erotic city

"Nothing but the Naked Truth"

April 2002

Jump to calendar : April 2002 : Erotic City

HOLY CRAP! Exotic magazine reaches an all-time low in
porn publishing history!

Exactly what the heck were we thinking? I mean, what kind of an idiot would actually think he could write these terrible things about all those people in this crazy industry that we know and love to be our fair city of flesh, Pornland, Oregon? I mean, obviously, there will be a price to be paid by these foul sadistic bastards at Exotic magazine as they expose secrets better left unsaid, revealing the bare erogenous essentials.

Remember that Erotic City has always been intended to share one thing with all you lucky bastards...NOTHING BUT THE NAKED TRUTH!!! Faithful Exotic readers may remember earlier versions of Erotic City as a boring little promotional ass-kissing piece of pulp in which we would promote lame and tired events which our dear and cherished advertisers are forced to create in order to entertain the porn-sucking masses. Well, hate to burst your bubble, but gone are the days when I act like I'm fuckin' excited about another covergirl contest or the fact that we need to have three women on a stage in order to get you spoiled sex addicts to pay attention. It was time for the truth, and we've been gradually injecting it intoyour delicately perverted personalities over the past several months...and as each month passes, more of the truth will be exposed. THE NAKED TRUTH...and ohhhh, so much more.

Remember, the truth is a very powerful weapon. They say that the truth shall set you free, but unfortunately, the truth may see that you sleep with the fishes in some in Tony-fuckin'-Soprano-style. At least that's what I've learned, anyway. This month was an absolute record for the most amount of life-threatening-type responses this column has ever received. Which tells me one thing about you, my temperamentally tenacious reader...YOU CAN'T HANDLE THE FUCKIN' TRUTH!!!

I mean, Christ, it almost seems like EC has started going for a Jerry Springer-type approach in order to get your attention or something, doesn't it? Well, maybe so. And maybe it IS wrong to write about some of the most embarrassing highlights that take place in this world of lust and illusion. And the TRUTH probably has no business rearing its ugly festering head in the middle of all the fluff that is Exotic magazine. Don't think we don't realize that it's probably a bad idea to throw brutal, uncensored, and ridiculously abusive honesty into the mix of the glistening illusionary perfection of the hot naked babes on these pages (in their most airbrushed and deceptively altered glory, by the way.) Not to mention all these horny nymphos in the pullout section that are waiting by the phone to stop by your crib and bring you full-service delights (whatever that means) for only $99.

But even though I realize this, do you think that means I'm gonna hold back in the slightest? Uhhhh, how about...NO? Last month opened a doorway, and since we opened it, we might as well walk around in here and see what we could knock over. In the immortal words of that ass Fred Durst...GIMME SOMETHIN' TO BREAK!!!

What the matter how much the "competition" might whine and preach about our extreme approach to entertainment, we're still here, stronger than ever...another month of our so-called abusive rag is on the streets, ready to take its next victim and have its way with her in disgustingly depraved ways. Eat it up, Pornland, this is all for you.

So let's start with following up the results of last month's bold, adventurous, groundbreaking, and maliciously defiant edition of Erotic City. Over the past few weeks, several individuals were personally (and rightfully so) insulted.

Last month, let's about I begin with the truth? Shortly before deadline, while I was in the process of detoxing from my current porn overdose, I was unfortunately locked in a padded cell prior to being able to complete Erotic City's final edit. My therapy was not on the calendar, and well, shit, these things happen sometimes, what can I say? I had asked Jim Goad to step up for me and cover this column, but with him being so busy writing about Hitler's use of Viagra on homosexual trucker midgets wearing strap-ons, he was obviously buried in more work than he cared to handle. And then our publisher Frank, well, we all read Frank's column last month, right? It was a cool, nice easy read that showed just about how much time and effort he cared to contribute. Fortunately, his cat Disco stepped up at the last minute to share a bit of feline prose to cover Frank's butt.

So as far as I recall, Erotic City was actually never written last month at all. So who wrote it, then? I don't know nothin', man, but we're gonna find the bastards responsible and lock 'em in the stinky Exotic bathroom.

When the photo shoots end and all the naked babes leave the studio and head back to wherever the hell they came from, I am left alone in an oversexed and extremely unsatisfied state of psychosis. So what do I do when it's all over for another month? I write this fucking column, that's what I do. Sometimes I remember it, sometimes I don't. But the column does tend to take on a very reflective tone depending on how life in Porn City has been treatin' me at the time. And to tell you the truth, when the passion of the sadistic, the scandalous, and the remorseless spirits possess me, it's probably not the best time to sit down and write this shit. So if I was responsible for these upsetting words, rest assured...I WAS ABSOLUTELY APPALLED AT THE VICIOUS, BITTER and CRUEL words that violated Erotic City's normally upbeat, happy-go-lucky tone last month.

You're probably saying to yourself, JESUS CHRIST...what is this guy's fucking problem!?! I mean, he's got a job where all he has to do is take pictures of naked women and hang out in strip clubs. He struts around the goddamned clubs like he's God's gift to the clothing-deficient in his faggy clothes and out-of-date butt-rock hairdo. And still, not only does he bitch and moan about how fucked-up his job is, now he's taken to insulting your favorite clubs and talking trash about your favorite dancer. Pretty fucked-up, isn't it? Well, I unfortunately have to agree with you, my friends. Spooky has gone too far this time. I mean, what the hell is my problem? You want the truth? I'll cut through the bullshit this time. It might get a little personal, especially if you know me, but it's high time the guilty let the target fall on their foreheads in hopes of sparing any more innocent bystanders from shrapnel.


Strip clubs that still suck--
but seem to have a decent
sense of humor

Two very specific targets which came under fire last month were two topics which go together just like peanut butter and jelly...alcoholic strippers and Doc's Bar & Grill. (Note: For all you geniuses out there who didn't catch my ever-so-subtle hints regarding my all-new Strip Clubs That Suck feature, now the word is out--Doc's was last month's target.)

Now why did I attempt to editorially assassinate one of Portland's most beloved strip clubs? Sure, they screwed us out of some money, but then, who hasn't at some point? We always forgive (at least I guess we used to) as long as you pretend to be our friends, and like, maybe buy us a drink once in a while or something. But not this time. After you take it in the ass more than once or twice with a limp dick, it becomes more and more uninteresting. I mean, after all, Exotic magazine now has new and exciting customers standing in line and begging for the opportunity to screw us over. You know how it is, guys...when it's a cheap lame fuck, there's no need to stick around and have breakfast in the morning. But sometimes, if you're drunk and horny enough, you accidentally stumble back into bed with the whore on a slow night. But this Southeast strip club is gonna take one more shot before we lower the quarantine on Doc's bad medicine.

Yeah, we got your cover for ya right here, Doc's. Somehow you lucky bastards even were given a cover credit for that controversial "What's With all the Lesbians?" issue that you tossed out, simply because you USED to have hot dancers working there. These dancers USED to be able to make more than forty bucks in a six-hour shift. Once upon a time at Doc's, there USED to be a pretty cool crowd of hip motherfuckers that would hang out there. It USED to be the kind of place where getting shot was unlikely. They USED to have this really cool bouncer that looked just like Kenny Rogers, and he loved everybody. They USED to have this really cool DJ/agent that USED to be a pretty cool cat but eventually turned out to be another doomed dumbass with delusions of grandeur. This unfortunately often happens when you take your average DJ and turn him into an agent. What do you think he's gonna do when he's suddenly in control of about thirty strippers?

Doc's Bar & Grill is a classic example of what can happen when a club is run by people who couldn't give a flying fuck about their staff. But that's cool, because the staff has been stealing them blind the whole fuckin' time.

And then we all know how much they appreciate their dancers. They don't mean a damn thing to them. Long as the little tramps are spreading those pussy lips nice and wide...

And then there is the most important part of the machine to these people. There is all of you, the customers. And guess what? They obviously care the least about you, my friends. Just make sure you have change left over from your twenty sack so you can keep the strippers drunk on overpriced drinks and feed what's left of that paycheck into the video crack machines. Your dollars keep that fire burning long after insignificant elements such as friendship, honesty, and

loyalty cease to exist. This is Doc's Bar & Grill, baby, thanks for comin', guys.

And I guess I forgot one very important reason that I love to hate these people with such passion. She is also the reason that alcoholic strippers rate so high in the book of my favorite things. I'm talkin' about my lovely EX-girlfriend of the past two years. She was one of Doc's top performing drunks, and through her expertise in alcoholic abuse and Doc's contribution to her continuous intoxication, I was forced through a very educating experience. I should have left the drunk bitch there after having to rescue her from the first date-raping pieces of shit she brought home from Doc's. Hey, but forgive and forget...right? Fuck that...I'm gonna stick with in...forget her. What lessons have I learned through this? Well, to start...never...never...never fall in love on Ecstasy. And if your object of affection is a crazed blackout drunk when you meet her, might I suggest simply fucking her hard and dirty, then run, do not walk far, far away. Unless you're a stupid masochistic idiot like me and think that love may truly exist. It's all an illusion, just like this industry.

But the single life seems to be working out pretty good so far. I've been living at the Exotic office crashing in the studio for the past week or so now, and it's definitely missing a lot of the comforts of home, but on the positive side, the absence of an insane alcoholic in my life is probably for the best. Waking up every morning at the Hotel Exotic is like having six brothers and the sister I never had. I'm treated to being affectionately known as the cock-blocker whenever I interrupt my cohorts' attempts at sordid sex in the back room (the room I've been sleeping in.) Our esteemed editor, Mr. Goad, apparently did a little piece of performance art one night that was the talk of the office for several days. And Goad takes good care of his friends, man. While sitting at my desk, polishing off a half a bottle of my vodka, his sidekick Josh was treated with the opportunity to watch Mr. Goad in action. The rest of the staff arrived from a hard night of drinking and was a bit confused to hear Goad's grunts of passion behind the closed studio door. Especially when a shirtless Josh (Mr. Man-Boobs himself) stepped out of the studio looking quite tossed and tumbled. Writer Fags in Denial? Not quite sure what to make of these people sometimes.

Maybe I'll be a nice guy now. And I'll start writing about how much I love all of you again. And don't forget the best's spring in Portland, and I am now single again for the first time in a couple of years. Maybe I can really start enjoying the perks this job has to offer. I actually started enjoying what the possible future has to offer me last night as a matter of fact with a fiery vixen that reminded me of all the pleasures I've been missing out on. On an ironic note, even though we just love talkin' shit about those wacky knuckleheads over at SUX magazine, I have to admit, some of their covergirls are incredibly talented. They can leave a smile on your face that you'll wake up with the next morning. As a matter of fact, I believe Frank can even back me up on that one as well. We might have to amend the previously published code of responsibilities to be a covergirl. How about order to be an SUX covergirl, it is requested, not required, that you sleep with any member of the Exotic staff within 90 days of cover publication. I mean, shit, the Exotic covergirls seem to be very cooperative with this responsibility as of late, but unfortunately...the only one catchin' any action on the home front seems to be our young stud for hire, the mighty Darkstar.

So watch out, Portland, spring fever is ragin' with a vengance and there's only one dumbass in this entire office that's NOT single now. Lock up your daughters, and keep those covergirls at a safe distance, Marty. Because the bad-boys of Exotic are BACK!

(Special note: since I was abducted by aforementioned goddess last night and staggered into the office, the day we are about to got to press, about six hours late, Erotic City was not given as much attention as intended. I apologize for being so inconsiderate, but trust me, she was worth it. And all I left out was some really wicked bashing on my ex-girlfriend. And it's probably for the best that got left out. She's her own worst enemy and she'll get what's comin' to her...probably won't remember it, though. And any of those "friends" of mine out there that were waitin' for the chance to get on it...take your best shot, guys, but remember my advice...the sex ain't half-bad, but afterwards, roll over, get out and run, don't walk, far far away!)





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