It's amazing
what I'll do for friends. Apparently some jackass
didn't know where his paycheck was coming from last
month and insulted every one of Exotic's readers
and advertisers. So darling Frank Faillace bought
me a couple fat manhattans at Suki's and now here
I am--editor of Exotic--again.
I know a lot
of you really loved Jim Goad's contributions to the
magazine. One of my favorite local rock stars said
there was nothing that helped him move his bowels
so well as Jim Goad's Exotic. I personally
think he's the cat's meow, and the first person in
ages who gave two shits whether or not there was anything
worth reading in this magazine. And seeing as how
he wrote about 90% of the copy, Exotic will
be a completely different fish wrapper now that he's
hit the road, promoting his book Shit Magnet.
Of course,
I've got a lot of other stuff going on, too. Many
of you know that I am a "musician," a "writer," an
"actress," a "burlesque performer" and that I show
my asshole onstage downtown for dollars. Which brings
me to.....
Officer
Partridge's Hard Justice in Exotic, December 2002
Issue
"Sounds
like he got run over by a stripper..."
I hate to respond
to this column at all, because it seems to me to be
the petulant cries of a neglected three-year old,
but enough of you have been genuinely upset by Partridge's
idiot savant ravings that I feel obliged to REWRITE
THE SAME FIVE HUNDRED WORDS I've been writing for
SIX YEARS now.
First off,
it really infuriates me when people use the words
whore and prostitute like there is something un-noble
about the business of trading sex for money. Goddamnit
we do not live in the fucking Garden of Eden, and
each of us must trade something in order to survive.
Whether you trade sex for money or defend pharmaceutical
companies in court or are blowing up women and children
in Iraq for your paycheck is your choice. I will not
deny that a moral continuum exists, but I will maintain
to my dying day that the streetwalker who trades a
BJ for $10 causes less harm to fewer people than George
Bush, Vera Katz or even my dentist.
Secondly, I
am fiercely proud to be showing my asshole to strangers
for dollars. Is having an asshole or genitalia something
to be ashamed of? Obviously Partridge thinks so. But
who cares about him. I think the female form looks
best without clothes. "Prove me wrong!" And for the
millionth time, a naked chick IS ART. Her asshole
is art. I don't care if she's an "artist" or a "dance
technician" or a "burlesque dancer" or a METH ADDICT--she
is art. And she's art for the people. You can go up
the street to the Pearl District and look at abstract
assholes (cuz all art, all existence, is predicated
on assholes, on fucking, on stinky, sloppy, sticky
life) or you can fly to Barcelona and see pen-and-ink
assholes in the Picasso Museum (all the guy did in
his later years was paint cunts and assholes) or you
can see real live assholes at any of the comfortable,
well-stocked bars advertised in this magazine!
Finally, Officer
Partridge may not like us running our mouths while
we disrobe, may not like hearing the intimate details
of our not-as-glamorous real lives, but many customers
do. We are not onstage for his benefit, after all.
We are businesswomen. And most strippers I know figure
out pretty quickly that the guys who blow on your
clit when you turn around and stare deeply into your
asshole don't come around as much as the customers
who look into your eyes and want to hear about you
car, you kids, your cats. These are the guys who support
us, and no one was more offended by Partridge's misread
of the strip industry than they.
Having an asshole
is fun and easy. If stripping were as simple as that
literally anyone could do it. But it takes a special
kind of girl to make strangers feel welcome and comfortable
in a strip club. It's very generous work. And the
hardest part of the job is not the unveiling of the
body, but offering a glimpse, however brief, of the
soul. So, girls, tell 'em you're a writer, that it's
your birthday, that you're pregnant with twins. That's
what keeps our favorite customers coming back. And
evidently that's what keeps Mr. Partridge away.
Good luck surviving
2003...And Jim, if you're out there, can we please
see the last installment of Trucker Fags in Denial?
