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xmag.com : January 2003 : I Love Las Vegas

So I'm Back...

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?


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