"Nothing but the Naked Truth"
January 2002

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Pay Attention This Time


Before we dive into Y2K2, I thought we might spend a little time reflecting on highlights and low points that told the tale of 2001. Probably the most unforgettable event of the year was the astonishing devastation in New York City. Now, I'm not gonna dwell too long on this. I mean, Jesus Christ, what do you expect me to do, put an exploding skyscraper on our cover, wave a flag, and call myself an American hero? I can be a pornographic patriot without putting you through unnecessary sensationalism. You've got your nose buried in these pages to read about sex. That's right, apple pie, baseball, and Chevrolet are great. But give me tits, ass, and all-American pussy if you want me to stand up and salute.

When this country was born, we kicked the crap out of the uptight and impotent British so we could explore our individual freedoms... And here we are, hundreds of years later, still fighting for these rights, whether it's against City Hall right here in Portland or in the Middle East to terminate some nutsack chasing Armageddon in the name of Allah.

In spite of all the craziness, we still have the pleasures of the flesh to get us through these trying times. Who cares if we're in a recession--masturbation is absolutely free, just like this magazine. Even though 2001 was a pretty fucked-up year, my shallow ass still spent the entire year taking pictures of naked women, hanging out in strip clubs on a daily basis, and somehow I was able to make a living out of it. Life is what you make out of it--live it, baby!!!

In case you weren't paying attention and didn't read this shit last month, you aren't aware that Erotic City has taken a new attitude. I figured it was high time to show you nothing but the naked truth (as the column's byline promises month after month). But fear not, porn-soldiers...Erotic City will still be your field-guide for survival in the Tits and Ass trenches, but it will be much more than that. You will learn things you probably really didn't need to know. But above all else, you will learn...the TRUTH!!! At least 95% of the time anyway...the other 5% will consist of our lighthearted attempts at having some fun with this wacky, wild industry we all know and love to be Pornland, Oregon. In other words, we're just fuckin' wit' ya! So lighten up and have a good time with it, for Crissakes!!!




Covergirl with a Bad Attitude


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.



Stupid Question of the Month


Mr. Buster Hymen, a dedicated strip-club-rack addict, approached me with another ridiculously overused question last month:

"Aren't you that dude from Exotic? How can I get a job like yours?"

Well, Buster, like many others, I'm sure you see my job as this nonstop orgy, where I bounce from one club to another, assembling an entourage of exotic beauties which worship me like a god as they service me in every way I desire. Uhhh, yeah...you got it, dude, it happens just like that, every single night, and then...the alarm clock buzzes and I wake up, realize it was all a dream, and go to work.

Care to share an actual day in the life of Spooky? Try some reality on for size, Buster, and lets see how it fits that hard-on you've got for my job. Went to bed at 6 a.m. last night after playing emcee at a big contest for one of my favorite clubs. It was lots of fun. Out of the ten dancers who were scheduled to participate in this event, four called me less than half an hour before their shifts to inform me they weren't coming. Two of them partied too hard last night, and two of them started their periods (an excuse which women use on us because they expect us to have no acceptable defensive response). Okay, at least I still had six, but a fight breaks out backstage between two of the girls because "That bitch danced to Type O Negative and she knows that is MY MUSIC!!!"..."Screw you, bitch, you gave MY REGULAR a table dance!!!" the other snaps back. In the process of pulling them apart, a stray punch from a perfectly manicured fist lands on my jaw. Now we're down to four. I think I'm gonna get a break when the two girls who canceled because they drank too much last night showed up around midnight. But since they're already well on their way to tomorrow's hangover, my ten-girl contest is stuck with four contestants. Guess I'll call it a night.

So now it's morning and deadline is twenty-four hours away. First appointment is at 10 a.m. to pick up ad details from that new lingerie shop that just opened last month. Gotta make sure I collect that $1,000 they owe us from last month's ad. As I pull in the driveway of the broken-down building, I see the eviction papers glued to the jack shack's door by the Sheriff's office. That's fucking great. This is also the same jack shack that caused another of my customers to dump me this month because the dancer he employed and was also using for a fuck toy appeared in his new competitor's ad. Business as usual.

Better bust my ass down to the office now. Got a photo shoot with a hot babe at noon. On the way down to the studio, my cell phone rings, and total sex bomb I met at Sassy's last week is finally calling me. She shoots the small talk for a short time and refreshes my memory about how I told her she should call me for anything her heart desires. Eventually, she clumsily admits the real reason for her call: "I just started my period and was wondering if you would run to the store and pick me up some tampons." (Just for the record...I didn't go.)

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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