There once was a man named Dr Moebius Mosser who lived from 1906 to 2005 and who earned multiple PHD's in his often tumultuous lifetime. He was a doctor of anthropology, psychology, sociology and a chiropractor (although he admits he earned that doctorate by mail so he never took it seriously except in the mid 70's when he successfully ran "Sexual Chiroprackty"*1 for a number of years just outside of San Francisco)
Born in Erie, Pennsylvania to first generation Austrian-Americans. Moebius, or "Mo" to his friends was the seventeenth of thirty-four children, twelve of which survived their first three years. Of those who made it through the child mortality gauntlet that was early 20th century America, he is the fourth oldest, having two older brothers, one older sister and five younger brothers with three younger sisters.
His Father, Albert Franz Mosser was an accordion maker by trade and an alcoholic by life choice. He was a smallish man, but suffused with boundless rage and ill will when drunk, which after the move to America became all the more frequent as he was unable to find work making accordions or related bellows-powered instruments. He was forced to rely on menial labor jobs to keep a roof over his family's head and keep cabbage on the table for them. Literally cabbage, Family Brassicaceae leafy stink-lettuce. It's pretty much all they ate.*2
Dr Mosser was a man fascinated by his fellow humans, he wanted to know everything about what made an individual tick or sometimes explode as the case may be. He become quite interested in human sexuality in the late 60's after attending a post doctorate orgy with some fellow sexuality enthusiasts. It was from this point on that the focus of his work for the next decade became human sexuality and the silly shite it makes people do to get laid.
Chief among his interests were Go-Go bars, a thing in the 70's. Kinda like a titty bar but the girls wore bikinis, kind of. Being as this way the age of the Bush, wild and free, the bikinis were more like thongs stretched over unconscious muppets, fur all akimbo and uncontainable.
It was in this area of research that he wrote what became regarded as his finest work, and the seminal example of the Strip Club Field Guide, the aforementioned Mosser's Guide to Strip Club Fauna.
It's mandatory reading for anyone who either has to or wants to interact with strippers and idiot strip club patrons in a reasonably successful fashion.
So I recommend to all my readers to find a copy of this book and read the shit out of it, it will make any strip club experience far more entertaining as you and your friends suddenly become amateur strip club biologists!
That being said, here are some of the more interesting examples of Strip Club Wild Life as attributed by Dr. Mosser
A) Predators:
1) Rural Baggle-Skags: Always operating in packs, like hyenas, your average Baggle-Skag is about 5' tall and weighs 90 lbs. There are the goblin of the stripper races. Any group of more than three Baggle-Skags is known as a 'Trailer Park', as in a pod of whales or a murder of crows.
Used in a sentence:
"The other day I was at this hillbilly strip club when I got cornered by a trailer park of baggle-skags. I had no choice but to throw down my previously prepared tiny baggie of Drano crystals and tell them it was meth while I fucking ran like hell. The sounds of them fighting each other over it will haunt my dreams forever."
2) Fright Weaved Ghetto Beak-This fierce hunter intimidates rival strippers with its medusa-like hair, wild rolling eyes and four inch long polycarbon nails. When even the slightest thing doesn't go its way it gets extremely loud and causes a scene before attacking something....anything.
A group of three or more Fright Weaved Ghetto Beaks is known as a 'Drive By'.
3) Midwestern Trap Door Stripper: Comes out of nowhere when she senses the gait of a very drunk customer. Super attuned sensory organs in her feet can pick up staggering footsteps in even the most crowded strip club from a distance of more than 80 yards. The very best of them can tell you the age, weight and race of a man just by the vibrations his unsteady footsteps make on the stained carpet.
There is no fun group name for Midwestern Trap Door Strippers because they are solitary hunters.
4) Gin Harpies: See also Liquor Lichs, Boozeferatu, Jerky Loins, Corduroy Titties. These are strippers who are so far past their Sell By date that Paleontologists have literally started to study their cultures which are so antiquated they have largely been lost to human record.
As some of my longtime readers may guess, my former adversary Vodzilla is a classic example of a prematurely aged Gin Harpy*3. She looks easily 10 years older than she really is, 30 if the lights are on, which cause her skin to smoke and crackle....
A group of three or more Gin Harpies is known as an 'Apocalypse'.
5) Whoracuda: This example of a titty bar huntress is what's known in the real world as a fake prostitute. These are strippers who claim to be up for meeting outside the club to lay some stink on your genitals, but they are not truthful about it and are subsequently divided into two distinct subspecies:
a) The Domesticated American False-Promising Sex Liar:Tells their prospective prey they'll do all kinds of sick shit outside of a club but require a 'retainer' because men line up to pump their shame-barrages into her. If you give a DAFPSL money up front, not only will you never see that money again, you'll never bang her either. Or maybe 10-15% of the time, to be fair. Not good odds.
b) The Fake Crested Felony Hawk: This girl absolutely will meet you outside of the club and then at an inconvenient moment, her pimp/boyfriend/business partner will burst in and rob the living shit out of you. If you try to resist you'll probably get shot so just give up your cash and anything else of value, like your car, then pull up your pants and try to be smarter next time.
These crimes go unreported more times than perhaps any other just for the simple fact of having to answer "So why were your there in the first place, Mr. Doe......?" when you're trying to report a robbery.
A group of three or more Whoracudas is known as a 'Trap'.
6) Shark Eyed Wallet Raper: Only a really drunk spunkcrust could fail to notice the black, dead eyes of this serial predator as she closes in for some fiscal savagery. Her smile says "let's have some fun big boy!" but her eyes say "I smell chum with a credit card."
Don't be fooled by looks, a lot of SEWR's are still hot and rely on their sweet bods and pretty features to distract from the greed and hunger evidenced in their gazes. All hope bereft and shit.
A group of three or more SEWR's is called a 'Gang Rape'.
7) The Freudian Fraulein: These strippers are rarer that albino black cats, but they do exist. I've worked with a few strippers so fucking adept at getting into a man's wallet via his mind and emotions, pushing all the right buttons to make him spend, that it's scary. The majority of the scarce critters get out of the industry early, having invested their earnings wisely because they are much smarter than your average clam club employee.*4
8) Sundance Sallys: Ugly fucking strippers who have a symbiotic relationship with a much hotter stripper and who are only able to pay the weed and pizza bills because of their partnership with the dancer who is actually desirable.
Current example at my club:
Saddlebags and Jumanji- Two joined-at-the-hip strippers who normally work as a duo, like Batman and Frankenstein. I don't like either one of them because neither of them tip and both are more or less garbage. Normally I can find something positive to say about a stripper, any stripper, no matter how much negative shit I could follow it up with. But Saddlebags....I don't know. Nice hair maybe?
Saddlebag's one of those tallish girls who carries weight on top of her hips instead of to the sides or down low. Makes her look like she's got two fannypacks riding real high on her sides, probably stuffed with drugs. Her tits inspire sadness and a reflective introspection that can cause you to question why you came to look at tits in the first place. As if the joy you felt at seeing all the pretty breasts just evaporated into a fugue of discomfort at the sight of her gravity defeated milk-socks. She gets super annihilated every now and then but can't be bothered to woman up and just apologize for her actions the next shift, pretends all the heinous shit she said previously never happened.*5
9) Generic Pierced Nipple Dance Stackers: Comes in two variations, thick and thin, never just right. Usually drunk as fuck too. Gets a wasted Dirt-Prodder to agree to a dance and then weaves a tale of bullshit and scandal in his ear while she stacks 5 or 10 dances on him and when he's overwhelmed by how much he owes, relies on Floor Guys she won't tip to get the money for her.
We've been teaching them, the serial ones. I've held the door open for guys some GPNDS was trying to fleece. The fact of the matter is if I control the portal and you're a habitual non tipper, I refuse to put hands on a guy for that, because that could lead to a lawsuit, no?
Sorry hon, should've once in a while looked out for those who look after you. We're only gonna put up with your ratfink cuntery for so long. Time for a new club or a new work ethic, or possibly less alcoholism.
And this from a guy who advocates recreational alcoholism...
B) Parasites
1) Sad-Breasted Twerk-Hag: Was never a top tier entertainer, just 'filler' material to make the dancer count look better. The majority of many clubs' stable of strippers of will be these garden variety strippers, nothing remarkable about them, maybe one feature that stands out in an otherwise bland package. They drift from table to table, asking customers if they would, against all reason, like a dance. These gals never land whales, they just nibble at krill and worry away at the corpses of big spenders after the real operators have bled them dry and cast them adrift.
2) Bottom Feeding Thong Carp: Just floats around in the club current, glomming drinks and every now and then doing a dance. Makes around $350 bucks a week on average with the occasional $300 night just to keep up the rent on her hotel room. Buys a new thong every time her old one gets too stiff to wear since she has no washing machine or interest in doing laundry. Chinese proverbs claim that the Dragon of Unhappiness infests her loins, but I only give that a fifty-fifty chance at best, I think it would die in there.
3) North American Opioid Sloth: This species of stripper live life on the edge of dying everyday. They are seldom aware of anything going on not immediately related to how they're getting their next fix and anything more than ten seconds of conversation with one should make that evidently plain to anyone not retarded drunk.
4) Southern Slack-Bellied Pork Goddess: Big and round all over. Perfect serf-wife material for someone who needed a ridiculously fecund wife who could dig turnips with the best of them well into her third trimester and shrug off childbirth like it was a mild rash. Someone who could fight off Saxon invaders like they were schoolchildren and still whip up a fine turnip porridge when the bodies had been cleared.*6
5) Geriatric Carpet Bomber: This is an ancient stripper whose mortal nemesis is fluorescent lighting. She can remember when variety shows were a staple on all three channels in America. 'Carpet Bombing' is a tactic frowned upon at a lot of higher end clubs, it involves just wandering up to every fucking customer in the place and asking them point blank if they want a dance. No introduction, no conversation, no warning.
This is a strategy adopted by many strippers who really should've retired by now, but having the fiscal planning acumen of a mayfly, are still broke in their 40's and 50's despite the massive amounts of tax free money they've made in the past several decades.
The thing about Carpet Bombing is that it works a lot of the time, even if the dancer in question is haggard as fuck.
The reason that this practice can work is because a large percentage of strippers in this day and age have no real clue about how to close the deal. They don't know how to ASK FOR THE SALE. They're not bold enough to suggest to a guy that he spend some money, yet state it as a foregone conclusion and be confident enough in their hotness to get away with it.
Some girls just don't realize how hot they are, or haven't figured out how to spot spineless money guys who crave domination by an attractive, powerful valkyrie of a woman.
This is where I'm gonna end in one of my trademarked Abrupt Endings™.
Stop by next time when I take a look at more of the amazing Dr. Mosser's strip club denizens! Whenever that may be...
Viva Italia,
-The StripperHerder
*1 Sexual Chiroprackty was a boutique that featured a mix of erotic self help books, mystical thingamajigs and doodads, various counter culture paraphernalia and penetration-optional spinal adjustment by appointment only. Mostly for the female clientele, but if he was getting paid......
*2 Some later Mosser biographers claim that up to ten of his other offspring could've survived childhood if they'd had a diet that consisted of more than cabbage with the occasional tiny portion of fish, rat, pigeon or cat.
*3 Although she is classified as a Gin Harpy by Mosser, Vodzilla prefers vodka and will only drink gin if it's free, there is no other alcohol available or it's a weekday.
*4 I used to work with a gal who is now an aeronautical engineer with an additional degree in physics. Meanwhile I barely finished high school because it seemed kinda pointless at the time. That being said no matter how divergent our life paths became, at one point we both made our living in the titty business. Fuckin small world, eh?**
**Freudian Fraulein are extremely rare nowadays. They never work in groups because all the other strippers sense their superior intellect and hate and fear them for it.
*5 As a seasoned alcoholic who has done much he needed to apologize for in the past I can tell you that pretending something didn't happen isn't the way to make it not have happened. We're all adults here so fucking nut up or vagina up or whatever and just say you're sorry for being a miserable twat. Goes a long way.
*6 To be fair, I am the male counterpart to the Southern Slack-Bellied Pork Goddess in that I am mostly desirable as a mate to a girl that expects her man to hack marauding raiders to bits, club the occasional polar bear to death and gift it's lovely pelt to her as an oversized slanket/sunggie, pillage some foreign lands for some goods, gold or slaves while she minds the farm and generally be a savage merciless cunt who nevertheless loves her in his own way but may or may not smell good while doing it.
Or just be the guy who pumps children into her and does a reasonably good job of providing for them until they die or hit puberty. Whatever.
