Stacks & Cats Monday
“Okay this isn’t quite a cat nor a stack. But it is a kitten and a pile of stripper earned money.” Thank you, anonymous contributor! We’ll take it.
Money
Home Money
Strip Club Owners: Pay Your Damn Taxes
Natalia tweeted this photo during a raid that happened at the Dolphin II in Beaverton, OR last month. It wasn’t a drug raid but a tax one, as it turns out, the consequence of an undercover investigation. Portland’s Willamette Week published this story about a federal investigation into tax misbehavior by the owners of Portland’s Dolphin and Cabaret strip club chains. Why would either of these owners fail to heed the lessons of the downfall of Vegas’s Crazy Horse Too thanks to tax evasion and Seattle’s shuttered Colacurcio clubs and PAY HIS FUCKING TAXES?
On Hustling
It’s no secret that politicians are whores—they lie to make you feel good and appreciated, but are always out to make as much money off as many people as possible. So it turns out President Obama is visiting my hometown tonight and getting a bunch of wealthy businessmen to pay for the privilege of having dinner with him. Sound familiar? And don’t fancy escorts call themselves “dining companions” these days anyway? Obama’s not giving it up cheap though, with tickets ranging from $25 to $35,800.
Five Reasons Sex Workers File Their Damn Taxes
1) Tax returns are the only proof of income you have if you’re self-employed and paid mostly, if not entirely, in cash.
2) It’s far better for the IRS to have your numbers to start with than to let them come up with their own.
3) If you get caught after not paying taxes for a number of years and get hit with a five-figure bill, it really sucks.
4) You become another person contradicting the stereotype of sex workers as tax cheats who don’t contribute to society.
5) It makes you (even more) morally superior to GE.
Sugarbabe: Kat Commiserates With A Friend
I was introduced to Sugarbabe by my friend Charlotte who received the book from a client. I was able to track down one used copy at Powell’s after a few weeks of keeping an eye on the sex worker section. It was obvious from a dog-eared page toward the beginning of the book and the way that the spine wasn’t cracked and that the previous owner hadn’t made it very far. It’s a shame that he or she didn’t stick it out because it’s kind of the greatest bad sex work memoir ever.
Holly Hill finds herself 35, out of work, and dumped by the married rich boyfriend who had been supporting her. She decides to make a career out of being a sugarbaby and places an ad online. As soon as she gets her first response, she is already so turned on that she moans aloud in anticipation before even opening the email. It only gets better from there as she navigates the tricky business of being a full-time sugarbaby, taking a tour of multicultural dick and learning about herself (maybe? Not really) along the way.
