Sunday, March 29, 2009

Boobie Barn Update

I know I haven't written about my job at The Boobie Barn for awhile. That's mostly because it's been such a bore ever since my helper monkey Tucksworth took off, and the management banned me from twirling flaming batons while I dance because they don't have enough insurance.

Every night there is just so dang dull. The routine never changes, I dance, I go out and work the crowd selling drinks and lap dances, I faux wrestle some other chick in a vat of green jello - being ultra careful not to pull out her weave (it's tricky), and then I go home. Ho hum.

You know, when I first started shaking my ass for money I enjoyed it a lot. I loved the excitement and partying with celebrities (like that time Kevin Federline came to town.) I love the nightlife, I like to boogie. Most of my jobs before this have consisted of sitting in a cubicle in some taupe colored office, pushing paperwork around and making lists of exotic ways to kill my coworkers - for example, shoving a spoon down the throat of the guy in the next cube who would take an hour to eat his yogurt, making disgusting slurping noises the entire time. Gah! Dancing seemed like the perfect career for someone like me, but lately it's become just as tedious as any office job I've ever toiled at.

So I've been trying to spark things up, to make it fun again, otherwise I might as well go sling chicken wings at Hooters. I tried playing music that I like instead of the usual club tunes favored by everyone else, but the DJ would get annoyed and yank off my Grateful Dead CDs before I could get even halfway into the jam. (Which was actually a relief because thirty minutes of twirling upside down from the pole turned out to be murder on my thigh muscles.)

Then there was my Krautrock phase when I wore a short black wig, a black leather thong, and thigh high boots and scowled at the audience while barely moving to Kraftwerk. Although that one was surprisingly popular with the frat boys - especially after I added a black whip to the costume - it got old after a while.

Then I made up a cute little tap dance/strip tease to The Carter Family classic Bury Me Under the Weeping Willow Tree which ended with me doing a back handspring off the stage into the vat of jello. I never made it that far however, because the guys started booing and throwing cocktail napkins as soon as the music started. Geez, you'd think Nashvillians would have some respect for Americana, but obviously that is not the case.



I've read that the music of The Carter Family and Ralph Stanley has been used by our soldiers to torture Iraqi prisoners with much success. Apparently it makes terrorists scream like nothing else. What do you think?



Captain Peanut gets annoyed with me. "Quit all that artsy shit and just bounce them tits," he advised me. "And don't forget to push the drinks, that's how you make money, not all this kindergarten fuckery."

I ignored him, of course. I am an artiste! I need to express myself! Besides, if I'm not having fun it will be just a matter of time before I start making up a new kill list. And this time his name will be at the very top. (That fucking DJ is next. God, he's a pretentious bastard! I'd like to drop two turntables and a microphone on his head.)

Luckily for them, I think I've finally stumbled on a winning routine. Last night I painted my face like Gene Simmons and danced to a medley of KISS songs, while waggling my tongue at the crowd every few minutes. Then at the very end I bit down on some fake blood capsules and let the red stream dribble down from my lips in a dramatic finish as I went into my trademark splits.

Wow, it was a hit! The dudes went crazy and I made a butt load of cashola. The only problem is that the fake blood is very staining - today my mouth, neck, and breasts look like they've been sprayed with strawberry Kool-Aid. What a shame I can't just spit fire instead. It would be so much cooler too. Stoopid, boring, insurance company!

*Note to self, find out who insures The Boobie Barn. Add them to list.

16 comments:

Bill Stankus said...

Yer right, the Carter song is only suitable for torture. Nix too the Grateful Dead, stoners and drinkers aren't the same ...
How about some polka tunes while wearing Pippi Longstocking braids and use a metal milking bucket for those tips?

xl said...

Gaaa! I'm ready to confess to Iraqi war crimes after listening to the Carters!

WendyB said...

Hey, you're copying my "slumming around the house" outfit here: "Then there was my Krautrock phase when I wore a short black wig, a black leather thong, and thigh high boots."

Joyless Prole said...

If you play this song backwards, it turns out to be stairway to heaven.

The kiss makeup is a good idea. Now all you have to do is hang a midget and your act will be complete.

Joyless Prole said...

Oh, and obviously the ironic solution would be to set fire to the insurance company's headquarters. That's what I'd do, anyway, and look how my life turned out!

Krissyface said...

I would absolutely pay to see you strip as gene simmons, pru. Blood capsules or not.

All This Trouble... said...

Trademark splits. That has a nice ring to it.

Do you guys have to wear pantyhose? I mean, do you take it all off? They do here in Atlanta. Sometimes that's nice and sometimes it isn't.

I like Mr. Stankus' idea the best. Polka and Pippi. Mmmmmm...

Prunella Jones said...

Polka and Pippi braids is genius! I can't wait to try that out. Maybe some mismatched knee socks to go with?

No pantyhose here. Just a light coating of fake tan and body glitter.

Warped Mind of Ron said...

What?? No Pictures??? I'm so sad :*(

Diane said...

AIG?

Dr Zibbs said...

Whoa! You really dance? What's the name of the club. Also..

(everyone look away)

Would you please send me some pictures? You don't have to do it right this second but by 3:00 would be great.

Girl Interrupted said...

Hey Pru ... I'm currently seeking alternative employment, think you could hook me up with a job?

My gimmick could be to dress as Sarah Palin and then bump n grind to "Barracuda" by Heart

Jang-chub Ozer said...

So you escaped from cubicle hell, & without going postal. Quite an achievement. incidentally I hear that the office cubicle was the inspiration for those flying Borg squares on Star Trek:TNG.

As for the dye, it must've been made of the same stuff as the exploding capsules banks slip in amongst the cash, during bank robberies. That stuff takes days to get out!

Of course these days the banks would be happy for the business.

Lulu LaBonne said...

You might be finding that you're overdoing the jello, a lot of girls where I'm from use mud in their acts, I find that a very liquid mix of peanut butter gets a certain type of customer very aroused.

Love the new spex by the way
x

Phat Mama said...

"Quit all that artsy shit and just bounce them tits," - I laughed so hard I sprayed sweet tea from my nose.

fashion herald said...

but what kind of fake blood capsules does Kiss use? bet they sell them on their site.
and damn, wish i could see the show!