erotic city


"Nothing but the Naked Truth"
February 2002

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Whom Can I Piss Off Next?

 

Welcome to round three of al the "all-new" Erotic City. Apparently, there are quite a few of you out there that are actually reading this shit these days. I've had several phone calls and plenty of comments from those of you who realize that this mysterious "Spooky" character is actually only me, the guy that you always run into at the local strip club. Except I'm the one that doesn't get to have any fun in the clubs anymore. That's right, you lucky bastards...while you're sitting there at the rack with your eyes glued to that nineteen-year-old's ovaries, I get to enjoy a whole new aspect of strip clubs that you'll never get to see, unless, of course, you read Erotic City.

So here we are again. Another month has passed, and there are so many more
stories to share with all of you. The tricky part is, how do I tell them without
pissing certain individuals off? And the answer to that is, I can't. So rather than be a pussy and pretend that everything is just fine out there, let's see whom I get to piss off this month.

We can start with those that I have already pissed off. Let's start with one of our "friends" in good old North Portland. Apparently, one of the "owners" of The Viewpoint, or "Cleopatra's" as it's called this week, was distressed by something I wrote in Erotic City's first all-new edition. Something about having to sleep with one of the Exotic magazine staff in order to get the cover of our magazine, or was it on the cover of that other magazine, with the stupid name and that rude little English guy that thinks he's Portland's answer to Hugh Hefner? Actually, I reviewed my "questionable" comments and am happy to say that I said neither. All suggestions I made to this controversial topic were all about rumors that our so-called competitor insists on spreading about us. As a matter of fact, I'm in my second year here at Exotic now and am honestly able to say I have never slept with a single one of our covergirls. However, I have slept with several of his covergirls prior to them becoming covergirls. Didn't know you appreciated my taste in women so much there, Marty.

Gallery's "Girl Next Door" of the Year Gets it in the Rear

First on the chopping block is those goddamned Afghanistan terrorists. Can you believe that the events on 9/11 have caused a major disruption in the porn empire of Portland? Get this, our very own Holly Foxx, (of Miss Nude Oregon fame) was scheduled for a photo shoot for her Gallery Girl Next Door of the Year pictorial on that fateful day. We all know that air travel was a bit cramped following these events. The unfortunate result of this is that Gallery's Girl Next Door of the Year issue, (currently on shelves) does not picture our girl on the cover; instead, she's on the back cover. Now okay, you fly a couple of jets into our biggest skyscrapers, that's one thing. But goddamit, fuck with one of my favorite strippers, and that is it, man! Makes me wanna join the Marines and kick some Muslim in his porn-deficient testicles. But that's not gonna happen, so I'll have to call on all of you for your help. All porn distributors in Portland unite, and turn all copies of this month's Gallery backwards so we can see our girl up-front where she belongs! (Note: You can see Holly on the back cover of this month's Exotic as well.)

Holly is also one of the contenders featured in our Covergirl of the Year competition now in place everywhere. The ballots are now awaiting your votes in all of the special voting locations. (See pg. 21 for all the details.) Apologies for teasing you with all the hype a bit early. Genius takes time, my friends. And trying to keep things exciting in a town filled with fifty-five strip clubs can often be challenging. But the ball is rolling now, so be sure to check it out and vote for your favorite babe today!

 

******

 

Olympixx as They Should Be

 

On an interesting note, apparently I need to keep my big mouth shut sometimes. There is a very special event that has been in pre-planning research and developmental stages. We weren't gonna come out with this one yet, but apparently someone leaked a bit of information to those other wacky magazine guys that are so popular in North Portland. Coming in April and May. We'll be giving you The Exotic Olympixxx--Civil War 2002. We're not giving up all the details yet, but we might suggest you stop by The Viewpoint to see how it might go down if you were throwing something together in a rush, because the idea has been stolen. Good luck with your games, Viewpoint. We'll look you up for the main event in April. As a matter of fact, all our friends in the North will have a very special invitation to our games. Maybe the North won the first Civil War, but this is Pornland, Oregon, and the year is 2002. Not to mention, can the North stand against the South, The East and The West as well?


Stupid Question of the Month

 

This month's question is a little different than in the past. I myself asked it to Mr. Brad Tanner earlier this year while hangin' out and havin' breakfast at a club on McLoughlin that iscurrently seeking residency in North Portland.

"Hey, Brad, do you wanna have another Exotic Covergirl Contest this year?"

The answer to this question was unfortunately YES! So in November, we started down that road of fun-filled exotic entertainment that would last for ten weeks of erotic bliss. Now what is it with contests, anyway? Why must we have them? Do we have the sadistic desire to judge these noble strippers who bare themselves for a wrinkled dollar bill? Must we embarrass them with rating their fragile psyche on a scale of 1 to 10? Is this what we call entertainment, people? You're goddamned right it is. Entertainment is what it's all about. And we often have to go the extra mile to keep you all entertained. I mean, after all, you get into these clubs for free, you tip a dollar a song (if you're a good boy), you get to drink, smoke, gamble, and eat fine meals for ridiculously low prices, all in the presence of hot naked babes. You poor deprived bastards, it's the least we can do to try and give you more entertainment for that hard-earned dollar you didn't even bother to tip with.

So we had the goddamn contest. It was an experience I will face again, probably very soon. But the things I learned from this contest will save me from a small fraction of the aches and pains involved in putting something like this together. There are stories I could tell about this contest that would be quite entertaining to read about but would unfortunately make my life even more miserable were they to appear in print. I have to work with these people. That's right, Spooky has taken on a new personality. You can see me as undercover DJ at Jody's Bar and Grill every Sunday night. You know, I always hated DJs. How the hell did I turn into one? I think it was that damn contest's fault! So now that I am musical slave boy to six strippers on a Sunday night, it has taught me even more about an industry I used to enjoy so much before I became a part of the machine that is porn.

Back to the contest--let me try and condense my thoughts into a few direct jabs so that the impact will only put you into a coma for a week or two. This is how these contests work:

1. They're always fixed. That's right, I said it. They're fixed! No matter how straight-up and legit we try to make them go off, someone will always find a
way to fix them. The Jody's contest judging structure was very carefully set up so that it could NOT be fixed. But in the end, it wasn't foolproof. Maybe the
customers couldn't fix it, maybe the dancers couldn't fix it, and hell, even we couldn't fix it. But if forces aligned with likeminded intentions, integrity beware. In the end, no, the fuckin' contest wasn't fixed. But as I announced the winners, two unfortunate bastards sitting at the rack immediately started shouting accusations of The Fix. I very politely shared a brief ten-minute monologue (which you are now reading) explaining my delight with their opinions.

Actually, the only thing fixed in these contests I run is cold hard facts. If a contest is going to be judged fair and legit, know this...the hot nineteen-year-old with the perfect, stretch-mark-free body is ALWAYS going to win. We were
fortunate enough to have several young ladies in this contest who fit that description, which made it even more difficult in the end.

Now if a contest is not carefully disciplined in its ruling, it will be fixed. It can be fixed by customers with too much expendable income. (And God love 'em for it!) I had the pleasure of getting to know several of these gentlemen during the contest. They were responsible for more than half of the finalists. And once the girls became aware of this, that made them even more powerful.

Then there are the girls that will straight-up fix the contest themselves. Now, these predatory creatures are generally NOT going to be the hot nineteen-year-olds I was speaking of earlier. These are the less attractive, not as sexy, and all around HARDER WORKING strippers. These venomous vixens have learned the valuable art of targeting the loneliest, neediest, and most starved-for-attention customers that wander into a strip club hoping to find happiness, but who instead leave with an empty wallet and a free magazine to go home and beat off to.

Then there are the powerful people behind the contest like me, the club owner, the agent, the bartender, the magazine, and the all-powerful sponsors. We can fix it, hell, yeah. But if it was going to be fixed, feel safe in knowing that we know what we're doing. We've been pornographers for eight years now; we have common sense, and above all else, outstanding taste when it comes to naked chicks. So we'll always make sure that hot nineteen-year-old wins, 'til death do us part!

All bullshit aside, the Jody's Contest kicked some serious ass!!! (And if imitation is the highest form of flattery, I'm flattered as hell to see that a somewhat similar scenario will be taking place starting this month at Roc's Dollhouse.) The contest was not fixed, but it was often confused. The girls were beautiful and sexy and competitive. (But that's what you saw onstage, my friends; it
wasn't always so pretty when the lights went down.) In the end, twelve finalists came together and gave Jody's a record-breaking night, and every lucky bastard in the house a night they would not soon forget (especially when those credit-card statements show up). And from those twelve ladies, only one was to conquer the cover and score herself a cool grand. The result was not exactly what we expected. Our scoring system was put to its test, and, thank God, I had two actual accounting majors handling the bookkeeping. One of my scoring judges was actually slapped in the back of the head by an angry stripper who peeked at his score sheet and saw his very honest appraisal of her looks and performance (note: she wasn't nineteen).

The scores left us with our four finalists, and we left the rest to you. By audience response, we made our final assessment of who was to be our queen. The people spoke very enthusiastically, and our decision was made. We were exhausted, a bit intoxi-cated, and scared as hell of the two hundred screaming lunatics in the bar. So we did what anyone in their right mind would do. A draw was declared. Two very stunning ladies, Tatum and Tonic, will both grace our cover next month. So stay tuned for more uncoverage of these two. And maybe if you're lucky, I'll tell you some more about this contest once the pain starts to numb a bit more.

So that's it for this month. Deadline has passed, and another fatality-free issue is off to press. Though we barely escaped the hot streak we've been on when our prior Employee of the Month took a disliking to an up-and-coming young pornographer on our sales team. Some attempted strangulation was allegedly involved. I unfortunately missed this event while I was passed out from a porn overdose on the couch in the back. The office at deadline is not the happy place you would all expect it to be, full of nubile naked nymphs prancing about and servicing us orally on demand. Nope, it's Afghanistan in a G-string, and we don't get laid. Seven guys ready to snap any second. And then, the bomb drops, and its all over for another month. So enjoy this month's attack on all things moral. Lock and load, baby, we'll see you next month!

 

 


CALENDAR OF EVENTS


 

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