illustration by Kalah Allen
I myself am a Portland stripper, and what really pisses me off are bitches who can't seem to remember their stage names. If you can't remember one then don't use one, you dumb tramp. There is a rotation for a damn reason—just look at the board that's glowing with a whole bunch of different colors. Today I was working, and some ugly, heavyset, greasy-haired dancer jumps up on my stage—well, it was for the last time. I told her to take her nasty, greasy ass, and go dance over on the minor stage, 'cause no one wants to see a horse dry hump the air. And if she can't remember her own name, then maybe we should switch, 'cause this was the second time within 20 minutes she seemed to think she was me. Ugh, strippers are so fucking dumbfounded.