It's really great being the only Floor Twat at my club that understands the elusive and complex nature of brooms and all the related nuances of sweeping stuff up. It enhances my job security and makes me a valuable asset to the club. If it weren't for me, the front door would've long ago become inaccessible due to the massive drifts of cigarette butts, candy wrappers, discarded booze bottles and street food wrappers that had accumulated there.
I am the portal keeper. I am the wayfinder. I can sweep at a Chuck Norris level, even at my advanced age.
So listen, because my unpublished (read:unfinished) draft pile is mounting like an unkempt horse stall, I have to do one of two things at this point:
A) Buckle down, improve my work ethic and finish all these drafts, or
B) Put out substandard, disappointing posts that nevertheless make my numbers look better, sorta relieve my rage (albeit temporarily), and make me feel like I've accomplished something, however vapid and disgraceful.
So, savvy reader, which option do you think I'm gonna run with? A or B?
Not even going to dignify that with an answer...
True things I've said to strippers recently:
So we're not allowed to pressure dancers for tips anymore, doesn't matter what we've done for them, they are by law considered 'private contractors' and there are notices from our legal team posted all over the buildings that no one is permitted, by law, to imply, infer, suggest, hint at or outright state that a bitch needs to pony up some dough. And if someone does, here's a convenient number to call so you can join a class action lawsuit that's waiting to happen.
Apparently it's illegal to tell a cheap cunt that she needs to tip us for our efforts in making her money. They are independent CONTRACTORS*1 (which minimizes the club's legal liability when they do something horrific) and as such, we Floor Mollusks are no longer allowed to tell them "hey girl, I just made you a grand, pay up."
I had this girl tonight who asked me some insidiously stupid question at the end of the night, when my tolerance quotient was at zero. I sighed and my shoulders drooped in resignation. I looked down at her and I said quietly and clearly,
"Every day I come into this club I fight a war with myself not to murder another human being. Some day I'm gonna to lose that war. Try not to be here that day."
And I went back to cleaning up after her ass, because that's one of the many splinters of the cross I bear, cleaning up after two-legged garbage.
Another gem I told a girl the other day was, "I know you're 20 and already have life figured out. You're blonde, stunningly beautiful and a lot men will bend over to make your life easier in hopes of doing something, ANYTHING to your naughties. Probably even just sniffing your thong because a lot of men are pathetic fucking losers with more income than pride.
"That being said a weekend in Cozumel with a moneyed asshole still makes you a
She didn't like that very much and I didn't care at all. It's her snizz and she can do with it as she pleases, but don't expect me to have any respect for you unless you give me money, which in the industry context is all I care about.
And finally, one more tale of my favorite bombshell bitch, Ivana Poutvainly, our gremlin-hearted Ruskie bartender thingy.
If you'll remember, honored reader, Ivana totaled her ridiculously expensive BMW a couple of weeks back, driving hammered, and didn't even get into any trouble for it because she fled the scene. Now she has an even more expensive car, yet still bitches about money and people being cheap.
She was having this conversation with one of her former Soviet Bloc cronies, when I just had to interject.
"Maybe if you weren't so obsessed with insanely expensive luxury items and vehicles there's a chance you'd have more money in your pocket."
And these were her exact words, I'm not even going to alter them to make them more sensational:
"I'm not going to dress like a commoner." She said with a sneer.
I just laughed. "Well if you're broke, regardless of what you're wearing and what you're driving, doesn't that make you by definition a "commoner?"
People like her make me sick. If your sense of self worth is so inextricably tied to what kind of overpriced shit you wrap your body with and drive yourself around in, then you're probably an egotistical, petty, self absorbed waste of oxygen.
ANYONE and I mean anyone who's willing to pay $3K for a fucking purse when a perfectly functional one could be had for $25-50 or less, is someone probably not worth knowing. EVEN if buying it doesn't represent a financial hardship for them whatsoever. Two of the traits in humans I hate the most are arrogance and avarice and paying stupid amounts of money for designer crap is the height of both.
For example, even if I had F-U money, I wouldn't run out and buy Lamborghinis, Ferraris, Aston Martins or some other super pretty hunk of shit, I'd buy something like these:
That's what I'd buy. Probably some guns too. Maybe a house.
Camouflage Strippers: Masking their horrid nature since whenever.
I don't have anything to write about this because my Anti-Butthurt team has assured me there's no way to cover this without someone, somewhere, finding offense with it. My legal Armada has informed me that I'm on thin ice, socially, and that in today's climate, it's okay to do horrible things, as long as you know you're right.
Must be a great feeling, KNOWING you're right and that any atrocity or ugliness you can commit is condoned and sanctioned by an imaginary Cloud-Dude, who totally approves of your fuckery.
It saddens me that otherwise rational people can think along these lines.
Fucking saddens me, I say.
Your Mammary Guidance Specialist,
-The StripperHerder
*1 Forever cheapening the term "Contractor".
*2 These weren't my literal words of course, otherwise she probably would've called the Owner and he may or may not have had me terminated with this O.T.T.O.** But it's the gist of what I meant, whether or not she was clever enough to read between the lines remains a mystery to us both.
**O.T.T.O. I don't remember exactly what this stands for and because I couldn't find the post I mentioned it in, I'm just gonna take a stab at it. Orbiting Tactical Termination Orb. If you feel like doing the research, feel free to enlighten me.
*3 "The Arrangement" is the agreement with alcohol that I made years ago. It goes something like this: Alcohol agrees to be here for me unconditionally and I in turn agree to never stop drinking or get to the point where I can't stop drinking even if I wanted to.**
** So far it's been working out extremely well for both sides. We're happy together.
