When I think of (non-posed*) strip club photos taken by outsiders—typically aspiring photojournalist types—I tend to cringe. There was the guy who was nice enough, but always just there in the dressing room. I hated that I had to walk to the bathroom to check my tampon string because this man and his giant camera were invading our space, lying in wait for one of the girls (out of those who had consented to being photographed) to do something. I wasn’t surprised to see that all his favorite photos were of the hottest messes smoking or doing lines. Then there are Terry Richardson’s strip club pictures.** They look like souvenirs that a customer using his cell phone on the sly helped himself to in order to snicker with his buddies later.
Are you working today and feeling like the woman at the center of this Reductress article? Flag-themed negligee has been a stripper staple since the country’s first peeler swung a tassel at an eager soldier. Historians largely agree that Betsy Ross said upon completing the first flag, “Ah, yes. This will make a delightful scrunchy butt bikini.”
A stripper’s body could be the most patriotic or the most atrocious way to display the flag. Do you blindly love this country (please read a book, by the way)? Then behold the red, white, and blue’s majesty as it blankets your ample bosom! Are you little less enthusiastic for a place that’s propped up by white supremacy and hell-bent on legislating sex workers into the gutter? Well, today’s the day to shove that Lycra flag straight into your ass crack!
I’m a sucker for stripper clichés, so I asked workers to submit July 4th selfies. Unsurprisingly, our submissions tended towards the white and blonde—which could be the topic of an entirely separate post that I’ll save for another day.
This post originally appeared in Maggie McMuffin’s personal Tumblr, All Jazzed Up Like A Catsuit Monarchy.
Here are ten basic problems that I frequently encounter at work. If they aren’t daily problems, they come up weekly or bi-weekly.
Remember to show your work as it appears in your head because you will be doing this math in the dark, in a hurry, with loud music playing.
If the question pertains to a club that works on percentages rather than a flat fee, please show your methods on paper so that if the manager tries stiffing you for 40 bucks you can show them your records. You may not get that 40 dollars but you can at least let them know that you keep track of your money so that they’ll be less likely to stiff you in the future.
Remember to keep track of each and every dance in your head in case a customer tries to argue about how much he owes.
It was only a matter of time before somebody would think to compile a collection of stripper plank photos (although one of them is maybe just a snorkeler). I’m kind of bummed that this didn’t occur to us, but that doesn’t mean that our readers can’t still submit photos of themselves participating in the hottest/most pointless trend of 2011. Send us your pics and I’ll make a stripper planks post in a few weeks. For those of you still confused as to what all this “planking” business is about, you’ve been overthinking it. Ya go somewhere, and you lie down on your stomach like a board and someone takes a picture. Yes, documenting yourself lying down is a thing. (Remember freestyle walking?) Check out Whit absolutely killing it. No wait, saying “killing it” is over, huh? Well, she’s hitting it out of the park! Look at how she’s all lying there and shit. Now do you still “feel like a 45 year-old soccer mom,” Charlotte? kat [at] titsandsass.com
Kelly didn’t get to sing this during the Super Bowl. Her songs are much, much dirtier than Beyoncé and Destiny’s Child, and “Kisses Down Low” is Rowland’s entry into one of the best types of sex songs: Lyrics About Eating Pussy As Sung By Women. Just last night I had to hear yet another customer talk about how he just loooooved to eat pussy, and how he was soooo good at it, I’d pay him *eyes actually leave sockets as muscles fail to stop their rolling.* While, when done right, it’s great, listening to those proclamations makes me wonder why there aren’t corresponding “stop fucking eating my pussy, you are so horrible at it it seems you have mistaken my vulva for corn on the cob and it feels so disgusting that I am nauseated” songs is beyond me and an inaccurate reflection of women’s sexual experience. It’s much more fun to hear a woman tell a man what she wants and how he’d better do it, and these three songs are solid, played-until-the-end-of-time strip club standards.