There really aren't any great moments in Stripperherding history, I was being deliberately misleading. There are the occasional small victories, medium wins and a lot of draws, but nothing earth shattering or of historical importance.
Therefore everything I'm about to write regarding these so called 'great moments in stripperherding history' are complete and utter fiction. Like Superman, everything in the Bible, or the notion that humans and dinosaurs coexisted because the Earth is only 4,000 years old. Total goat drippings, folks.
Before I start making shit up, I'd just like to take a moment to say that despite being fiction, some of the following material may be found objectionable by some readers and the views and opinions expressed herein may not reflect the corporate attitude of the StripperHerder's parent company, S.U.I.C.I.D.E ™.*1 and that reader discretion is advised.
GREAT MOMENTS IN STRIPPERHERDING HISTORY
1) Arnolf Beornsson: a member of the Varangian Guard during the later years of Basil II's reign, he frequently worked in one of Constantinople's top strip clubs, Pale Nights, on his days off from guarding the Emperor. One evening he procured a blond stripper for an influential member of the Fatimid Caliphate Ambassador's entourage and was subsequently tipped one gold Solidus for his efforts, making him the first white guy to be tipped by a black man in recorded history.*2
We know this because of a runestone he left behind when he returned to his homeland, it began "No shit, there I was..."
The owner, Josie Freeman, was a canny ole gal who knew if the word got out about her little establishment, then sooner or later a pack of drunk white illiterate scumbags would find their way there and make no end of trouble for her.
And she was right. They did. Luckily for all involved*3, her bouncer staff, which consisted of Big Jim, all 6'9" and 327 lbs of him, was there that night. When nine drunk bigots showed up with bad intent oozing from their fat, stupid faces, Big Jim informed them that the place was closed and that they should move along.
Not surprisingly the hill-slobs didn't care for that very much and moved in on Big Jim with ax handles and hickory sticks, determined to show this uppity giant the error of his ways. So Jim, who was about as easy to intimidate as your average oak tree, unsheathed the four foot long iron crowbar he kept lashed across his broad back.
It came out with a whistling sound. Do you know how fucking hard it is to make a four foot hunk of iron whistle as it cuts through the air? Try it sometime. Big Jim made it look easy. Then he took the fight to the ridge-runners, several of whom were just thinking to themselves that they shoulda brought a few more fellas and maybe a shotgun or two. Possibly a change of shorts.
The otherwise gentle giant laid into the would be troublemakers with a fury that was both wondrous and terrifying to behold, depending on where you were standing at the time. He felled them by ones and twos, killing none of them and not even doing any permanent damage so skilled was he with his crowbar, affectionately named Miss Betty after a kindly white cook he had worked for.
To this day Big Jim Crowbar still holds the Floor Guy record for Most White Assholes Knocked Shitless But Not Killed Nor Maimed In A Single Ruckus. In certain Floor Host religions he's venerated as the patron Saint of Mindful Violence.
3) Jean Luc La'Douche: It's pronounced Doo-Shay, by the way. Jean was the senior Floor Host in Port Royal's ritziest titty bar, The Gilded Clam, during the greatest years of piracy and as such, made enough money to retire in under two years.
The Gilded Clam was renowned among all seagoing men, probably the most revered brothel*4 in Western sea lore. Being as it was located in Port Royal, it's clientele frequently included pirates. Proper Golden Age pirates, with hooks, peg-legs, parrots, eyepatches and whatnot. Lotsa guns too. *5
The point is that La'Douche was able to rake in so much side money off wasted pirates with loot to burn that it only took him nineteen months to go from pauper to retired, landowning man of leisure. He died of advanced syphilis three years later, but that fact doesn't diminish the brilliance of his accomplishment.
He holds the all time Floor Host record for Quickest Retirement in a Non-Suck Category.
4) Private Erasmus Bentley III: Pvt Bentley was a Confederate soldier who achieved Floor Host fame during America's Civil War. Ultimately he didn't do his side any favors and in actuality may be at least partly responsible for instigating Sherman's March to the Sea. Which, if you remember your history, was real bad for the Confederacy. But in Floor Hosts' eyes, he was a fucking hero.
His story goes a little something like this...
It was early November, 1864 when Sherman and the Union forces he commanded made camp roughly eight miles outside of Atlanta in preparation to assault the city on the morrow. As was his wont, Sherman took his senior staff and some troopers out to a few local taverns on the eve of the campaign, to get really hammered and make fun of the locals, some of whom they would shoot the next day.*6
Towards the end of the night, the group lands at Mabel's, the only strip club for miles around. Pvt Erasmus Bentley was on shift that night as the head Floor Guy. He set up a champagne room for Sherman's entourage while the General himself opted for a private room with Lilly, one of the club's top performers.
The important thing to note here folks is that while Sherman paid for everything out of his own pocket, he didn't tip any of the staff one red cent, which rankled their humors. So when Sherman popped his wang out in the private room, Erasmus was on point. He barged in and told Sherman to put that thing away and that this was "No damn Yankee whorehouse!"
Even though Lilly herself wasn't opposed to the odd blowjob if the money was right, Erasmus stuck to the unwritten Floor Host rule of, He Didn't Tip Me, Ergo The Cheapskate Clapstain Gets No Head-and repeatedly warned the General to put his little soldier away.
This infuriated Sherman to no end. He'd been under a lot of pressure lately and needed some release, preferably a humjob, but denied that he reckoned that a ten mile wide swath of bloodshed, immolation and destruction would be a fair substitute.
A scuffle ensued between Union officers and Mabel's security team and local supporters. The senior Northern staff made a wise choice to beat a tactical retreat, dragging a frothing Sherman with them who was screaming that he would have Erasmus's job because he knew the owner and that if he couldn't do that then he would carve a path through Georgia all the way to the fucking sea.
Which he did, burning, looting, raping and not tipping a dime all along the way.
To this day, Private Erasmus Bentley III holds the Floor Host record for Being A Team Player, putting he and his fellow Floor Guy's interests above that of his own country in the waning months of a losing war.
All right, enough with that nonsense, as plausible as it all seems.
Let's do a quick Q&A session before I sign off and find something better to do.
Right.
Q. Who's your current Arch-Nemesis since Vodzilla got fired.
A. That's easy. It's Ratty. She's a walking bag of shittiness and scam that stains our club and everything she comes into contact with like a particularly vicious chancre stains some reasonably innocent underwear. Ratty is a text book Hyde, although she doesn't let that stop her from being garbage even when sober.
Q. How many miles are on your vehicle?
A. 55,623. Or maybe a sixth of it's lifespan.
Q. How high can you jump?
A. I don't know for sure, but at least 5-6 inches. Maybe as many as eight.
Q. What's your favorite song ever?
A. Hungry Like a Wolf by Duran Duran
Q. Where were you born?
A. My Mom always claimed that I crawled from under a rock, and although there is credible evidence to disprove that, I choose to believe her.
I was going to write a bit more, but then suddenly decided not to. My unpredictability is part of my charm. What I'm really going to do now is change the Header and throw in some pictures so people don't get all bitchy and send disappointed emails.
Hoping all your tomorrows are full of candy and unicorns and dead murderers,
-The StripperHerder
*1 StripperHerder Unlimited Industries Corporation International: Diversified Entertainment®
*2 A feat fewer than 100 Floor Guys have repeated since.**
**This is also fiction, relax.♥
♥ Although statistically you are far likelier to be tipped by a drunk white dude than any other race you care to name. Based upon my 20+ years of experience in the service industry, this is fact, not fiction.
*3 Except the white guys of course
*4 The brothel is the dirty, immortal ancestor of the strip club. Sorta. I mean ideally speaking. So anything before say 1950 or so mentioned in this post can be considered a brothel, but will be referred to as a strip club because it fits my narrative better.
*5 It takes a fair amount of balls to be a security guy at a place where no one is supposed to have a weapon. It takes groaning ox carts full of balls to be a bouncer where every last person is armed to the teeth.
*6 Although this may sound absurd to you modern readers, the practice was commonplace throughout much of history. Hostilities were considered to be postponed with the coming of dark until the world conveniently made it possible again to see who you were killing. Therefore it was not uncommon for the opposing sides to mingle, gambling and trading among themselves until the sunlight made them hate each other again. Similarly, high ranking officials from both armies frequently met for drinks at local establishments, whiling away the hours with war stories and debates about ancient battles strategies until it was time to go prepare their forces to slaughter the others.
