Death’s Door presents the Stripper Chronicles
Yes it’s true, for most of my adult life I somehow managed to always have a stripper for a roommate. And it fuckin rocked!Friday, February 10, 2006
hi
Sunday, November 14, 2004
Monday, November 01, 2004
lust at first sight?
I’ve actually gotten a request for more info on the person I lovingly refer to as The Stressed Out Italian Stripper. So since it’s almost Christmas and since I don’t think she’ll ever find me on the net, I’ll roll over. But let me make this clear.
So I let her in and that’s when things started. Without getting overly porno on you The Stressed Out Italian Stripper fit my head like a hat. We tried everything we’d read or see. We were like smackin that ass pioneers. We would go at it like freaks off the leash. As a matter of fact I had this old biker for a next-door neighbor; this cranky muthafucker wouldn’t give me the time of the day. But one night me and The Stressed Out Italian Stripper went at it with the windows open and I guess we made a lot of noise. The next day this cat shook my hand and gave me a cold beer. If it involved getting nekked we were game for it. Memories, memories on my mind. Oh sorry, I got lost for a minute there.
I still have huge love for this woman and I’ll always wish her the best,cause all bullshit aside she’s a good person and in the end that’s what counts. Like I said before, my friends would talk to me and always ask me the same question.
Why are you with this chick? She’s a fuckin walkin nightmare? Well yeah, but she was my nightmare. Actually it’s funny how we first met. I lived near the Country Club Plaza and would spend most weekends seein whatever movies happened to playing down there. I’d usually do some kind of lunch then catch the flick. So one day I’m sitting at this bar after the movie when this chick walks in wearin this madass killer body and asks me for a drink. I buy a drink and small talk then excuse myself to the bathroom. I come back and she’s gone along with all the money I had on the bar. I write it off as my just rewards for being such a dumbass and head to my car. As I’m waiting at a red light I spot the same chick wiggling across the street. I honk and she cops this serious fight or flight look, but actually turns around and gets into the car. Without a word she hands me my money and puts her feet up on the dash and say’s “where do you live?” That was it, no apologies or remorse. Lookin back on things it was akin to catching a small kid fuckin up and once they realizes that they’ve been busted the kid would settle down. I take her over to my place and the first thing she does is crawls on the couch and falls asleep for the rest of the day. Every couple of days she’d show up and ask me if she could crash. She always arrived late in the evening and the next morning she’d wake up when I did and leave goin about whatever business she had to do. But one night I happened to come home and found her sleepin on the front steps of the apartment building. Now this was circa 1980 or so and Main Street off the Plaza was a very uncool place for a chick to be on the street, so I let her move in. I never asked her age but I knew that she had to be a few years younger then me and I was just twenty-one. She stayed with me on and off till I was forced to move due to the construction of the fuckin Twenty First Century Towers. I lost track of her for a few years and it wasn’t until I moved into the apartment on Warwick that she showed back up. I get a knock on the door and there she was, a few years older and a bit harder but still sporting that body. You know she actually begged me over a week’s period to let her move in. I was real hesitant to do so because we had parted on less then shaky footing.
But there’s something about a nekked huge breasted woman begging on her knees that I find hard to pass up
So I let her in and that’s when things started. Without getting overly porno on you The Stressed Out Italian Stripper fit my head like a hat. We tried everything we’d read or see. We were like smackin that ass pioneers. We would go at it like freaks off the leash. As a matter of fact I had this old biker for a next-door neighbor; this cranky muthafucker wouldn’t give me the time of the day. But one night me and The Stressed Out Italian Stripper went at it with the windows open and I guess we made a lot of noise. The next day this cat shook my hand and gave me a cold beer. If it involved getting nekked we were game for it. Memories, memories on my mind. Oh sorry, I got lost for a minute there.
a day in the life
Best quote of the week;
“The older you get the less you give a goddamn about peer pressure”
Some nameless guy I overheard on the TV.
My upstairs neighbors are some loud muthafuckers. You gotta figure that when a cat gets home the first thing he does is kick off the shoes, and give the big toes a breather, but not these muthafuckers. They insist on wearing shoes all night long until the wee fuckin hours of the morning. It’s like Chinese water torture, it’s all I can do not to run upstairs screaming and shit. And then when they forget to shake the handle on the crapper and it runs all night, my shower doesn’t work for shit. It’s my lot in life I guess. I had to move somewhere after I got rid of the bigass house on the Westside. As a matter of fact I’m living downstairs from where I lived in the eighties. Yeah, from the mid eighties till I brought the house I lived on the second floor. I kept the house for ten years then sold it and actually moved back into the same building except I’m on the first floor. Considering that there are only three apartments in the whole building what a sweet deal. When I lived here in the eighties I lived with the stressed out Italian Stripper. What a super duper uber freak. This girl had a body that would crack granite. We actually lived together for almost ten years all told. I first meet her when I lived on the Plaza, then when I moved into the apartment she followed. And when I brought the house she moved in again. She was definitely a story of duel personalities. People were always sayin;
I have no idea what you see in herthen they’d look at her and go;
ohBut I’ll say this, she loved me. I was her Space Mountain in a sea of confusion. I was Barney to her Betty and all that good shit. The apartment is in the middle of the Art Ghetto. If a cat walks two blocks he’ll run into the Kemper Museum of art, The Nelson Art Gallery, and the Art Institute. All within a block of each other. My area is populated by Students and Instructors from the Art Institute, thus the Art Ghetto. Plus factor in all the free spirits, old hippies, and drug dealers. The rich eccentrics, kind’a normal families, and plain folk like me and you got quite the rockin little neighborhood. One year when I lived on the second floor I was tryin to catch a mid afternoon nap and the stressed out Italian Stripper was tryin her best to keep things quiet. Suddenly all hell broke loose. I got ripped out’a my sleep by what seemed to be all the fuckin noise in the world! It seems that the Kid downstairs who coincidently went to the Art Institute, was tryin to compose a piece of art in his livin room. No big deal except that it involved sticks and mud and oh yeah, about three fuckin live grenades! I guess his roommates freaked and called the Cops who freaked and called out the fuckin Bomb Squad, who called out the DEA guy’s, who called the Fire Department! The street was sealed off and we had to evacuate the building. Now here’s where I neglect to mention that my father had just retired from the Bomb Squad here in town, and when I walked outside it was like old home week. You gotta figure that every gun totin Cop out there has probably known me since early childhood one way or nother. They all insisted that me and my girl come over the rope and hang out with em. How muthafuckin embarrassing. I’ll say one thing, after that the party invites sure dried up. Go figure. Peace
yaaaaaaahaaaaa! rawhide!
Best quote of the week,
Being happy and not knowing why is the best
Narsissy. A hip chick with a hip website.
I saw on the TV last night what had to rank as one of the funniest fetishes. The show dealt with Plushies and Furries. I found this to be some amazing shit. People falling in love and making love to their stuffed animals. And then you got folk dressing up in furry outfits role playing and fucking each while wearing the big fuzzy suits. I can’t be mad at em though, if Lola the porn star wanted me to dress up in a big furry costume and pretend I was Pepe LaPew I’d do it. We’ve all role played during sex at one time or another! Haven’t we? Who hasn’t hog tied the girlfriend or wife or worn their lovers panties in a burst of sexual wantonness. Who hasn’t played the women in peril being stalked by the evil Baron? Get your freak on and poke those that interfere with a sharp stick, that’s what I say! The Stressed Out Italian Stripper and I used to have a role playing game. I’d carry a big bullwhip and play master of the plantation and she’d be the lowly belly warmer forced to do my bidding. She’d put on a torn dress and start scrubbing the floor and I’d sit perched on top of the couch watching her. After a while she’d start crawling to me asking for water and I’d sit there and shoot her with a water gun till she was soaked. Then I’d yell
who’s your Daddy!
Then she’d grin and tell me I was her daddy and then we’d start breaking shit. Oh I sent my little diatribe on book burnings to the local newspaper. Except for one exception they’ve printed everything I’ve sent em, heavily edited of course. So maybe they’ll print this one, heavily edited of course. Peace
clit rings & switchblades
Back in the day when I hung out with a friend I’ll call the violent Stripper chick, we had a saying for our type of lifestyle.
Peace
We called it; driving the car with the brakes outWe played hard and usually waited till morning to check for bruises. We lived two completely separate lifestyles. She was the hot Stripper covered with tattoos who danced in Mob clubs, Her thing was Punk music and letting her violent tendencies run free. I held down the responsible day job and spent my nights throwing drunks out of bars. Her violent tendencies ran out of control, I never knew who or what she would go after. Mine was more focused, I always tried to pick my episodes with care. For quite a few years you’d never see one of us without the other close by. One night on the sidewalk outside this bar a bunch of drunks had this homeless kid surrounded. They’d backed him into a corner and were giving him a ration of shit. So he did what anyone does with nowhere to run, he reacted. He yanked a knife out bigger then his arm and started waving it around. What a fucked up move. The drunks were gonna stick that knife up his ass. I took a deep breath, told God to hang close, and walked over and shoved the kid behind me and told him not to move. At the same time telling the drunks to move ass on up the street. While I’m playing the would be hero, one of the drunks suddenly screamed in pain. Behind him stood the Stripper with blood on the tip of her switchblade. She had seen from inside the bar what was going on and decided to put her two cents in. It’s always amazing how the sight of blood will sober some folks right up. The drunks ran up the street and the kid ran down the street, and there was my little Stripper pal grinning up at me asking if she’d done good. I was really pissed at her for getting involved, but standing there in her black leather jacket staring up at me with those “hi daddy†eyes, I couldn’t stay pissed for long. You know my father got to meet her. My father was a Detective in the police department, but he was pretty cool to my wild lifestyle and never gave me too much shit about it. One night me and the Stripper were driving around when this cop pulled us over to tell me my father needed to see me downtown ASAP. As we walked into the squad room he threw the Stripper an abrupt hello and threw me a pile of surveillance pictures. The pictures were of me talking and drinking with certain mob guys. My father wanted to know what the fuck I was doing hanging out at mob bars. I pointed at the Stripper and said; where she’s at, I’m at. Hell, how was I supposed to know the place was under surveillance. And the mob guy’s just happened to be standing near me when the pictures were taken. Well, he bought the story, and he got to meet the Stripper.
Peace
family value role model blues
You know back-in-the-day I used to hang in strip clubs every night of the week. I thought those places were the shit. You had a place with no windows, loud thumping music. You had these big muthafuckers at the door keeping you safe. These places were full of couches, velvet paintings and pretty lights. And get this! The place was full of nekked chicks and booze. I loved these fucking places. What more could a single man ask for. Ok, ok, some of em even served food. Who knew? I had a bad experience in a strip club about five years ago and haven’t been in one since. I had gone to a joint out of town that some old friends from the Family managed. I walked in and sat down and one of the guy’s brought me a drink. I knew these guy’s from my bouncing days at the old Lone Star. They were pretty cool guy’s as long as you kept em at a distance, If they got too close the next thing you knew you were sitting in the drivers seat of a car with the motor running while they were making a withdrawal from the local bank.
So we were sitting at a choice table when this unbelievable redhead I recognized hits the stage. She was shaking it harder then a monkey having an epileptic fit. Suddenly she gets a good look at me. Get this, she starts with the screaming and throws her hands over her tits and runs off the stage. The family guy’s freak,
All I saw was dark suits and bulges. The dancer came running back out with her robe on and the manager wanted to know what her problem was. She pointed at me and said that’s Death. The guy’s go yeah we know who he is, what’s up with the screaming and shit?
Well who could of known. Apparently this certain dancer used to hang out in the Lone Star. She started hanging there when she was seventeen. (cut me some slack, she looked mature for her age) And I used to as she put it watch over her. To my dismay, in front of all the Family guy’s she said that seeing me sitting there was like seeing her Dad.
The Family guy’s dropped their guns they laughed so hard. Me? I’ve found it hard to walk into a strip club ever since.
Peace
So we were sitting at a choice table when this unbelievable redhead I recognized hits the stage. She was shaking it harder then a monkey having an epileptic fit. Suddenly she gets a good look at me. Get this, she starts with the screaming and throws her hands over her tits and runs off the stage. The family guy’s freak,
what the hell did you do?
All I saw was dark suits and bulges. The dancer came running back out with her robe on and the manager wanted to know what her problem was. She pointed at me and said that’s Death. The guy’s go yeah we know who he is, what’s up with the screaming and shit?
Well who could of known. Apparently this certain dancer used to hang out in the Lone Star. She started hanging there when she was seventeen. (cut me some slack, she looked mature for her age) And I used to as she put it watch over her. To my dismay, in front of all the Family guy’s she said that seeing me sitting there was like seeing her Dad.
Her fucking Dad?
The Family guy’s dropped their guns they laughed so hard. Me? I’ve found it hard to walk into a strip club ever since.
Peace
no such thing as more then a handful
Every man has a vision of his perfect women, the one that when he’s all cozy and warm she wiggles into his dreams. She might be short or tall, chunky or thin, it don’t matter, in his head she’s perfect, and only he knows why. Back in the day I knew this cat that played in a metal band. He always had the groupies trying to run him down, so as a result he had his pick of any women he wanted. But he had a secret, he loved the big chicks. He dreamed about the big chicks.
I outed him out one night when I dropped into this small bar to see some old friends. I walked in and there was Mr. Heavy Metal smacking uglies with this eight ball chick. I know, what’s an eight ball chick? Well, I’ll tell ya. In the metal bars you had women who insisted on wearing black spandex all the time. No big deal, except that these girls were big, so big and round that the spandex never fit right and they always had this big strip of pale white tummy showing. So from a distance they looked like big ole eight balls, get it?
He ended up swearing me to silence. I tried to tell the boy he didn’t need to worry, hell it was his gig not mine. But it was funny hearing him talk about it. It’s like owning a Harley he’d say, but you love riding Mopeds cause they’re too shittin fun. You just don’t want anybody to know about it. What the fuck ever.
Well, I got to meet my wet dream. I was working the bar and watching the crowd one night when thru the door walked the dream. All I could do was suck in a deep breath and stare, damn she was beautiful. She stood just shy of six feet with these huge green eyes, jet black hair that fell to her hips and had to be the most buffed out women I had every seen. And sitting on top of all that was a legitimate set of OhMyGod 44 DD’s. The whole package was wrapped in a black cat suit and a pair of come fuck me at midnight stiletto heels. As she sauntered into the bar I could see that she was looking for someone, lucky bastard. She walked those green eyes past me then stopped. Shit! Was she staring at me? As she walked my way I looked around to see who she was grinning at. Suddenly she’s standing in front of me so close the 44’s are pushing me into the wall. She wants to know if I’m Death. All I can do is nod cause I still hadn’t started breathing yet. Her next words fucked me up me.
By now I’m looking around to see who’s laughing, cause I just knew this had to be someone’s idea of a joke. I was to find out soon enough that she was the real deal.
If a woman had an ass so big she could scratch it by reaching over her shoulder, he turned into a drooling freak
I outed him out one night when I dropped into this small bar to see some old friends. I walked in and there was Mr. Heavy Metal smacking uglies with this eight ball chick. I know, what’s an eight ball chick? Well, I’ll tell ya. In the metal bars you had women who insisted on wearing black spandex all the time. No big deal, except that these girls were big, so big and round that the spandex never fit right and they always had this big strip of pale white tummy showing. So from a distance they looked like big ole eight balls, get it?
He ended up swearing me to silence. I tried to tell the boy he didn’t need to worry, hell it was his gig not mine. But it was funny hearing him talk about it. It’s like owning a Harley he’d say, but you love riding Mopeds cause they’re too shittin fun. You just don’t want anybody to know about it. What the fuck ever.
Well, I got to meet my wet dream. I was working the bar and watching the crowd one night when thru the door walked the dream. All I could do was suck in a deep breath and stare, damn she was beautiful. She stood just shy of six feet with these huge green eyes, jet black hair that fell to her hips and had to be the most buffed out women I had every seen. And sitting on top of all that was a legitimate set of OhMyGod 44 DD’s. The whole package was wrapped in a black cat suit and a pair of come fuck me at midnight stiletto heels. As she sauntered into the bar I could see that she was looking for someone, lucky bastard. She walked those green eyes past me then stopped. Shit! Was she staring at me? As she walked my way I looked around to see who she was grinning at. Suddenly she’s standing in front of me so close the 44’s are pushing me into the wall. She wants to know if I’m Death. All I can do is nod cause I still hadn’t started breathing yet. Her next words fucked me up me.
I’m new in town and I’m told you’re the man to hang out with
By now I’m looking around to see who’s laughing, cause I just knew this had to be someone’s idea of a joke. I was to find out soon enough that she was the real deal.
mean while, back at the ranch
If there’s one person I wouldn’t mind bumping into again it’s the 44DD chick. We became very close friends. She was a stripper that danced on the pro circuit. You know, she’d be the featured flavor of the week at your local nudie bar. I’ve always found strippers cool to hang with. In my profession it worked to my advantage to know that the women I was hanging with could handle themselves in a rush and not fold up on me, plus it never hurt having a big-breasted she-beast by my side. On the down side strippers always reminded me of my cat in that the attention span is sparse and they always had the worst timing for wanting attention. But God loved em and so did I.
There used to be this great restaurant on Broadway called Mierhoff’s. It was custom made for bar people, it didn’t have the greatest food in the world, but they served it hot, a lot, and cheap. It was a good place to vanish on a weekday afternoon for a few hours and me and the 44DD chick used to go there for a late lunch on occasion. One day we’re sitting at my favorite table having lunch and conversation when the bullshit started. Our table was in this little cul-de-sac that opened into the main section of the restaurant facing the bar. Sitting at the bar was this bunch of suits entertaining themselves by being assholes. When we walked in they threw out a few comments but the sun was shining and I didn’t want to ruin the mood so they got ignored. But every time I looked up there they were, staring like a herd of amped up hyenas. The 44DD chick could tell I was getting hot under the collar and she decided to defuse the situation.
She was wearing a western style shirt that snapped down the front with the first few snaps undone. She walked up to the bar and stared at the suits. I stood by the door watching, I kind’a had an idea about what she was going to do. When she was sure that she had everybody’s attention, she pointed to me and said; see that guy, well he’s the one that gets to knock the bottom out of this. Then the 44DD Chick took in a deep lungful of air. As a result that ample chest expanded and the poor shirt gave up the ghost and popped every snap that was trying to contain that wonderful rack. It was fucking poetry in motion.
I even thought that out of the corner of my eyes I saw white doves fly past the door, but that might have been my imagination. Time then sped up. My girl was walking toward me grinning from ear to ear and the evil suits had been done in. Did I mention how much I dug strippers?
Peace
There used to be this great restaurant on Broadway called Mierhoff’s. It was custom made for bar people, it didn’t have the greatest food in the world, but they served it hot, a lot, and cheap. It was a good place to vanish on a weekday afternoon for a few hours and me and the 44DD chick used to go there for a late lunch on occasion. One day we’re sitting at my favorite table having lunch and conversation when the bullshit started. Our table was in this little cul-de-sac that opened into the main section of the restaurant facing the bar. Sitting at the bar was this bunch of suits entertaining themselves by being assholes. When we walked in they threw out a few comments but the sun was shining and I didn’t want to ruin the mood so they got ignored. But every time I looked up there they were, staring like a herd of amped up hyenas. The 44DD chick could tell I was getting hot under the collar and she decided to defuse the situation.
Baby, she said, let me get this one, just hang closeWhat she did next made me love her forever. Check this out.
She was wearing a western style shirt that snapped down the front with the first few snaps undone. She walked up to the bar and stared at the suits. I stood by the door watching, I kind’a had an idea about what she was going to do. When she was sure that she had everybody’s attention, she pointed to me and said; see that guy, well he’s the one that gets to knock the bottom out of this. Then the 44DD Chick took in a deep lungful of air. As a result that ample chest expanded and the poor shirt gave up the ghost and popped every snap that was trying to contain that wonderful rack. It was fucking poetry in motion.
It was like a goddamn John Woo movie where everything seemed to move in super slow motion.As the snaps popped, those OhMyGod Forty Four Double D’s broke loose from the constricting cloth and hurled themselves forth for all to see. Drink glasses fell from numb fingers and time seemed to move slower. I could hear a muted cry of anguish coming from the suits as the ugly truth smacked them hard in the ass.
None of that ass will they ever get
I even thought that out of the corner of my eyes I saw white doves fly past the door, but that might have been my imagination. Time then sped up. My girl was walking toward me grinning from ear to ear and the evil suits had been done in. Did I mention how much I dug strippers?
Peace
of course your tits are better, they're real
One of my favorite Stressed Out Italian Stripper moment’s was one night we were on the couch watchin the Movie “Who framed Roger Rabbit”. Watchin TV with her was an exercise in patience,
And she was serious; I asked her if she realized the rabbit chick was a cartoon and that she wasn’t real.
The Stressed Out Italian Stripper was of Italian decent, and she always told me that her father was a made man for the Mob in Florida. I always called bullshit until the time I found out it was true. She was a very healthy little hump (38DD’s) and always dressed in small clothes that showed off her ample assets. I always knew when she hit the bar I was workin in because all the men in the club would turn to face whatever direction she was coming from. One of our constant arguments was me trying to tell her to dress down whenever she came to see me. I had to shut down a lot of guys over that fact. The more I bitched the less she wore. But one night we were both at the bar in the Blues Club when about half a dozen cats of Italian decent started fuckin with us. I took all that I could and got up to deal with em when she said that she had this. She walked over to the young Italian’s and said that her father would be very upset if he knew how she was being treated.
So she tells these muthafucker’s her last name and the name her father uses. All I can say is that they paid for all our drinks and came over and shook my hand and basically acted like her little bitches for the rest of the night. The Stressed Out Italian Stripper just looked at me and grinned and said,
I got to meet this muthafucker about a year later and I’ll tell you what, he made Charles Bronson look like a pussie. He grabbed my hand and told me that he didn’t like my kind but that his little girl seemed to dig me so until I fucked up I was cool with him. I shook his hand and counted the bulges in his jacket and said yes sir. The reason I call her The Stressed Out Italian Stripper was that everything was high drama to her. All she seemed to care about was makin money, her cat and me, in that order. She was like a bad dog sometimes. I would have to walk her up to my good friends and let her see them and tell her that she needed to play nice with this person cause they were close to me. Cause if I didn’t do that she was an uber bitch to everyone she came into contact with. I was at work one day when I got an emergency message to come home. I rushed into the apartment expecting the worst and what did I find? The Stressed Out Italian Stripper had in the process of putting on her bra had gotten her hair tangled up in the clasp and both of her arms hooked behind her back. It was like a tittie straitjacket, she’d been that way for over an hour until she figured out how to dial the phone with her one free finger. Then there was the year that I spent New Year’s alone at home with her cat while she worked a party somewhere. When she came home there I was on the couch drunk and next to me was her prized Persian cat with all four feet up in the air passed out from all the champagne I had stuffed into em. My bad, but it took her a month to calm down over that one. Then the time came when she took a vacation down to Dallas. She came back with two things, a brand new Porsche and a seventy-year sugar daddy. She’d meet this cocksucker at some club in Dallas and he swelled her head up with bullshit and a Porsche. Until that time I thought we were doing pretty good. She’d gotten into her head that we were an item and had even started takin classes at the nearby Jr. Collage. But after she met the old Texan her shit just went off the chart. We still dug each other and we kept our living arrangements but now it was all about her and what the old Texan could give her. Until this time we had lived together for almost eight years on and off, but it was time to call it quits. More to the tale. Peace
who’s he? Where did she come from? What time is it? I’m cold.Get my drift? Well out comes Jessica Rabbit and The Stressed Out Italian Stripper tenses up, and I knew another question was coming. She turned to me and asked,
whose better lookin, me or Jessica Rabbit?
And she was serious; I asked her if she realized the rabbit chick was a cartoon and that she wasn’t real.
So, who’s better lookin?
The Stressed Out Italian Stripper was of Italian decent, and she always told me that her father was a made man for the Mob in Florida. I always called bullshit until the time I found out it was true. She was a very healthy little hump (38DD’s) and always dressed in small clothes that showed off her ample assets. I always knew when she hit the bar I was workin in because all the men in the club would turn to face whatever direction she was coming from. One of our constant arguments was me trying to tell her to dress down whenever she came to see me. I had to shut down a lot of guys over that fact. The more I bitched the less she wore. But one night we were both at the bar in the Blues Club when about half a dozen cats of Italian decent started fuckin with us. I took all that I could and got up to deal with em when she said that she had this. She walked over to the young Italian’s and said that her father would be very upset if he knew how she was being treated.
So what bitch, we don’t give a fuck about your old man or that mook you’re hanging all over
So she tells these muthafucker’s her last name and the name her father uses. All I can say is that they paid for all our drinks and came over and shook my hand and basically acted like her little bitches for the rest of the night. The Stressed Out Italian Stripper just looked at me and grinned and said,
I told you my father was a badass
I got to meet this muthafucker about a year later and I’ll tell you what, he made Charles Bronson look like a pussie. He grabbed my hand and told me that he didn’t like my kind but that his little girl seemed to dig me so until I fucked up I was cool with him. I shook his hand and counted the bulges in his jacket and said yes sir. The reason I call her The Stressed Out Italian Stripper was that everything was high drama to her. All she seemed to care about was makin money, her cat and me, in that order. She was like a bad dog sometimes. I would have to walk her up to my good friends and let her see them and tell her that she needed to play nice with this person cause they were close to me. Cause if I didn’t do that she was an uber bitch to everyone she came into contact with. I was at work one day when I got an emergency message to come home. I rushed into the apartment expecting the worst and what did I find? The Stressed Out Italian Stripper had in the process of putting on her bra had gotten her hair tangled up in the clasp and both of her arms hooked behind her back. It was like a tittie straitjacket, she’d been that way for over an hour until she figured out how to dial the phone with her one free finger. Then there was the year that I spent New Year’s alone at home with her cat while she worked a party somewhere. When she came home there I was on the couch drunk and next to me was her prized Persian cat with all four feet up in the air passed out from all the champagne I had stuffed into em. My bad, but it took her a month to calm down over that one. Then the time came when she took a vacation down to Dallas. She came back with two things, a brand new Porsche and a seventy-year sugar daddy. She’d meet this cocksucker at some club in Dallas and he swelled her head up with bullshit and a Porsche. Until that time I thought we were doing pretty good. She’d gotten into her head that we were an item and had even started takin classes at the nearby Jr. Collage. But after she met the old Texan her shit just went off the chart. We still dug each other and we kept our living arrangements but now it was all about her and what the old Texan could give her. Until this time we had lived together for almost eight years on and off, but it was time to call it quits. More to the tale. Peace
crazy big hair
Another good story about The Stressed Out Italian Stripper happened in Westport one night. If you go to the Broadway Coffee Shop you always see this old closed up restaurant. It’s called Greek Islands and back in the day it was the place to go for Middle Eastern food. This crazy ass Greek owned it and when he got his drink-on he’d hop on the fuckin tables and pour Ouzo down your throat, your blouse, whatever. One night I took The Stressed Out Italian Stripper there for dinner. The place is jumpin and the Crazy Ass Greek is all over the place. Our dinner comes and part of the Crazy Ass Greek’s shtick is pourin liquor on the food and putting a match to it. The Stressed Out Italian Stripper’s wearin the big blown out hair which was the height of fashion for that day and she’s bent over her plate when the Crazy Ass Greek fires it up.
The Crazy Ass Greek freaks and starts runnin around and screamin to himself while I start pullin knife ware cause I’m awaiting the oncoming explosion from the other side of the table. The Stressed Out Italian Stripper looks up and says,
And she starts eatin like nothing ever happened. I franticly start motioning to the Crazy ass Greek to chill cause apparently someone hasn’t noticed the missing hair. And we weren’t about to tell her. I finally ended up breakin it off with her. She went and started dating long hairs and playin daddy’s little girl to the old ass millionaire from Texas. She always told me that I could’a had some of his money but I told her to keep him away from me. I still blamed him for fuckin her head up. You don’t take someone on the edge and push em over. I ended up buying the Big Ass House on The traffic way and started livin there with the Laid Back Stripper. The Stressed Out Italian Stripper eventually showed up. But that’s another story. Peace
POOF! Her bangs instantly vaporized.It was the most fucked up shit I’d ever seen. One minute the Crazy Ass Greek’s dancing all over the place and I’m sittin there feelin the love watchin The Stressed Out Italian Stripper lookin down at her plate tryin to figure what’s on it when all of a sudden the Crazy Ass Greek dribbles Ouzo on the plate and lights it up.
This blue flare erupts and her bangs just vanish.
The Crazy Ass Greek freaks and starts runnin around and screamin to himself while I start pullin knife ware cause I’m awaiting the oncoming explosion from the other side of the table. The Stressed Out Italian Stripper looks up and says,
you want some of this off my plate? I don’t think I can eat it all
And she starts eatin like nothing ever happened. I franticly start motioning to the Crazy ass Greek to chill cause apparently someone hasn’t noticed the missing hair. And we weren’t about to tell her. I finally ended up breakin it off with her. She went and started dating long hairs and playin daddy’s little girl to the old ass millionaire from Texas. She always told me that I could’a had some of his money but I told her to keep him away from me. I still blamed him for fuckin her head up. You don’t take someone on the edge and push em over. I ended up buying the Big Ass House on The traffic way and started livin there with the Laid Back Stripper. The Stressed Out Italian Stripper eventually showed up. But that’s another story. Peace
crazy big hair
Another good story about The Stressed Out Italian Stripper happened in Westport one night. If you go to the Broadway Coffee Shop you always see this old closed up restaurant. It’s called Greek Islands and back in the day it was the place to go for Middle Eastern food. This crazy ass Greek owned it and when he got his drink-on he’d hop on the fuckin tables and pour Ouzo down your throat, your blouse, whatever. One night I took The Stressed Out Italian Stripper there for dinner. The place is jumpin and the Crazy Ass Greek is all over the place. Our dinner comes and part of the Crazy Ass Greek’s shtick is pourin liquor on the food and putting a match to it. The Stressed Out Italian Stripper’s wearin the big blown out hair which was the height of fashion for that day and she’s bent over her plate when the Crazy Ass Greek fires it up.
The Crazy Ass Greek freaks and starts runnin around and screamin to himself while I start pullin knife ware cause I’m awaiting the oncoming explosion from the other side of the table. The Stressed Out Italian Stripper looks up and says,
And she starts eatin like nothing ever happened. I franticly start motioning to the Crazy ass Greek to chill cause apparently someone hasn’t noticed the missing hair. And we weren’t about to tell her. I finally ended up breakin it off with her. She went and started dating long hairs and playin daddy’s little girl to the old ass millionaire from Texas. She always told me that I could’a had some of his money but I told her to keep him away from me. I still blamed him for fuckin her head up. You don’t take someone on the edge and push em over. I ended up buying the Big Ass House on The traffic way and started livin there with the Laid Back Stripper. The Stressed Out Italian Stripper eventually showed up. But that’s another story. Peace
POOF! Her bangs instantly vaporized.It was the most fucked up shit I’d ever seen. One minute the Crazy Ass Greek’s dancing all over the place and I’m sittin there feelin the love watchin The Stressed Out Italian Stripper lookin down at her plate tryin to figure what’s on it when all of a sudden the Crazy Ass Greek dribbles Ouzo on the plate and lights it up.
This blue flare erupts and her bangs just vanish.
The Crazy Ass Greek freaks and starts runnin around and screamin to himself while I start pullin knife ware cause I’m awaiting the oncoming explosion from the other side of the table. The Stressed Out Italian Stripper looks up and says,
you want some of this off my plate? I don’t think I can eat it all
And she starts eatin like nothing ever happened. I franticly start motioning to the Crazy ass Greek to chill cause apparently someone hasn’t noticed the missing hair. And we weren’t about to tell her. I finally ended up breakin it off with her. She went and started dating long hairs and playin daddy’s little girl to the old ass millionaire from Texas. She always told me that I could’a had some of his money but I told her to keep him away from me. I still blamed him for fuckin her head up. You don’t take someone on the edge and push em over. I ended up buying the Big Ass House on The traffic way and started livin there with the Laid Back Stripper. The Stressed Out Italian Stripper eventually showed up. But that’s another story. Peace
whose hair in the sink? they better have 2 legs dammit!
After I turned thirty I decided to buy a piece of the rock so I purchased a house on the Trafficway that overlooked the downtown valley. After a while a good friend of mine moved in with me as a roommate. She bartended in Westport and went to school at one of the local colleges. She was very cool and laid back but was a closet exhibitionist, so we had a lot in common. One year she won an amateur stripper contest and after that being a dancer was all she wanted to do. Unknown to most people cause she always played the dumb-blond-in-peril she actually had an IQ in the 180’s and spoke French like a native. She was a six-year college student and every year she made the Dean’s List. But after college she weighed her options and figured out that strippin would give her a bigger payout then using her degree. And yes I did bitch and moan tryin to talk her out of it, but as with most women the more I bitched the more she fought me on her decision. You’d think by now I’d learn my lesson. But anyway around this time the Stressed Out Italian Stripper was makin her presence known again. She had used up all the rich Texan’s money and was lookin to move in again. She showed up one day and asked me if she could store her Porsche in my garage while she took a trip for a couple of weeks. I rolled over because soon as she was out’a sight I stuffed my fat ass in it and went for a spin. I never wanted the Stressed Out Italian Stripper to meet the Roommate cause I always thought she’d try to eat the other one alive. For whatever reason the Stressed Out Italian Stripper was always very territorial when it came to me. The Roommate knew about the Stressed Out Italian Stripper but only in a
But as luck would have it I walked in one day and there they were, both women were sittin on the couch talking about me, shoes and strippin. My life as I knew it was all over. The Stressed Out Italian Stripper moved in. I never did find out who had the dominant cycle, but I think the Roommate ruled the roost. She was so down to earth and easygoing that the Stressed Out Italian Stripper’s bad attitude was negated at every turn. So there I was, leader of my own little commune. For about two years we three had a great time. The Roommate stripped while the Stressed Out Italian Stripper stripped and I worked on the house, bounced and worked for the Man. One day I came home from work late and hopped into bed. Later the Roommate came home from her gig and hopped into bed. The Stressed Out Italian Stripper came home and I heard her stop at the bedroom door. I could feel her staring at the scene before her. In my bed laid myself and tucked in on the other side of me was the Roommate. I heard a deep sigh and then the Stressed Out Italian Stripper crawled in on the other side of me. I just lay there takin it all in, wow, I’m in bed with two hot women. Then the four cats and the stupid dog hopped into bed and that kind’a ruined that Penthouse moment, but every two or three nights for a while that was the sleepin arrangements. Since most of the time I was a grouchy non-talkin bastard both girls went out of their way to keep me entertained. There’s nothing like coming home from work and finding all the traffic in front of your house backed up for two blocks in either direction. I’m tryin to see what’s wrong when I hear a giggle and I look up and both girls are hanging from the third floor rafters cleaning the windows. And they’re doing it wearin shorts and bikini tops. Every man going thru the intersection in front of my house
don’t let this chick in when I’m not herekind of way.
But as luck would have it I walked in one day and there they were, both women were sittin on the couch talking about me, shoes and strippin. My life as I knew it was all over. The Stressed Out Italian Stripper moved in. I never did find out who had the dominant cycle, but I think the Roommate ruled the roost. She was so down to earth and easygoing that the Stressed Out Italian Stripper’s bad attitude was negated at every turn. So there I was, leader of my own little commune. For about two years we three had a great time. The Roommate stripped while the Stressed Out Italian Stripper stripped and I worked on the house, bounced and worked for the Man. One day I came home from work late and hopped into bed. Later the Roommate came home from her gig and hopped into bed. The Stressed Out Italian Stripper came home and I heard her stop at the bedroom door. I could feel her staring at the scene before her. In my bed laid myself and tucked in on the other side of me was the Roommate. I heard a deep sigh and then the Stressed Out Italian Stripper crawled in on the other side of me. I just lay there takin it all in, wow, I’m in bed with two hot women. Then the four cats and the stupid dog hopped into bed and that kind’a ruined that Penthouse moment, but every two or three nights for a while that was the sleepin arrangements. Since most of the time I was a grouchy non-talkin bastard both girls went out of their way to keep me entertained. There’s nothing like coming home from work and finding all the traffic in front of your house backed up for two blocks in either direction. I’m tryin to see what’s wrong when I hear a giggle and I look up and both girls are hanging from the third floor rafters cleaning the windows. And they’re doing it wearin shorts and bikini tops. Every man going thru the intersection in front of my house
more or less put their cars in park and sat thru two or three red lights enjoyin the view.I got booed somethin fierce when I made em go inside. Things came to a final head when one night the Stressed Out Italian Stripper came home drunk as a sailor. It was raining cats and dogs outside and she had plowed her car into the front yard and left the top down. I ran outside and pulled the top up and when I came back in the Stressed Out Italian Stripper was running around screaming at the top of her lungs and breakin shit. I threw her into a cold shower and put her to bed. The next day around four in the afternoon she’s still sleep so I went and got a burger. I’m eatin when she woke up and saw me eatin and called me a selfish bastard and a non-caring son of a bitch. She raged at me for at least a half hour. I listened and then I thought about all I’d done for her and that I’d tried to remain her friend despite her bullshit and then I looked at all my shit she broke up last night. I told her about her car in the front yard and that as soon as she got dressed I wanted her to leave and never come back. Since that time I haven’t seen her in years. She moved in with some stoner and they had a kid together. The last time I saw her in person was just after she had the kid. Her Stoner boyfriend had broken her arm in a fight and she called me as a last resort to take her to the ER. Afterwards I took her home and she showed me the baby. That was over seven or eight years ago. Every six months or so she’ll call me and cry on my shoulder that she wants things like they used to be and that the Stoner is so mean to her. I just listen and make small sounds. You can’t always go home. Peace
I love you and you and you and you
I’m gonna be off the air until Monday so I better get it all out of my system today. Let’s see, how about a good birthday memory? Hell, I might have even told this one before, but so what. See back in the day I used to date a lot, I mean a lot. And for some reason I was blessed with the knack of dating women who were very cool and level headed. Back then I was bouncing in the Blues Club and that’s where everybody hung out. So as a result I either had to have a fast game or be fast on my feet, and I was neither. So it turned out that the women I dated all hung out at the same tables and ended up knowing each other. Unless you were from the area and that time, most people found it very hard to believe. That a cat such as myself could have a crowd of fine women hanging out with him almost every night of the week, but it was true. If I’d been born a few years earlier I’d probably been living in a commune or some such shit. Also when I met a new one she had to met the whole group. Their choice, not mine. Now don’t get me wrong these women weren’t exclusively mine. Some had boyfriends or even husbands, but their men would take one look at me and go nah, he looks harmless. Yeah, right. So they never made noise when their women would say that they were gonna go hang out with Greg. As a matter of fact it wasn’t uncommon for me to be hanging out with the girls when one of em would say, Who’s up for a twirl with Greg? I swear to God it went off that smooth. I fuckin kid you not. Anyway the big 30 rolled up on me and I decided to have a real deal birthday party. I’d never had one before and what better time then my thirtieth.
I’d just gotten a new female roommate and she was really intrigued by the whole deal but cool. It was the best party idea ever. There were women everywhere and even a few guys who showed up to see if the rumors were true. It was the coolest affair you’d ever seen. Music playin and me sittin on the couch sippin Wild Turkey 101 and wearin a big blue ribbon that said happy birthday. Even my Mother and sister showed to party with us. All of a sudden look who’s standing in the door holding a birthday cake. The Stressed Out Italian Stripper. She had just moved out for what had to be the umpteenth time and this was the last chick I wanted my Mother to meet. You see, every time my Mother would call me and if I was busy or sleep the Stressed Out Italian Stripper would tell her so and hang up on her. I thought at the time it was kind’a cute but Moms wanted to put her through a window. So in a Turkey induced haze I watch as the Stressed Out Italian Stripper picked up my Mother’s cake and sat it in the kitchen sink and put hers in it’s place. To no one in particular my Mother asked;
All the other women answered in unison;
Now here’s the deal, I invited every woman that I’d ever dated, or fell in love with.
I’d just gotten a new female roommate and she was really intrigued by the whole deal but cool. It was the best party idea ever. There were women everywhere and even a few guys who showed up to see if the rumors were true. It was the coolest affair you’d ever seen. Music playin and me sittin on the couch sippin Wild Turkey 101 and wearin a big blue ribbon that said happy birthday. Even my Mother and sister showed to party with us. All of a sudden look who’s standing in the door holding a birthday cake. The Stressed Out Italian Stripper. She had just moved out for what had to be the umpteenth time and this was the last chick I wanted my Mother to meet. You see, every time my Mother would call me and if I was busy or sleep the Stressed Out Italian Stripper would tell her so and hang up on her. I thought at the time it was kind’a cute but Moms wanted to put her through a window. So in a Turkey induced haze I watch as the Stressed Out Italian Stripper picked up my Mother’s cake and sat it in the kitchen sink and put hers in it’s place. To no one in particular my Mother asked;
who’s the bitch?
All the other women answered in unison;
that’s Greg’s old roommate!The other women didn’t care much for the Stressed Out Italian Stripper; she didn’t play nice with others. To make a long story short I had to pull the two apart. To this day my Mother won't even call her by her real name, just bitch. But this had to go down as the best birthday ever. Peace!
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Name: Greg Beck
Home: first bar stool to the left, make mine a Beam & coke please!, United States
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- lust at first sight?
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time till my fuckin birthday and my sac drops another inch!
