|
I'M
THE NEW EDITOR here at Exotic. Some of you
will celebrate. Some will mutter curses under their garlic-scented
breath. Many of you, the vast cluster of functional illiterates
snuggled within this marvelously nurturing, mentally stable
community known as the SEX INDUSTRY, will emit a mild
burp of indifference. But the important point is that
I, as editor of a sex-industry-themed magazine, am now
also a member of the sex industry. In short, I am a sex
worker, too. We're all in this together, people, and I
think we'd all agree that selling sex for profit is a
noble, proactive, human thing to do. My only advice
is that you all get used to my presence. Think of me the
same way you might have once thought of anal sex. It hurts
at first, but you might actually grow to like it.
This is a picture
of a man who looks somewhat like the Exotic  staffer
who threw an in-office tantrum and threatened to quit
if we profiled him as Employee* of the Month.
EXOTIC
EMPLOYEE* OF THE MONTH I was all set to
inaugurate
a satirical new column whereby each month we'd profile
a different staffer here at The World's Most Fun Place
to Work. The idea seemed harmless enough--poke a little
fun at one another, but also share with our dedicated
readers a taste of the sweetness 'n' light that is this
office, especially around deadline. My first choice was
a man whom we'll call "Butts." I bestowed upon him the
rare honor of FIRST EVER Exotic Employee* of the
Month because he is by far the most psychologically fascinating
member of our Wild Bunch here. Butts is a thoroughly Machiavellian
character, with perhaps a twist of Wilhelm Reich's "Little
Man" thrown in to give it that bitter, vengeful intensity.
He was involved in some sort of dealings with the Russians
during the Cold War. His father was said to have been
the man who first appeared on the scene after the crash
at Roswell in 1947. We have nicknames for Butts...things
such as "Porno Turtle" and "Li'l Smutty." Sometimes in
the office, he'll wear his "Funky Monkey" T-shirt and
sneeze so loudly, you'd think a gob of his lung was gonna
fly out through his nose. His adolescently high-pitched
voice will shriek things such as "Neener, neener, neener!"
and "I wanna Nutty Buddy!" He uses decidedly unarousing
terminology for sexual organs and practices...words such
as "pooper" for "ass" and "tallywhacker" for "cock." He
always makes sex sound soulless, disgusting, and obscene.
I could say more...MUCH MORE...but then I think of Butts
in his Scooby Doo boxer shorts, eating a Nutty Buddy all
alone on a rainy winter's day, cruising eBay to see if
anyone's buying his Osama bin Laden Styrofoam Toilet Targets,
and a heady Roman Catholic sense of guilt sets in. Despite
what he may think, I love the guy. And no matter how he
squirms, I think he enjoys it when I hug him.
Perhaps
with good reason, Butts was immediately suspicious of
my intentions regarding this so-called "profile." In front
of an office full of employees* who'd shown up for the
Monday Afternoon Free Lunch, Butts's normally dough-colored
skin turned an even more sickly ashen tone as his chubby
little body popped up and down, insisting that he not
be profiled or identified AT ALL in this magazine. I laughed
and wondered what the hell he was hiding. I was amazed
and depressed--but not surprised--that someone who'd spent
his life with a magnifying lens up the ass cracks of others
would run like a titmouse when the lens turned toward
him. It's also ironic that he's so freaked about one of
us getting him in trouble for something; fuck, everyone
knows that he's the office stool pigeon! Woe unto
the hypocrites, saith the Lord Jehovah.
TITS,
ASS, AND HALLELUJAHS Speaking of apparent  hypocrites--and
I guess the very act of calling someone else a hypocrite
is kind of hypocritical--I was a mite befuddled this
week to receive two copies of "The Hallelujah Times
(Formerly the T&A Times)," a pair of one-sheet mea
culpas from currently incarcerated pornographer
Phil Yoder. Yoder was jailed back in February and charged
with a stack of heavy Rape and Assault charges after
a rendezvous with a lady friend went suddenly sour.
In the first "issue," written by Yoder in jail and released
by his friends in August, he claims that his six months
behind bars had at that time "opened my eyes and heart
to a whole new world, which now includes a belief and
faith in GOD through Jesus Christ." He also claimed
that his accuser was lying and had a history of lying
about other men. In the second issue, dated October/
November 2001, Yoder claims he was intimidated by the
weight of his charges into accepting a plea bargain
which should release him back into our world sometime
late in 2002. "With the recent Terrorist Tragedies,"
Yoder writes, "I'm reminded of the fact that we don't
know about tomorrow (please read Matthew 6:34). If you
don't know if you're Saved, or whether you'll have Eternal
Life in God's Kingdom," etc., etc., blah, blah, blah,
give me a fucking break.
Now...I
don't know Phil Yoder. And I really don't care what
he did or didn't do to this girl or who was lying. Chicks
lie all the time about this sort of shit. But as far
as I can tell, they're both still able to walk around,
so whatever happened must not have been too bad. And,
yes, the justice system is fucked-up, Amen, my brother.
But
what bugs the FUCK out of me about this "Hallelujah
Times" goobiness is the ultra-cheesy, ultra-predictable
CHRISTIAN CONVERSION. When I was in prison, the surest
sign of a sex offender was the Bible tucked under his
arm. All the rapos would gather together and pray to
Jesus, the only person who'd forgive them. I don't care
about the Yode-man's guilt or innocence only to
comment that his newfound faith makes him look guilty
to me. And I worry about Jesus's safety once
all those rapos and chomos get up to heaven and pin
Jesus in
a corner. "Hey, no, guys, really..." Yoder-ay-hee-hoo!....
SO
YOU WANNA BE AN EXOTIC WRITER? I received
this gem of a query letter from a gentleman who, via
e-mail, proposes "a column called 'Tales of Worthless
Husband, Beautiful Wife,' where I would write from the
perspective of one of those guys you see who are just
perverted jerkoffs but somehow have a beautiful wife/girfriend.
Lucky fucks! Life is strange, but truth is stranger
than fiction....I would write stories (mostly fiction,
but based on some of my experiences in the RocknRoll
and S/M scenes) that covered a lot of taboo subjects
in an entertaining way." Sounds GREAT, Chief! I was
also mailed an erotic short story from a Florida student
which features this sexually charged passage: "The sight
of her ass curving outward was more than I could take.
I stood behind her, cupped both her cheeks with the
palm of my hand and slipped my finger in her wet, inviting
pussy. She gasped with delight as I knelt, pushed her
thong aside and began feasting on her loins." Is it
just me, or is it getting HOT in here? GOOD WORK, GUYS!
Exotic pays 10 cents a word, so the first guy
gets a check for $7.60,while our budding erotic novelist
takes home $5.30 (before taxes). Welcome to The Industry,
fellas....
I
WAS THE DOORMAN throughout October's fantabulous
Ink-n-Pink 2001 competition, a traveling tattoos-and-vaginas
circus which blazed through six local strip clubs and
one weird hippie-style loft place with a bad draft.
I cherish many warm, meaningful memories from Ink-n-Pink,
but perhaps my favorite is the sight of Exotic's
own beloved Spooky cavorting around in a Seinfeld-styled
"puffy shirt" and wearing a Phantom of the Opera
mask. Or maybe it was Reed McClintock's balloon trick,
which just got better with each repeated viewing. Or
maybe it was the packed house on Halloween night when
Miss Ink-n-Pink 2000 winner Sage commented that the
entire competition had been "very emotional." I've done
many things in my life of which I'm not proud, but being
involved with a group
of folks who actually care about the plight of
tattooed stripper chicks is not one
of them....
I'LL
BE THE DJ at Dante's on December 6th sometime from
6 to 8 pm. Me and some other writer guys (mostly unknowns)
will each be spinning our favorite songs in an event
hosted by Barfly magazine. Have no doubt that
I will rock the house and raise the roof. Expect some
Sweet, Slade, Standells, and maybe even a Tammy Faye
Bakker chestnut or two. Dante's also regularly hosts
the alluring magic of Reed McClintock, a man who exudes
raw animal magnetism and claims to be "one of the world's
top twenty coin magicians," and we all know what a coveted
title that is...
WHAT
WERE "SEX WORKERS" CALLED 20 YEARS AGO? Whores.
*The
publisher would like to clarify that for tax purposes, there
are no Exotic "employees"
per se;
we're actually "independent contractors."
|
|
