Hooray For Genetics! Or, The StripperHerder Acknowledges That There May Be A Small Chance He Focuses Unduly On The Negative Aspects Of His Occupation.

  I almost never talk about my favorite dancers because they don't really provide me with the visceral trainwreckiness I require to feed my blog monster. They're pleasant, non annoying, seldom Hyde-level drunk and they never cause drama or steal other dancer's stuff. They simply don't give me the rage-fuel that powers most of the Plight.


  Yet I feel like they finally deserve to be mentioned, these unsung heroes of my livelihood. I've always been reluctant to do this because I feel like it highlights some of the positive aspects of my occupation and thus undermines my carefully constructed image of a bitter, alcoholic and petty little man trapped in a career he has come to hate. That's my narrative voice, good readers, and I have to protect and nurture it like it's an abandoned forest critter.


  That being said, I believe that there should always be room for every aspect of my job in this blog and that by providing new insights into facets of my industry that I enjoy, such as working with professional, sane entertainers, I'm presenting a much more honest and accurate view of my job.


  A wee dab of objectivity you might say.


  So without further preamble, here's four of my favorite dancers I've worked with over the years...



1) Vanna: This girl is like a composite of what the majority of malekind in 'Murrika finds sexually attractive. Vanna is diva material, world class hot and yet she still approached her job from exact opposite angle as every other mega hot super-cooch I'd ever worked with.


 

                      While Vanna's tits are bigger, that ass is spot on. They could be ass-twins.





  Most 'diva' strippers get to the point where they won't do single dances anymore, they ONLY do champagne rooms and they demand more than the standard pay for the room-they must have a generous tip as well. And a great indicator of whether an entertainer is an authentic fucking Diva or not is how good she is at pulling this off. A Legend-Class Diva*1 will calmly acknowledge that "Yes, an hour champagne room with any other girl in the club is $500, but if you want me it'll be $1000, plus tip."


  Diva's usually get the $1000, strippers normally don't.


  Vanna was the total antithesis of this whole mindset, she ONLY did private dances and I very rarely ever saw her do a room and she still made more money than everyone else in the building, every night. Last I heard, she owned four or five rental properties, a share of a successful bar and was funding anti-poaching black op teams.


  And good for her because Vanna was fucking awesome to work with. She was so in demand for private dances that guys would tip us Floor Guys to waylay her when she left the dance room and bring her to their table.


  If you would have looked at her with a certain narrow mindset, you would've been prepared to bet that she couldn't spell 'cotton' or describe what kind of tree it grew on. But you would've lost because underneath that nippley, blond and shaved facade a shrewd fiscal mind lurked, accumulating wealth.


  What I really liked about Vanna is that although she didn't need the Floor Guys to help her make money in any fashion whatsoever, she always tipped solid. She was also rarely drunk, but able to hold it together even when she was. She never lost her money or accused another dancer of ripping her off.


  She was a good natured, free form micro-economy, floating through the strip club ecosystem and generating commerce wherever her perfect ass went.


  Miss that fucking girl...


  Current whereabouts: Unknown. I assume she rules a small, previously undiscovered Scandinavian country by now.




2) Allusia: Giant tittied Texas bottle blond with a heart as big as her cup size. This girl was such a sweetheart, an absolute joy to work with. She knew her game and generally didn't need any Floor Guy help except for those rare occasions where some drunk twat tried to get away without paying her for her cock abrading dances.


 

                                         Her blouse-hams are refreshingly untattooed.



 
  This didn't happen often because she was an excellent judge of character AND because she had a rack you could land warplanes on with a smile that lit up the whole landing strip. Allusia wasn't classically beautiful, she had more chiseled features than is generally considered ideal. But when you're packing twenty pounds of sweater pork and an ass that knows it's business, it doesn't make the slightest bit of difference.


  Fucking helluva tipper and all around class act. Even when drunk. Allusia was the shit.



  Current whereabouts: Unknown. Presumed to be doing very well regardless of location.





3) Annabella the Great: Take Shakira's hips and an ass that could make even the gayest dude on earth question his sexuality for a moment. Then add in the perkiest B cups a repressed Japanese comic book artist could possibly draw at his horniest and slap them all together on a super cool, sweet tempered gal and you've got Annabella the Great*2.

                            On her days off Annabella enjoys farming and animal husbandry.


 

  Annie isn't the biggest earner or even the most motivated dancer I ever worked with. She's extremely pretty in a girl next door sort of way as opposed to the vapid supermodel look, but no one would think to place her among the Diva crowd. I like her because she's always cheerful and smiling and because I don't think I've ever seen her cry.


  Strippers cry a lot. I've talked about this before. If you work with a dancer for any longer than month, you'll see her cry, end of saga.


  But Annabella is tear-resistant. She also tips well when she can and is fun to hang around instead of depressing or aggravating, like most strippers.


  Current Whereabouts: I still work with her. She jumped ship from a different club that she'd been at for a long time and started at my club. That was a good day, her ass is mesmerizing...




4) Joy: Picture a gorgeous Korean girl born and raised in Russia and then imported to the US for the sole purpose of making America a better place to be. Joy was the coolest, most exotic dancer I ever worked with and I miss the hell out of her.


 

              I was going to write a clever caption here, but then I started watching asian porn. Sorry.




  Talk about genetic lottery, Joy had it all. 5' 8" and curved in all the right places, face like a Eurasian supermodel with an accent like a Bond villain. She was really impressed that I knew what a dacha was and that owning one in Odessa would kick ass, or that Dubrovnik was called the 'Pearl of the Adriatic', but alas, not impressed enough to fuck me.


  Shoulda learned Russian....


  Joy is purebred Diva in the looks department, and laid back supra-genius sexy nerd girl in every other. I always suspected that she was a KGB or Spetsnaz operative in deep cover and the only reason she moved away was because she had accomplished her mission, which obviously was an assassination.


  Fuck that's hot.


  I love Joy.


  Current whereabouts: No idea. Have you seen her? Call me.


 



  So there. All you bastards out there who complain that I never write anything positive about my job, go fuck yourself. This installment is brimming with warm memories and stewing in a fucking cauldron of goodwill.


  Enjoy the flavor because it makes me sick. Now I'm going to have to write some absurdly horrid shit just to bring my chi back into balance.

 


Goddamn it all to Hell,
-The StripperHerder
















*1 Legend Class Diva: A woman so gorgeous that she can walk into virtually any service industry job in the world and be hired instantly. A LCD is also far more intelligent than almost anyone gives her credit for because of her cripplingly good looks and is therefore astute enough to realize that she shouldn't ever let anyone know how smart she really is.





*2 Sometimes you have to give strippers a further appellation beyond their stage name because you've worked with 63 different dancers who've all used that name. Other than Annabella the Great, I've also worked with Annabella the Land Slug, Annabella the Jewish Junkie, Annabella the Catholic Junkie, Annabella the Black Junkie, Annabella the Dust Mite and Annabella Dontwannasmellya

An Interview With The StripperHerder. Or, Shit My Alter Ego Says.

  A couple of months back I asked my vast and varied readership to submit some questions you've always wanted to ask me for an upcoming installment where I would answer those questions, finally satisfying your aberrant need to know.


  I wasn't prepared for the overwhelming response, a veritable tsunami of queries and submissions that flooded my message box like a killer wave smashing a peaceful seaside village to smithereens. I chose some of my favorites out of the storm and the results are below.




1) Dmitri K. from Stalag, Russia asked "Have you ever sabotaged a stripper? If so how and why?"



  -Oh my God yes, Dmitri. Many times. The simple answer is because sometimes a bitch needs to be punished.

  The more complicated answer is because you can't show weakness to conniving strippers. If they get over on you and cost you money, you have to hurt them back twice as bad or they'll walk all over you. Luckily for me at my current club, the Floor Guys have a lot more juice than at the last place I worked where we were basically just walking, glorified welcome mats.


  Now I'll give you a specific example. Recently we had this guy in a champagne room with 3 girls. The man has a lot of money, is always very polite and a GREAT TIPPER. He's fairly regular and we always make sure he has a fantastic time. I'll call him Bill for purposes of this example. Bill usually gets rooms for one or two hour increments and when he gets going he'll do 4-6 hours at a time.


  So about a month ago bill comes in and does an hour with two of our girls. He tipped $200 on a $1000 tab. He decides he wants to do another 2 hours with both of the girls and a "fun girl of our choice". We pop boners when we hear this. That's a lot of dough going around and we get to reward a good tipper with a nice, easy champagne room where she's going to make a lot of dough and tip us awesome because of it.


  Now before I go any further, I need to explain something first. Bill, due to his nature, regularity and massive amounts of money, is one of the very few customers we'll let pay for his room after it's done. This is against all strip club SOP and very few VIP's ever get extended this courtesy. We do it for maybe 2 or 3 customers and as long as we're confident we'll get paid, us Floor Stiffs don't mind it because it gives the customers more time to get drunk and happy. Drunk and happy people tip better. Bill is a cool cat and even when he wasn't happy with a dancer, he always pays for his rooms and he always tips.


  We fucking love Bill.


  So back to getting hosed by a stripper. When the two hours was done, Bill was signing the tab and left a $1500 tip on a $3500 tab. Since there were five Floor Snipes that night, it meant that Bill had just tipped us $300 each. We were ecstatic, without Bill we probably would've made about $80-90 each.


  Then a nosy, conniving bitch happened. She saw him filling out the receipt and and asked "Where's our tip?" referring to her and ilk. Bill looked confused and asked "Doesn't this tip get split between all of you?" Obviously meaning Floor Guys AND Dancers. "No" the Floor Dude explained, "Whatever you tip on this receipt goes to the Floor Staff, but we can run another transaction if you'd like to tip the girls some more."


  "Yeah" Bill says. "Let's do that." And then he changes our tip from $1500 to $300 and has the host run the difference as a tip for the clam-havers. And thus, in one fell swoop, fucking Brittney cost each and every Floor Puke $240.


  After work, when all the dancers and waitresses were safely crammed into their cars and sent on their way, the floor staff held a fucking council of war.


  The result was that the next two times Bill came in we arranged for Brittney to be somewhere else while we hustled our chosen girls into the champagne room, one time even going as far to lie to Bill and say Brittney hadn't come in yet.


  I figure that between those two nights alone we cost her around $2000-3000.




  Fuck you Brittney.

                                 In his free time Dmitri enjoys shooting guns at rural people.








2) Angus R. from Moordrear, Scotland writes: "If you can smell my musty 'Lady Garden' from where you're standing on the floor, would you tell me and how?"


  -Fucking great question Angus, and a delicate one at that. How do you go about informing a clueless dancer that her lady-mound stinks of war and plague? Well thankfully it doesn't come up often, most dancers are pretty fanatic about powders and baby wipes and various other stink subduing methods. When one does sneak through the cracks, pray you have a House Mom or sympathetic stripper you can pass the chore onto.


  When all else fails and it becomes apparent that I'm the one who must break the news, which has happened to me only twice in my career, I took said dancer aside to an empty champagne room. Then I took her back out into the main club because her pungency quickly overwhelmed the small VIP room.


   Here's how our conversation went:




  HER: "What's the deal?"


  ME: "You have thong demons."


  HER: "What the hell are you talkin aboot?"*1


  ME: "Um. You're fermenting. Down there."


  HER: "Steve, what the fuck are you talking aboot?"*2




  It turned out to be more awkward than I had thought it would be.



  
  ME: "Foul winds....um. Your cooch is malodorous. Uninviting except to scavengers. Um."


  HER: "Just say what you fuckin mean! I don't have all night!"


  ME: "Your nethers have a breath weapon. Stink Cone."


  HER: "Are you trying to say my pussy stinks?"


  ME: (running away) "....yup!"




  That about covers that.  What's next?

                 Angus is a consultant for a PR firm. In his spare time he wars against the English.









3) Neil A-R. from Philadelphia, PA writes: "Are you surprised when you receive money from elsewhere and it doesn't smell like cat food and broken dreams?



  -Well sorta. I'm more acclimated to the aroma of crushed up oxycontins and cocaine, and I can't smell broken dreams anymore because my apartment is so saturated with that scent that I can no longer detect it in other environments.

                   Neil is an IT tech, but in his spare time enjoys destroying criminal organizations.









4) Pasquale from Evoo, Italy asked me: "How does it feel to no longer get a boner in front of a naked woman anymore?"



  -It feels kinda like not being a teenager anymore, Pasquale. Like someone who's been able to establish a modicum of control over my wang-gremlin. Seriously, who sprouts wood just by looking at a dancer in a club? I can see a chub or two if it's your first time in a club, or you stumble upon the most unbelievably hot chick you've ever seen, or, you know, in the privacy of your own home. But to just walk into a titty bar and fucking spring one for no better reason than you see a naked female? That's for amateurs, buddy. If I was hard the whole time a naked dancer was writhing around in front of me, I'd have to go to the hospital every night to be treated for priapism.*3

                                      "I get hard when I look at a fountain that has titties."










5) Mike K from Albany, NY writes: "Do you have an exit strategy from floor hosting? How do you plan to retire from the industry?"


  -Well Mike, I'm sorta relying on a couple of projects that I'm currently not even working on. You have to keep in mind that although I'm fairly intelligent and quite creative, I'm saddled with so many other character flaws that the only plausible answer to your question is: I'll never be able to retire and am almost certain to die on a filthy strip club floor someday.

                           "I only asked because I wanted to cash in on your spectacular blog."









6) Lucius X from Baltimore, MD writes: "What's the most dough you eva made inna night?"



  -I have two answers to that Lucius. The first is $2200. I made that on a night when a particularly generous celebrity came is and spent the whole night in VIP rooms with a half dozen girls and $5000 worth of champagne. It was fucking glorious.

  My second response is around $2500, the difference being that I found roughly $2100 in a champagne room that no one ever inquired about. Normally when I find money at the club it goes into my tip pocket, and I just add it to whatever else I made that goes into the general pot at the end of the night. Like every other club I worked at that features a floor staff, we split our tips.

  But in this instance I remembered back to when I first started out at this club and for the first few weeks when I drove the shuttle, the other Floor Cunts wouldn't split the tips with me "because I was driving". Even though I was a Floor Guy, I got ripped off for 4-5 weeks.

  It was this sordid piece of history I recalled as I tucked the $2100 bucks into a 'personal' pocket, then transferred it to my car. In my defense, I did peel off $300 to add to my tips, if only to make myself look like a better earner.

                     Lucius runs a very aggressive cleaning supply company. Quite aggressive in fact.










  AND... that's about all I have the patience for. I hope this post helps make you, dear reader, and me, beloved author just that much more close.


  Have a good evening,
-The StripperHerder













*1 She's Canadian





*2 All dancers generally call me Steve. Not sure why but I stopped correcting them long ago.





*3 For those of you not familiar with the term: http://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/priapism/basics/definition/con-20029378