So speaking of lightening up, why not start with our stunning covergirl, Adrianne from Stars Cabaret? We met this blossoming beauty when we were shooting last summer's Rose Festival issue. I dragged Adrianne and two other Stars beauties onto the river for the afternoon and attempted to shoot my first photos outdoors, in the blazing sun on a boat that wouldn't stay still long enough to set up the shot. The results were not the greatest work I had ever done.

I selected a picture of Adrianne for that issue that she found less than acceptable. Adrianne chose to share her feelings of her (un)coverage in our magazine by sending us an e-mail. Unfortunately, we were unable to retrieve that e-mail, or we would have printed it in its enraged entirety. But highlights included quotes such as, "You guys are totally fucked...I can't believe you put those shitty pictures of me in your magazine. Your photographer sucks and he did NOT do me justice in the least. Every time I see your shitty magazine, I throw it in the trash where it belongs! I will NEVER appear in your lousy rag again, and will let all my friends know how fucked you are...," or something to that effect.

Needless to say, we apologized with our utmost sincerity and hoped that someday we would be able to redeem ourselves for this terrible display of our unprofessional portrayal of this lovely young woman. Fast-forward to November at the Stars Cabaret Exotic Covergirl Contest...and the winner is...the beautiful Adrianne. We all had a good laugh over this, and seriously, folks, she was a pleasure to work with. In addition, the bit about Bad Attitude is all part of the show. (Not to mention the name of Downtown Portland's ultra-cool clothing boutique, which provided the stunning accessories worn by this month's covergirl.) Hope we did you proud this time, Adrianne--practice makes perfect.

An additional complaint I've been hearing around Erotic City is that our magazine has gotten "too PG-13." Now, don't think we don't pay attention to reader comments, people. If you want more tits and ass, then who am I to stand in your way? As a result of your complaints, you'll notice quite a bit more flesh on these pages this month, including the all-new Exotic Pinup pages. Two full-color pages which will feature four new girls each month in the flesh and not much else...two full-color pages just waiting for you to stick them together.

And with the New Year comes the newest and most exciting contest this town has ever seen. It's here at last... Exotic's Covergirl of the Year. Eighteen of our finest cover queens will be attempting to capture the first-ever Covergirl of the Year title, which will award them with $1500 cash, over $1000 in prizes, and the cover of Exotic's Covergirl of the Year issue in December 2002. How does she get there? With your help, of course. Ballots are awaiting your votes, (for $2.00 each) at select locations throughout the four corners of Portland. See pages 30 and 31 for the polling location nearest you.
And eighteen lucky voters will be selected by random drawing to be our guests of honor. You'll arrive in style aboard the Stars Party Bus to join every one of our covergirls at the announcement ceremony, taking place at Stars Cabaret in mid-March with feature performances by each contender. Vote now...vote as many times as you like...and vote often. (We'll need that two bucks a vote to pay for all this crazy shit!) Coming in February, you'll even be able to vote online at xmag.com. Good luck to all our covergirls; may the best woman win.

And speaking of the Stars Party Bus, it seems that another magazine here in town is trying everything they can come up with to look original these days. Things like, putting dancers on a bus and calling it The SUX Party Bus. Stars was thrilled to hear it, of course, but lost their sense of friendly competition when the aforementioned bus made an apparently intentional illegal turn in front of their own party bus and caused quite an un-partylike collision (see photo). The Stars Party bus was fortunately undamaged and will be rolling with two more parties on wheels this month (see p. 27 for details).

One of my favorite things to do on a Thursday night is rapidly drawing to a close. The Jody's Bar and Grill Covergirl Contest will be wrapping up with two final rounds of competition, the Second Place Showdown on Thursday the 18th, followed by the Big Finale on Friday the 18th. Contest fever has been heating up at Jody's for the past ten weeks, and you the people have spoken and selected each of the finalists that will be competing for $1000 cash, and the cover of next month's Exotic magazine. It's not too late to get in on this action, as there are still two pre-qualifying rounds on Thursday the 3rd and 10th. And to any of you guys out there with a fat wallet that just loves tippin' those ladies, that means there are two more chances to make yourself a judge in the finale. We aren't putting your hairy ass on the cover, but we will invite you to have a private black-tie dinner with all twelve finalists before the show. In addition, we'll give you the best seats in the house for the show and four free table dances from our competitors just so you can inspect their talent up-close and personal.

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Once I get to the Exotic office, the fun really begins. I walk into a trashed room full of empty pizza boxes and a group very stressed people who are forced to be locked in an office with each other for about ten days of increasing tension. The graphic designers have a glazed, semi-psychotic stare in their twitching eyes as they create the pornocopia of our fine publication on the computers in front of them.

Moments later, that "hot babe" I was expecting for the shoot shows up. Instead of the statuesque, incredibly stacked goddess I had picked out last night, a very unattractive, slightly female-looking creature waddles into the studio and informs me, "Bunny couldn't make it--she started her period...I'm Beaver. My agent said you needed me for a photo shoot."

Oh, well, she's the last shoot of the month; I can deal with it. So I size her up and try to see if maybe there's something attractive about her I can accentuate to make her desirable to the viewer.

She's dressed in saggy sweat pants and a lumpy sweater. She notices me checking out her "fine chassis" and lets me know, "I've been on a day-care gig all day, and I don't have any of my dance clothes; why don't we just shoot it nude?" The thought of seeing this woman naked forces me to excuse myself to the restroom, where I relieve myself of that greasy breakfast I slammed down on my way through a dive in North Portland. I return into the studio, smile, and lapse into a numb appearance of acceptance. It's time to go through the motions and convince myself there is something sexually attractive about this girl, and I'm going to find a way to make all of you want her nasty ass. This is my job! This is my destiny!

Long...story...short...the photo shoot was a nightmare. She pulled off those sweats to expose a greasy, sweaty, cellulite-ridden, too-many-buffet-havin', shouldn't-oughta-be-strippin'-for-a-livin'-lookin' naked body that no matter what angle I shot it from still maintained its unchanging deficiency in attractiveness. One high point came when I had to lean over the model's bare ass to adjust the ribbons I had placed around parts of her body to hide her most prominent rolls of excess flesh. I'm not gonna get into details, but let's just say she had already damned three of the five senses at this point, her most recent violation being smell, as in...ass! Touch and taste had not yet been violated, and there was no way in hell she would be able to take them from me!

I shot about ninety-five pictures of this girl and knew it wasn't going to happen when thankfully she says, "We need to finish up, because I feel really bloated, and I think I'm gonna start my period. Do you guys have any tampons?"

At this point, I'm callin' it a day...

That was one too many references to a subject which forces involuntary sympathy on the male species in the name of ovulation. And you know what the fuckin' irony is here, people...It's time I shared something with you about this wonderful job I have, that you all wish you had. I am blessed with the joy of having a period every fuckin' month, ladies and gentlemen. That's right, it's true...and this period is known as Exotic magazine. Five to ten days of increasingly painful hell which leads to what you're holding in your dirty little hands. Oh, and I bleed as well; it's a monthly service to take it up my unlubricated ass every month for a customer or two just to collect a commission sometimes. And if I could stick a tampon up my ass to make it stop, I would in a heartbeat. But I end up right back here in the same place every month.

Another term for a monthly magazine is a "periodical." As in "period"; as in "On the Motherfuckin' Rag!!!" But aside from the menstruational similarities, you can also look at it as giving birth to another bastard child every thirty days and praying to God it isn't born deformed or that it doesn't look like that other guy's magazine (same difference, I guess). So any interested applicants can send in their resume, premenstrual profile, and any other necessary information you might find helpful to our office, and who knows, you just might be the next lucky bastard to join our crew of merry men and the women who tolerate them.

Oh yeah--she wasn't the last shoot after all. I broadened my horizons this month and focused my camera on a new subject. I went from shooting strippers to shellfish still-life when I was asked to photograph an incredible lobster dinner for Roc's Dollhouse. Now, I'm not sure if it was just because I had been living off Dante's pizza all week, but this looked like the most orgasmic meal I've ever laid eyes on. And all I'm thinkin' about while I'm shooting this shit is..."God, please, God, do I get to eat this when I finish?" Which starts to make me wonder, "What the fuck is wrong with me? I should be shooting a hot naked babe and saying...'Dear Lord, please let me eat this when I finish....and I'm talkin' breakfast, lunch, and dinner here, dammit!!!'" But guess what--I only eat at home, folks. Good thing, since the Dollhouse didn't put out, either...thanks, Rick.

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