2002 : Erotic City
I am again, back in that foul, twisted frame of mind that another
deadline has created. This is Issue #4 since Erotic
City got a bad attitude, and judging from the "feedback"
I received from all of you, let's just keep it simple by saying...
you're starting to scare me.
interacted with several intimate strangers that have actually
quoted some of my insane rants verbatim. I was absolutely stunned
when a hot little sexbomb asked me if I was the eyes above Erotic
City, and upon confirmation, she informed me that she wanted
me for my mind. I don't know, man; the pressure is getting as
thick as a Wild Orchid stripper's ass. I'm now expected
to continue this "good-natured satirical abuse" month after
month. I have already gained a reputation as a backstabber who
"pretends to be your friend so he can expose your weak side
and share your most horrible and embarrassing moments with 30,000
people right here in Erotic City." This quote strangely enough
came from a recent Exotic covergirl, of whom I have never
spoken poorly (in print, anyway). But this particular covergirl
knows who she is. Actually, a lot of my friends know who she
is, as in...carnal knowledge. Maybe she was trash-talkin'
me because I'm the only one in this particular circle that HASN'T
tried to fuck her. But to call it 'trying' would be incorrect;
I should just say I'm the only one who hasn't fucked her, because
all those who tried were successful. (Just remember, honey,
people love to talk trash, and even more so, they love to gossip.
Especially if they can gossip to someone like Spooky who
loves to pour that gasoline on the fire. And for the record,
I never use names. The guilty and their associates alone are
aware of the names and faces behind the dirt.
tell you the truth, I never thought half of this shit would
make it to print. But before the editorial master-race figurehead
known as Jim Goad took over the reins, no one was really
paying attention to my mundane little column. Goad's prime time,
I'm late night. So I snuck some shit in here and there, and
now you guys are eating this shit up, aren't you? You just can't
wait to see what those crazy fucks at Exotic are going
to say and do next. Rest assured--we're
just getting started, my perverse
offering of obscenity is smeared across these 96 pages like
a bad outbreak of genital warts. So indulge yourself in this
monthly disease that we all love to call Exotic Magazine.
The Jim Goad
Experience--Lesbians, Kiddie Porn, & Extortion
off, I just want to remind all of you...this is all Goad's
fault, man! A lesbian friend of mine smacked me last
week because she thought I was responsible for last month's
much-adored "What's with all the Lesbians?" feature. And I
can't tell you how many compliments I received on the porn-by-children
article, not to mention its lovely inset visuals. OK, maybe
they weren't compliments. Apparently, someone out there is
trying to exploit our editorial content in all
it's questionably disturbing glory in an attempt to scare
our faithful advertisers right off of our filthy little pages.
Kind of funny when you think about it. The porn-by-children
feature was not about child porn, but in fact children who
direct and produce pornography. Also known as
a FUCKIN' PARODY!!! Same goes for most of our content these
days. But then there were the goddamned lesbians! Now personally,
I've never had any problems with lesbians. I mean, they keep
to themselves, and as I see it, this means that there are
that many less women out there that could potentially fuck
with my life. BUT BI-SEXUALS?!!! THAT'S A WHOLE DIFFERENT
STORY ALTOGETHER! Leave it to a woman to be so indecisive
that she can't even figure out if she wants the hard stiff
one or the carpet-lickin' casserole. Maybe it's not indecision;
maybe it's greed. Bisexuals are the ultimate control freaks.
They want it all, man...your best friend, your girlfriend,
your boyfriend, his sister, and most importantly, they want
whomever you want. What's
with the bisexuals? Perhaps it's our entire fault. I mean,
it's the ultimate fantasy to get it on with two hot babes
at the same time, right? You're rollin' around on the sheets
with your head buried in her crotch while her little sister
is servicing your plumbing. Sounds great, and yeah, sure,
I've been down this road before and lived to tell the tale.
But these little trios are ultimately cursed. Either you're
gonna fuck one of 'em better than the one you were supposed
to be focused on, or they might just decide they'd rather
slurp on the pink taco than having your hairy nutsack bouncin'
on their chin. Now, myself and Mr. Goad are part of a minority
here at the office that find it unnecessary to assemble multiple
(female) partners to bust our nut. And since last month's
issue was released, I've noticed a newfound sense of hostility
and aggression amongst this proud band of snatch soldiers.
You can't even talk to a girl at Dante's anymore without
having to outdazzle, outmaneuver and all but wrestle a potential
score from these predatory bisexuals. And to make matters
worse, depending on their mood, tomorrow night they're gonna
want to fuck you. They'll steal your date one night and then
blow you the next day to apologize. You go out for a drink
to celebrate making up, you fall in love with a new stripper
you've been looking for all your life, and then your little
bi friend steps in, and it's all over.
there, now hopefully you can hate me now, too. I'm buckin'
for prime-time after all, and the Goadster had taught me
the importance of pissing off entire cultural masses, rather
than picking on some pathetic strip club that needs an English
enema. Actually, Jim Goad taught me another valuable lesson
as well: Never, leave naked pictures of yourself on your
computer. I had noticed some strange smirks spread across
the faces of not only Goad, but others in the office as
well. Eventually, amid a drunken pool game, one of my associates
informed me that they had discovered my bare uncensored
essentials while "innocently" examining the contents of
my hard drive. (OK, it wasn't 'hard'--I was relaxed.) Now,
these gentlemen did not consider the talent involved in
capturing the proper angle in attempting to take a self-portrait
of this nature. You try holding a camera with your feet.
for crissakes! But all other details aside, my privacy had
been violated, and I was pissed!!! Not only pissed that
my co-workers had seen my unit, but that they might possess
hard (yet semi-flaccid) evidence that could be used to exploit
my body's sacred temple! We can only wait to see on this,
one I suppose. Hopefully, Goad will find a new religious
group to crucify or some white-trash controversy to embrace.
Just keep your weapons of written destruction away from
my cock, goddammit!
Clubs That Suck
that get your attention? Drum roll, please, what account can
I cost Exotic magazine this month? How long can we keep
it up, without leaving any
permanent scars? To be honest, the new Exotic is a strange
controversial type of lie-detector. Stay with me on this, gang.
Is the sex industry a haven for crap like censorship or politically
correct mindless masturbation? Well, it seems some
people here in P-Town have definitely put themselves up on a
pedestal and said, goddamn it, those bastards at Exotic have
just gone too far this time. Aside from the usual reader outrage,
a group of, "lobbyists" has rallied around all things moral
in pursuit of curing the disease of Exotic magazine.
right, there's a few new places where you won't find Exotic
anymore. And this is where I get to name some names. The
first, and most entertaining member of the "BAN EXOTIC"
task force is a club I have wanted to trash for a LONG, LONG
time now. As a matter of fact, it wasn't all that long ago that
I actually did wreak a little havoc on their patio. But that
broken flowerpot was soon forgotten; something tells me these
words will not be. This is a club that should be one of the
Top 10. Unfortunately, the only Top 10 lists they've seen over
the past couple of years usually involve the police or the OLCC.
But I gotta give this place props for one particular point of
merit--this would have to be the absolute #1 selection if you're
looking to fuck an alcoholic stripper. I remember one charming
tale of a stripper who nearly beat her boytoy of the month to
death with his own crutch after he backhanded her. God, drunk
chicks get me hot. And this place is loaded with 'em. Research
here at SpookyCentral indicates that alcohol levels of intake
and individual tolerance are of no concern at this Toxic Paradise.
Hell, everyone's drunk here--the customers, the bartenders,
the waitresses, and most importantly, the DANCERS!!! It's actually
quite an interesting approach--keep the bimbos well-watered,
and all the horniest, most opportunistic predators will hang
out and drink, buy table dances in obscure dark corners from
drunk strippers perched spread-eagle over some mullet-wearing
(with a 10/90 ratio --pub.) crack dealer's nose. And
they'll drink some more. They'll get another table dance. Maybe
this time with that nastier girl that was sticking her nipple
in his mouth while the bouncers were sleeping. Last call comes
eventually, so this merry clan of whiskey-weary rejects rushes
to the bar, guzzles their poison, and make their desperate attempts
to couple with that hot babe who was finger-bangin' her ass
in that last table dance. Your odds of eventual success tend
to be more favorable if you perform this destructive ritual
on a regular basis. And if you're still not scoring, you can
always attempt more pathetic and desperate methods of seduction
through the use of cash or other party favors.
I haven't mentioned the name of this Roc'n little slice of
Portland Strip Club history. But after getting screwed over
by these dumbasses one too many times, it was actually a pleasure
to learn that our scary new format led to our ejection from
this Southeast shithole. I'll miss you guys. I'm not saying
I never had any fun there. That would be a lie. But I'm sure
my liver will last an extra year or so if I stay away from
this place. As a matter of fact, it will be just what the
Doc'ster ordered. And we'll see 'em in court for the money
they still owe us.
there are a ton of people that work at this club that I have
cared a great deal for over the years; most of them have wised
up and moved on to greener pastures, but a few dedicated souls
remain. You guys know where to find me. I'll be watchin' my
an added note, something tells me this section is gonna have
more available options in the near future. Exotic is
not looking to antagonize or abuse our consumers. We are here
for one thing, and one thing only...to ENTERTAIN!!!!
And as if that isn't enough, this is free entertainment
paid for by our advertisers. We wish to thank our core group
of advertisers and appreciate your open minds and bold sense
of reckless adventure you display by hoppin' aboard with us.
As the magazine continues to expand, we consistently find
ourselves oversold. So I
suppose it's not really so bad to let a customer slip through
the cracks, and on occasion it's even necessary to hose them
into the gutter and wash them away completely. Exotic's
circulation and distribution are at an all-time high, and
even though we might offend certain individuals that might
take us entirely too seriously, for every one reader that
refuses to ever "buy" our magazine again, there are three
more that just picked it up for the first time because they
heard we have some intensely funny and twisted editorial,
and more of what you look for in an adult publication--HOT
NAKED BABES! ROCK N' ROLL! SEX! SEX! AND MORE SEX!!! (What...you
were expecting guns and swimsuits?) Oh, and to all of you
that will never read Exotic again: Hey, it's good to
know you finally started reading at all, and by the
way, we're like a drug, baby...you can't escape, we've got
ya hooked. No matter how much you might say you hate us, you
won't be able to stay away. You'll rush to flip through every
goddamned issue if for no other reason, but to find a new
collection of topics about which to bitch.
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