has watched two new hires surpass him on the Floor Guy food chain for reasons that are never articulated to him. This too is oddly reflective of my own situation because I've watched six Floor Dicks do this in my own club in five years. Also without a management 'talk' of any sort.*1


  Pretty damn consistent and similarly punitive I'd say.


E) He gets stuck working the door almost all the time. Being the largest biped on a given team frequently results in having to work the door, trust me on this. That being said, no one really wants to work the door. It's a fuckton more responsibility that any other post in a club of any sort because you are the first filter and you're gonna have to strain a lot of human garbage that the rest of your team will probably never even know about.

                                          "Dis ID is Fake. Are you sayink Imma Kunt?"



  Meanwhile the lazy bastards who always get to work the VIP rooms will enjoy an environment where they generate more money with a lot less doucheness, thanks to the guys who work the Godforsaken Portal and all the assholery, attitude and cuntiness they sieve from the potential inhabitants. Like those bristle-things a whales uses to strain krill from ocean water. We're like those things, but for fuckwits.


F) Berg's admitted to me that the rest of the Floor Shits at his club ask him to cover shifts for him all the time, which he does when he can, but then they are universally unavailable to cover one of his when he asks them to return the favor.


  Golly, that sounds completely unheard of where I work.*2



G) Berg makes more money that me. He always has since he moved down south, but his cost of living is higher and he probably has to deal with more bath salted Floridians than I do so I figure it all works out in the end. That stated, 2018 has proved to be an aberration on this theme as his 2018 has been pretty standard while mine has been a downward spiral of ever increasing financial violence.






  But enough about Berg, in another fine example of an abrupt segue,  let's talk Milestones in Stripperherding, because there are many. Some of the most important of which, don't even involve strippers, if you can believe that shit.




  So, to continue my mediocre effort in this particular post, let's do another List.




                 


                                          Fuck yeah!




  



              Milestones in the stripperherding industry:




1)  Learning to accept the fact that some people, a segment of which may or may not be titty dancers, are just going to be drug and alcohol wrecked shells of human beings and that nothing and no one can save them from themselves. Don't get attached is my advice. Never learn their real names or feed them caramels from your hand.



2) My legal team has advised me to refrain from stating publicly that I no longer care if a drunk dancer squeals away on wheels of terror in the small hours. A large, misguided missile too busy arranging a drug deal on her phone to notice the family of raccoons crossing the highway in front of her which cause her apathetically piloted car to skid on baby raccoon guts and plow into a bus full of seniors returning to Iowa after a night at the casino.


  I have agreed to their advice with the proviso that I might do it by accident if I'm drunk and that I will have very little control over it because I'm drunk. But dammit I'm gonna try my best and bunch up my lower lip in what I hope looks like a determined fashion.


3) Accumulating enough cock-control to not bang every hot skank that has made themselves available to me for the most trivial of reasons. This is a big one, folks. The banging of the wrong va-jay-jay and/or the improperly handled cessations of banging is a major termination factor in many a Floor Guy's demise. Probably the leading cause of Floor Host mortality in an industry crawling with ways for you to get yourself fired.

                                           Tame it! Ride the thunder, Floor Guy!

                                     
4) Accepting the fact that although some strippers NEVER tip you, they do in fact tip other Floor Dudes and thus, on an honest team*3, end up tipping you, if only indirectly. Sure they have nothing for the guy who may save them from a violent crime, but shit yeah, a guy who makes you ninety bucks after the club's cut? Totally worth a fiver.



5) Becoming innured to the everyday depredations that strippers indulge in with their prey. About the fifth time you see a stripper leading a dog collared, subservient regular around the club like an AKC Pomeranian, making him do tricks like sitting up and begging, rolling over, playing dead and the ever favorite making him withdraw a thousand dollars on his Amex.


  You just don't notice it anymore. It's like white noise that tips you $50 or so to not throw it out.

                     We never questioned why she led him to the dumpster, or what she did there...




  I believe I've fulfilled my contractual obligations at this point, and thus will retire with my dignity if not intact, then at least gracefully defiant.




Your Worst Uncle,
-The StripperHerder













*1 Call me crazy, but I've been Management before in a couple of other situations. There are ways you do things and there are way you don't. Bitching out an employee in front of staff, God and customers is NOT how you do it. All it does it build ill will between you and whoever you bitched out and anyone who works there who witnessed it, because if it can happen to you then it could happen to them.


  If an employee needs a dressing down, you pull them aside into an office, or in my reality, an unoccupied champagne room and yell at them. If you want anything productive to come of the interaction, try not to yell at them at all. Explain your position, list your gripes and set some fucking parameters for their improvement.


  It's ain't rocket science...




*2 This is an example of sarcasm. Look it up on the interwebz.





 *3 Which I believe I belong to, there is a lot of team camaraderie here when it comes to money and I figure I haven't been ripped off since I was brand new at the club and hadn't wormed my way into their hearts yet.

Three Classic Reposts For My Newer Readers. Or, Shitblasts From The Past, I've got 200 More Of 'Em, You Insatiable Bastards.

  I've written a fuckton more than what I have posted at the moment. There are a couple of reasons for that, neither one of which I'm going to share with you at this time.


  Suffice to say that I know you're out there, hungry new readers. I know it and I'll feed you as I see fit. No starvation, no engorgement. Just a steady diet of quality reposts to keep newer 'Herderheads in the loop until I figure out all the angles.



  That being said, please enjoy the following vintage StripperHerder posts:







https://plightofthestripperherder.blogspot.com/2013/12/sometimes-you-just-gotta-cast-bitch-off.html




https://plightofthestripperherder.blogspot.com/2013/12/people-like-lists-at-end-of-year-so-i.html





https://plightofthestripperherder.blogspot.com/2013/11/it-lives-or-first-rule-of-strip-club-is.html

Damn, Italy Is Killing It! Or A Brand New Post For My Emerging Italian Readership.

  I don't know where it's coming from or what sparked it, but Italy is far and away my new hotbed of readership. In fact, in a mere 550 more page views, Italy will surpass Germany as the fourth highest 'Herder fan base by country. Considering that less than a year ago it was somewhere around 18th or 19th, call me fucking impressed.


  So I thought I'd do something special to mark the imminent usurpation of Germany's stranglehold on fourth place. In other words I'm going to post some honest to goodness NEW MATERIAL, something I've been holding off on doing for a while.


  The original title of this installment draft was:



  A Very Rare And Collectible Political Post From The World's 7,854th Favorite Blogger. Or, Probably The Most Unpopular Post I'll Ever Write. What Can I Say, I'M A MONSTER. 


   I have modified the title to acknowledge this current trend. Be warned, dear reader, that this post will contain fuck-all about titties, the misery or joy a stripper can bring to your life or any of the drunken dicksnatchery that I have to put up with on a daily basis. I'm gonna talk about some very real monkey-dung happening in my home country at the moment and if it's not your thing, not the reason you read this blog, then please skip ahead or behind to find material more to your liking.



  Ahem....





  Let's talk about Amurrika's impending Second Civil War for a moment, shall we? Because we are very clearly well on our way toward it.


  Now I'm not a flag wavin, Trump lovin, immigrant-hatin-isolationist right wing sorta guy. Nor am I a recreational outrage embracin, social-justice-snowflake-anitfa-fuckwit either. I think of myself as the calm nougatty center of an increasingly polarized nation. A 'big picture' kinda dude who's old enough to remember silly, outdated concepts such as:


1) We're all on the same team


2) Throughout the history of our country, compromise has always been one of our strengths, not an indicator of defeat for one party or another. In a perfect compromise, both parties should squawk a lot about having got the short end of the stick, while quietly congratulating themselves on a victorious outcome. In short, reaching a compromise on an issue to get it moving forward may favor one side above the other over the short term, but generally it all equals out in the long run if our two parties are willing to give as well as take.


  But refusing to find a way to compromise at all, screws everyone and makes America look weak, stupid, trivial and divided.


3) The entrenched two party system we have here is clearly failing us, as a nation. The fact that either party is willing to use government shutdowns to achieve it's political ends should be appalling, shocking and humiliating to anyone who lives here, yet we keep voting for these same cunts over and over. Because you know, there aren't any other choices besides A or B, right?*1


  One of the main problems with a 'no compromise, the other side is the enemy rather than the opponent' mentality is that it clouds people's judgement to the point where they lie about their true opinion on a subject. Or actually talk themselves into believing in things that aren't true, or denying things that are clearly true because it panders to a certain voter base or the party line.


  Climate Change is the most convenient example of this "party mentality" I can readily think of. The simplest possible extrapolation from this subject is that supporters of Climate Change, in Amurrika, are generally left/liberal while deniers are far more likely to be right/conservative. This is an oversimplification of course, but when it comes to groups of humans over 10 in number, everything is an oversimplification.


   To me, if you don't believe climate change is happening then you either:



1) Have your head up your ass where the temperature and humidity are constant



2) Live somewhere not noticeably affected yet, like a place that doesn't really have seasons per se.



3) Are under the age of maybe 30 and therefore don't remember the 70's and 80's when there were predictable seasons and relative seasonal norms with an occasional 'freak' weather event.



  That being said, how much is naturally occurring and how much is because of mankind I'll leave you all to debate among yourselves because I find it irrelevant as long as you accept that "somethin funny's goin on with global weather patterns, yo."


  Which brings me to Conservation and Sustainability. I vaguely support both these notions, but I laugh behind my hand at them because everyone likes to gabble about the topics endlessly, yet no one has the balls to mention that without some sort of population control, none of it really means squat in terms of much more than a decade.


  Here's why you never really hear about it:



  The words 'Population Control' have very ugly connotations for many people. They hear those words and all of a sudden they instantly envision death camps and forced sterilizations. Dictators, ethnic cleansing and all other kinds of assorted nastiness. And maybe they're right, that maybe the only way to make some folks stop having ridiculous amounts of offspring is to legally enforce it and this of course brings all kinds moral and ethical conundrums into play.


  Like many of the problems facing global society today, I blame this on organized religion and increasingly, social media. The fact that anyone can think that somehow taking steps to prevent an unnecessary (and frequently ill advised) pregnancy is a Sin and somehow makes you a terrible person, is an example of mind control at it's absolute pinnacle.


  Yes, The Omnipotent Sky-Robe Smitey-Giant is very keen on you having as many children as your poor wife's battered uterus can successfully squeeze to life, even if you can't feed them and a bunch of them die.


  For a truly pious person, a fifty percent child mortality rate should be viewed as miraculous, a sign the Holy Heavenly-Beard Thingy approves of your ceaseless, uncalculated breeding. Hell, 8 out of 19 ain't bad....


  I don't have any answers for how to achieve any sort of progenous*2 curtailment. All I'm doing is merely pointing out that the Earth's human population is already straining the planet's resources and it's only gonna get worse and it's gonna get worse fast.


  Uncharacteristically for me, I'm gonna toss some stats at you and actually cite my sources because I feel like sometimes I just make shit up and that by now many of my more clever readers will have figured that out.


  SO....it's taken the entirety of mankind's existence from whenever we clambered out of the trees and decided we liked the ground better, to the year (roughly) 1804 for the human population of the planet to reach one billion people. It took 123 years to add the second billion, 23 years to add the third, 15 for the fourth and 12 for the fifth......see a pattern?*3


  

 There are currently, at best guess, somewhere around 7.6 billion humans, all of which are somehow special and deserve a trophy because they survived being squeezed out of their Mother's baby-kiln. 



  Now assuming there isn't some extinction level event or extremely virulent pathogen that wipes out major portions of our populace, the projections on population growth are alarming and, I think, aggressively conservative.*4


  I'm not going to go any further into it because there are large variations in these projections from opinion to opinion. But my whole reason for bringing it up is that while everyone likes to talk conservation and sustainability, no one ever mentions population control, without which all of our solutions and advancements are all just plugging fingers into dykes and hoping we don't run out of fingers.



  In summary, it'll be interesting to watch Amurrika tear itself to pieces for the global market. Should be a media feeding frenzy, maybe even a Mini Series on HBO!


  Be nice if everyone could pluck their heads from their arseholes, blow the shit-plugs from their mouths and nostrils and just agree to try to do something that benefited the majority of mankind for fucking once. Just to mark a calender.




   Fuck. There you have it loyal HerderHeads and my surging Italian blogovorai. A signature StripperHerder abrupt ending. Just like it was written by someone who'd had too much booze and was looking for a way out.




  Found It,
 -The StripperHerder














*1 I realize that on many levels and in many areas, there probably really isn't a choice beyond A or B. Democrat or Republican. Doesn't mean we can't vote third party when given the opportunity and we can easily start at the top and work our way downward. A third party President would have to be, by default, a great compromiser. A modern day Henry Clay.

  Or, more likely, just have a worthless, obstinate Congress refuse to do anything and shit on any attempt by an Enemy Executive to get anything positive done in this country. Personally I don't let this scare me off and neither should anyone else. What better way to send a "I'm not happy" message than voting in a 3rd party candidate?





*2 Progenous: Not a real word. I just made it up to describe people of pro-breeding ideologies







*3 https://earthsky.org/human-world/this-date-in-science-6-billion-humans-and-counting

  There were any numbers of sources that provide roughly the same info, but I like their projection chart because of the multiple estimates provided.





*4 I'm certainly not a mathematician nor an anthropologist or any sort of person qualified in any way to venture an opinion on this, but given a lack of an ELE and taking into account medical advances and longer lifespans, I believe that we could easily reach 10 billion people by 2030.

The Amazing Surge In Italian Readership Continues, Scientists Baffled. Or, I'm Reprinting Classic 'Herders For The New Romans Who Clearly Appreciate Satire With A Liberal Dose Of Vulgarity.

  For reasons I shan't get into at the moment, I'm more or less stalled on my bloginations for the time being.


  Suffice to say that mayhap a paradigm shift hast occurred and that if you don't know what that means than I feel safe publishing it.


  That being said I have noticed both before and after I'd unpublished this blog that my readership in Italy was skyrocketing it's way to into the top ten of my national readerships in a very short amount of time.


  This inspired me to re-publish posts from the past for my new Southern European audience who may not be familiar with my Origin Tales.


   So I put a bunch of them up for you and will be doling out more methodically for your enjoyment.


  Grazie Romana







P.S. If you attack France, I'll support you...you have better cheese.

Greeting From 2011. Or, Dragging Shit From The Slush Pile And Beating It Into A Semblance Of Life

  Sometimes there are advantages to being an incredibly lazy writer. You tend to start a lot of things and then lose interest and forget about them, relegating them to an unpublished life in the nearest Draft folder. This becomes an advantage when one can't find much negative inspiration in one's current situation that's worth writing about.


  That's where I'm at, professionally speaking. The new club I work at is so far improved over any other I've worked at, that it doesn't nourish my inner hate-monculous like all the others used to. And as you know, dedicated reader, my writing depends on rage and the drunken coping binges I use to calm myself down after particularly irritating shifts.


  I have iterated many times that writing about a nearly atrocity free environment would be boring. Who wants to hear about how totally awesome it is to be a Strip Club Floor Guy in a well run club that doesn't put up with standard stripper bullshit? It's in the adversity of the occupation where the real humor comes from, the drive to vent through blog in an effort not to go shit-fuck crazy and do something reprehensible.


  So while I was staring at a blank page forever, trying to come up with something interesting to write about, I got bored and started looking through my unfinished drafts. There are MANY of them. So many....



  Here's some of what I dredged up:



  

                  "I'll kill you, you racist motherfucker!"





  I don't care what anyone has had to go through in their lives. I don't know, I'm not asking and it certainly doesn't have any bearing on my opinion of them based off the behavior they display. Just because you were raised in a particular way doesn't mean your actions are acceptable to society at large. Don't play the race card because it certainly doesn't have anything to do with whether you're a decent person or not, it's all about learned experiences and more importantly the fucking choices you make on a day to day basis.


  It's like saying that certain breeds of dogs are innately vicious. This is fallacy.


  What would be accurate to say is that there are some breeds of dogs who excel tearing other creatures to pieces when they've been taught to do so by a human. Pit Bulls and Rottweilers in particular are very intimidating breeds of dogs, basically lumps of fur covered muscle adorned with some savagely strong jaws, but they aren't intrinsically mean unless they've been raised to be mean. I've met more aggressive poodles in my life than I have Pitty's or Rotty's.


  So that being said, even if you don't care to admit it or feel I might have phased it more gracefully, we supposedly superior species are very much like dogs in this regard. We are often restrained in our choice of responses by our upbringing and life experiences, yet being capable of higher thinking than canines, we should be able to exercise some form of control over our baser instincts.


  Threatening to kill someone over a perceived slight, someone dissrispectin you, is un fucking acceptable in the real world, even if you're just talking shit. Take that street BS back to the ghetto you crawled out of and stay there.


  What brought this on, as it so frequently does, is out fabled monthly amateur contest where any delusional, situationally blind gal of any race, creed or species can scamper up on our stage and try to win some money and/or be offered a job. It's usually a series of individual train wrecks, girls who clearly didn't research their market or are utterly unable to be objective about themselves.*1


  So this one black aspiring dancer felt that the reason she didn't win was because she wasn't white, which was a false assumption, and proceeds to harangue the manage about getting a job. She's berating him, which is always a good tactic to use on someone you're trying to get hired by, and when he finally holds up a hand in the 'Stop In The Name Of Love' fashion and tells her he isn't interested in offering her a job at this time, she goes badger shit on him.


  How dare he hold up his hand to her?


  He a racist, honky motherfucking Ni**a!.*2


  Etc Etc. You get the idea, you've watched Youtube. It went on for a while.



  Seriously, the manager could've handled it more diplomatically, that's a given. But talk about disproportionate level of response. And immediate too. No slow build up, just full on indignant rage. Motherfucker this and mother fucker that. Dozens if not hundreds of N Bombs carpeting her speech like the Allies over Berlin in '45. You would have thought the he had threatened to kill her child with the level of rage and hate she displayed, yet all he did was be rude and abrupt with her. Straight to the point.


  He didn't touch her, he didn't insult her and he didn't use foul language or racial epithets. He made it plain in his gruff, offputting manner that he had no intention of offering her a job and he was met with a shitstorm of threats, insults and racial slurs.


  Eventually her more reasonable friend got her out of the club before we had to drag her out, she made such a fucking scene I was embarrassed to be around it.


  Here was the poignant part for me, after her reasonable friend had got the raging bitch back to the car she came back and talked to me. She explained that we all come from separate backgrounds and nobody knows what anyone else has been through, I agreed with this fact but knew I wasn't gonna come to the same conclusion about the incident as she was clearly trying to get to.


  She asked me how I would've felt if someone had treated my Mom or Sister like that and I responded to her sincerely, "I wouldn't have liked it but I certainly wouldn't have threatened to follow a man home and kill him over it, which is what you just did."


  Seriously, she told me that you can never tell when someone is gonna follow you home from the club and shoot you up, or what it could be over and that's just the way it is where she's from.


  Well golly gee, you fucking Mad Max character, maybe killing someone over an perceived slight is OK in whatever community you were reared in, but in the rest of the country we've been taught better conflict resolution skills than you, and are able to walk away from a potential confrontation before it gets to the murder stage.


  You should try it....








  On a related note there's this thing called the Dunning Kruger Effect. The gist of this is that stupid people frequently don't realize how stupid they are. They've cultivated this misplaced sense of superiority in regards to their intellect and truly believe that they'e smarter than most of those around them when empirically, it just ain't so. The opposite in fact. These unfortunates are actually operating mentally far below most of the rest of the population, but aren't conscientious enough to realize it or come to terms with it.


  It's sad.


  There is a parallel dysfunction*3 that I have yet to discover the name of in which a person is unable to realistically accept that by traditional and popular standards, they just aren't as attractive as they view themselves as to be. Maybe this is a form of narcissism or meglomania, I don't know because I'm not a psychologist, but trust me, it's a real thing.


  I get to witness this first hand once a month when we have amateur night. I have harped on this may a time in this blog, but have to keep bringing it back up because for some reason I keep letting it astound me how unrealistic and delusional some people allow themselves to be.


  And one again, lest you think I'm being a judgy dick, I'll use myself for an example.


  I don't try out for professional sports teams because I'm old, out of shape and was never a great athlete even in my prime. But the equivalent of some of these girls trying out for our stripper squad is literally like me showing up to the Pittsburgh Steelers training camp confident that I have a shot at being their next starting Tight End.


  There is NO scenario where this will happen. What's my 40 yard dash time? I don't know, how long have you got and do I get to rest halfway there? My vertical jump is maybe 6 inches on a good day, but I'll probably blow out a knee on landing. I can possibly run the length of the football field, but it's gonna take me an awful long time and it has a fair chance of killing me.


  Duh. Reality shouldn't be that hard to accept.


  This is what it's like when a 5'6" 190 lb would be stripper shows up on our amateur night wanting to take her shot at winning some prize money and maybe be offered a job. It just ain't gonna happen here, darlin and frankly, I don't understand why you thought it would. Your body type doesn't match a single one of our entertainers, just like my body type doesn't match any NFL tight end's physique, the difference being that I've accepted this and come to terms with it and they clearly haven't.


  And THEN they want it explained to them in great detail just why they didn't win, or in some circumstances, weren't even allowed to compete in the first place. Because she honestly just doesn't see it or are hoping we'll use some offensive terms that she can then get enraged over.*4


  Wake the fuck up, just because we can't all be Barbies and Football Stars doesn't mean we can't be a myriad of other things. Let's say we can be damn near anything we want to be, with some realistic exclusions, and leave it at that?








In closing I'd like to talk about one last topic and that topic is Stench Trench.




  There's this dancer I'll call Trailer. She...and there's no way to say this nicely so I'm not even gonna attempt it...is fuckin gross. Way overweight, big ole gut and an ass like two hairless, dimpled pigs sharing a tragic thong. I'm still trying to figure out why she's even is permitted to work here.


After she's been in a sweaty champagne room for a half hour it smells like a trout made of goat cheese died in the trunk of an '89 Firebird but the owner can't figure out where the stench is coming from. She has the vaginal equivalent of halitosis. Her beaver has minnow breath. Her sushi ain't fresh.


  Make up your own euphemism, it's fun.



  Her lady garden reeks of apathy and well slimed seafood. How her customers endure it is beyond me, it's an olfactory uppercut that you won't soon forget, boyo. None of the Floor Beards want to crack the seal on a VIP room she's been in for more than five minutes, the initial blast of superheated skank stank will hit you like a sauna full of dead rodents. And her odor haunts the rooms she's tainted for hours, defying the Febreze to do it's job.


  So my question is, HOW CAN SHE NOT KNOW THIS? Is her olfactory sense subdued from exposure? Is she in denial? Does her sense of smell work differently than the rest of humankind?


  I'm not a gynecologist, but I suspect that her cooch is gravely  ill. It needs help and apparently she isn't the one who's going to give it. She seems perfectly content to just live with her wafting yogurt cloud, or simply can't smell it anymore.


  It's diabolical.



  And that seems as good an ending as any, I suppose. You've certainly been treated to lesser endings.



 Don't let your babies grow up to be strippers,
-The StripperHerder




P.S.  Fuck your pictures


















*1 Personal Objectivity is an incredibly underrated attribute in America's current prevailing mindset that Everyone's A Winner, Everyone's Beautiful and By Golly Have A Trophy, You Deserve It!


I'm not going to get into this whole bit again about how some clubs are looking for one thing while another for something else. We're all adults here. Use you imagination.


Not everyone can be whatever they want.  This is a fact. A 120 lb, asthmatic kid in a wheelchair will NEVER be an NFL wide receiver and as much as you want to rail against the unfairness of this, it remains a FACT and the world would be a better place if we could be encouraging in a realistic manner.






*2  Her exact and oft repeated words.**




  ** Which seem sort of contradictory, but I'm not really up on my urban vernacular.








*3 It's like to opposite of Body Dysmorphia






*4 Like the guy who tried to sue Hooter's because it wouldn't hire him as a waitress. Seriously, man?

I Guess I Need To Update My Wardrobe, I'm Severely Lacking In The Armband And Jackboot Departments. Or, Social Justice At Work: Not Fully Grasping The Situation So Go On The Attack.

  I'm really having a hard time with this militant 'social justice' mindset that seems to be so prevalent today. For instance I was called a "Nazi Sympathizer" today on social media by someone I've known for 30 years because I pointed out how the First Amendment works, i.e.


  Free speech means that anyone can say anything to anybody any time they want. As long as that direct speech doesn't lead to some sort of crime that can be readily attributable to said speech and provable in a court of law, then you can say whatever you want no matter how loathesome, repugnant or erroneous it is.*1 The price of free speech is that it applies to everyone, even scumbags.


  So providing that no felonies stem from what some idiot has to say, he and or she has the right to say it under the First Amendment of the Bill of Rights. Maybe you've heard of it?


  Maybe you've heard the phrase "I do not agree with what you have to say, but I'll defend to the death your right to say it." Famously uttered by Evelyn Beatrice Hall. It succinctly sums up the tenet of Free Speech: in order to enjoy the freedom of voicing your opinions without fear of death or imprisonment, you have to allow everyone else the same right, even if they have nothing but horseshit to spew.



   It's as if these SJ types simply can't see the difference between someone defending a racist, anti semitic dogma, or defending a person's constitutional right to vent their racist, anti semitic dogma. These are two VASTLY different things and it should be, I feel, pretty goddamn obvious what the distinction is to anyone with a shred of common sense, or even better, someone who's known me 30 years.


  I have never and would never defend a Nazi's point of view or ideology, to think I would is insulting to me. I will however defend their right to say it until our Constitution is changed to outlaw it.


  Here's a nice analogy for all you SJW types: how would you like it if a Pro Life dumbfuck ran up and punched you in the face because you posted a Pro Choice meme, or spoke at a Pro Choice rally? Would you enjoy that? Would you feel like they should be encouraged to do that to people who think like you do?


  Yeah I didn't think so. But trust me, there is a significant portion of the population here in the good ole USA who'd like to punch your dirty granola-munchin, baby-killing face, you God hating leftist scum.


  I don't share their beliefs either, I've always been of the opinion that it's up to the woman carrying it and maybe the Dad too if he stuck around. I'm a Pro Choice kinda guy. Weird stance for a Nazi Sympathizer I've always thought.


  But if we're gonna let morality into the discussion of who can say what and when they can say it, then we're on a very slippery slope, my friends. While you may hate nazis, you maybe also feel that women should have the right to choose what they can do with their own bodies and someone over there also hates nazis, but is absolutely sure that abortion kills a potential life and is therefore wrong for any reason under the Laws of God. Ergo if this mindset ever attains control over what can be said, sure it will be against the law to openly speak about nazi ideology, but so will openly talking about abortion, women's reproductive rights and anything at all about homosexuality.


  Is that what you want? Does that seem like a good trade off?



  Yeah, didn't think so.





  Who gets to legislate what is acceptable and what isn't? There isn't any fair system available other than unrestricted free speech. If you start letting one group decide for all what is acceptable, pretty soon you're looking at a totalitarian system that looks remarkably like the very Nazi Party that you rail so desperately against online.




  It saddens and aggravates me that someone I like, one of those hallowed few, would just blithely label me a NAZI SYMPATHIZER because I said the doctrine of free speech covers all sorts of heinous shit that he or I don't like. But that's where we're at nowadays. People drunk on the sheer ecstasy of being able to post doctrinal memes all willy nilly on the internet, satisfied with a days good work of changing people's minds, dude, one meme at a time. Making their life philosophies abundantly clear to a mass audience, thereby defining their character for all and themselves to see.


  Validated by their friend base, of course. Tiny jolts of feel good hormones for everyone with every response!



  Hey, if this is something you enjoy, more power to you. For you, it's the pursuit of happiness, which is also constitutionally guaranteed ( the pursuit, not the catching). I one hundred percent support your right to post as many inspiring, ideologically indicative memes per day as you want across as many platforms as you deem necessary as long as you acknowledge my right to ignore them and occasionally comment on them as I feel wont to do.


  Just remember while you're typing your SJW credibility onto the innerwebz, that there are some bridges you don't cross and once you've crossed them you can't go back. I don't get offended easily, it's practically in my job description to get insulted, but that's always coming from some drunk twat I could care less about. Drunk people are like children, you disregard their noise after a while.


  But coming from a longtime friend, so fucking casually and in the face of everything I'd written using such small words, call me surprised at least.



  SO, when we next happen to find ourselves in the same place at the same time, I'm going to hope he has the balls to look me up and either punch me or apologize to me, whatever he feels might offer the better outcome to him.


  I recommend the latter.







Never too old to be surprised,

-StripperHerder













*1 Take for example the elected official who recently expressed the opinion that the reason sea levels are rising is because rocks keep falling into it, not because large amounts of ice are melting. He has the right to say this no matter how patently ridiculous it is.


  First Fucking Amendment. Learn it. Know it. Love it.






  

Changes Loom On The Horizon For 2018. Or, Regional Management Came In And Served Up Some ThunderDick.

  So as will become very obvious when one starts reading this, this is a FrankenPost™. A mad, stitched together installment made from various pieces parts I had laying around. There's a lot going on in my life right now and I haven't made much time for writing and I will explain why below.


  To make this post a bit more clear for those unused to my rambling style, I'll post each chunk that I wrote at various times in a different color font. That seems pretty straight forward, so let's begin, shall we?






  Season's greetings dear readers, as some of my more astute followers may have noticed, I've been thinning the ranks of my posts lately and a smaller percentage of those same astute followers may be wondering why.


  Well, I've been talking about this for some time and now I'm getting ready to make the transition to a new host site. One where folks can subscribe for access to exclusive content mostly, but one with a lot of other features that Blogger just doesn't offer.


  This way a reader can choose their own level of participation with the Plight. Full subscribers will have access to all of my archives, which I've traditionally left publicly available. But as I said, the times they are a movin on and a wily 'Herder moves with them.



  More details on that as they emerge...



*Future me here, the more sharp eyed reader might have noticed that there are indeed no posts whatsoever any more, outside of this one. And to that I would say, you are correct. Nicely spotted.
Get used to it because I'm busy right now. Go read Dark Lord's Journal.



  The other potentially much larger change is a possible relocation. I have a standing job offer from a former co-worker but there are a few problems with this prospect. And to explain them I'm going to a tried and true StripperHerder favorite, The List.


Pros:

1) I feel a bit stagnant in my present situation, therefore a change of venue and locale could do me a world of good.


2) I'd be earning more more money if I move.


3) I suppose I should list 'better weather' here because the new place would be south of the Mason-Dixon Line, but I like my extreme northern weather. I find it soothing.


4) I'd be a lot closer to several friends living down that way.







Cons:


1) It would be south of the Mason Dixon Line. A long haul away from family and friends.


2) It's gonna be too damned hot.


3) I HATE moving. SO much fucking work.


4) I'd still be in the dancer wrangling business.


5) I'd be the low man on the totem pole again, subject to all the crappy shifts and miserable jobs a new place can offer.





  Still, I'm considering it. I've been thinking a lot lately about opportunities not taken, roads not traveled, flowers left unsmelled etc etc.


  Possibly the time has come to shake things up a bit. We'll see what happens.





  So, as it turns out, I am moving. I've decided to accept dude's job offer and am going down South in late February/early March to look for a place to live and meet with the new club's management. Fuck it. Can't be any worse and supposedly their guys make more dough than we do up here.


  Good enough for me.


  I'm anxious about this as I generally don't like change and upheaval in my life, but I look at it this way-I barely ever see my friends when I live a half hour away from them, 12 more hours of distance isn't, on the whole, gonna make that much of a difference.


  So I'm starting the hated process of thinning out my possessions and boxing stuff up, and going about it really slowly because it's wretched work. I figure that if I can do even one box per day that by time I'm ready to hit the road, it should all be done.


  Guess I'm just ready for a change. Part of this can be blamed on the New Year's Day Massacre, which you will now read about below and in a more exciting color font. 





                THE NEW YEAR'S DAY MASSACRE


  To be accurate, this happened the day after New Year's Day, but it sounds nice as a subtitle so I went with it.


  Luckily I was off that day which may have contributed to me escaping the wrath of the Higher Powers. But, according to legend, what happened was....



  The Regional Manager came in and dropped four metric fucktons of ThunderDick all over the club. All told seven people lost their lives jobs: One Manager, two Bartenders, two Floor Hosts, a Doorgirl and a Latetress. He went apeshit, but in that unflappably calm way of British villains. Very polite and measured as opposed to frothing at the mouth and throwing chairs around, maybe choking a bitch or two.


  He cleaned fucking house to use the vernacular. Among the casualties were:



Sir Mastadonald Le'Phant V: mismanager extraordinaire, who I'm sure I've called many other names in this blog, but can't be bothered to look any of them up and my research assistant is in rehab at the moment. So, you know...


Ivana Poutvainly: Russian drink-makey thing and world class elitist. Bye bitch.


Ima Wendy: Latetress and a fucking terrible one at that. I won't miss the sight of her little brow wrinkling all up as I watched someone try to explain the simplest concepts to her. Sometimes her head even tilted to the side like a baffled terrier.


Stanford MecPhearson Stumpley: Floor Host, former. One credit card scam too many, Stan. Wish ya well, buddy.




  In my many years in the titty bar trade, I've never seen anything like it. They sent in the cleaners.


  Bout fucking time.





  SO people, that's probably gonna be it for a bit although this is by no means done. When I figure out a whole bunch of stuff on the new host site, I'll post a link here and welcome you to the new Blog home.


  I don't really have a timetable right now for the actual move, won't know that until I've gone down and talked to their Elders. What I can tell you is that I probably won't get the new site up and running before I move because I am lazy. So read what you get and check out Dark Lord's Journal if you haven't already.


  See ya when I see ya,
-Das StrippeinHerdolf