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.