Exotic Magazine Online Uncovering adult entertainment online since 1993
xmag.com : December 2001:The Industry

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...




*The publisher would like to clarify that for tax purposes, there are no Exotic "employees" per se; we're actually "independent contractors."




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