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Right now I am back in school....In an 8mos post graduate course for Human Resourse Management
sigpic RIP Steve "Jibs" James - Your footprint is forever on my soul and in my heart xoxo RIP Jeff Shewchuk aka DJ Jeff Taylor (day_for_night) - You will live on in my heart forever xoxo
Life isn't about how to survive the storm, but how to dance in the rain.
I work on an outcall basis, showing up at private bachelorette parties and gay weddings for 120 dollars an hour. I occasionally do a night here and there at one of the two male strip clubs in town ("The Boy Barn" and "Gustavo's By The Airport").
Most people pity me. They see my life as one endless gyration in a fraying thong. They don't know why I really do it.
"I'm an urban vigilante," I'll tell my customer when she pays you at the end of the night tonight. "When someone shoves a bill into my thong, if something horrible is going to happen to them, I get a vision."
She'll ask, "Did you get any visions tonight?" They always ask that.
I'd tell her no. "You'd have known if I had a vision. It's so powerful that I fall to the ground and throw up everything in my stomach."
She'll say, "It's great that you have these visions to help out with the vigilante thing. But even if you saved someone here tonight, had you thrown up on yourself I wouldn't have called you the next time I need a stripper."
I'd nod my head woefully and say "That's why I still have to substitute teach."
The woman will hand me a fifty-dollar tip. "Well I'm glad everyone here is going to be okay," she'll say.
I won't take the fifty. I'd say, "Everyone who put a bill into my thong, you mean."
The woman will hold my gaze, trying to remember whether she had ever tipped me tonight. Then she'll shrug and slip the fifty into my pants. I'll promptly drop to the floor and throw up all over my chest.
"What! What do you see!" she'll shout.
"Get me a Kleenex!" I'll shout.
"No! Tell me!"
Shout, "There's still time. Your hairstyle is different."
The woman will bring me a box of Kleenex. She'll gasp when she hands it to me. "I have a hair appointment this Saturday!"
I'll clean the vomit off my mouth, neck, and chest, and then tell her that she's going to interrupt an armed burglary in her house and the burglars aren't going to be too happy about it.
I work on an outcall basis, showing up at private bachelorette parties and gay weddings for 120 dollars an hour. I occasionally do a night here and there at one of the two male strip clubs in town ("The Boy Barn" and "Gustavo's By The Airport").
Most people pity me. They see my life as one endless gyration in a fraying thong. They don't know why I really do it.
"I'm an urban vigilante," I'll tell my customer when she pays you at the end of the night tonight. "When someone shoves a bill into my thong, if something horrible is going to happen to them, I get a vision."
She'll ask, "Did you get any visions tonight?" They always ask that.
I'd tell her no. "You'd have known if I had a vision. It's so powerful that I fall to the ground and throw up everything in my stomach."
She'll say, "It's great that you have these visions to help out with the vigilante thing. But even if you saved someone here tonight, had you thrown up on yourself I wouldn't have called you the next time I need a stripper."
I'd nod my head woefully and say "That's why I still have to substitute teach."
The woman will hand me a fifty-dollar tip. "Well I'm glad everyone here is going to be okay," she'll say.
I won't take the fifty. I'd say, "Everyone who put a bill into my thong, you mean."
The woman will hold my gaze, trying to remember whether she had ever tipped me tonight. Then she'll shrug and slip the fifty into my pants. I'll promptly drop to the floor and throw up all over my chest.
"What! What do you see!" she'll shout.
"Get me a Kleenex!" I'll shout.
"No! Tell me!"
Shout, "There's still time. Your hairstyle is different."
The woman will bring me a box of Kleenex. She'll gasp when she hands it to me. "I have a hair appointment this Saturday!"
I'll clean the vomit off my mouth, neck, and chest, and then tell her that she's going to interrupt an armed burglary in her house and the burglars aren't going to be too happy about it.
I'm a Male Stripper With Psychic Powers.
NOT YOU!!!!!!!!!!!! NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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