Lindsay Ellis talks about product placement and fair use.
Lindsay Ellis talks about product placement and fair use.
Ed Piskor shows his strategy on how he published his first comic.
RETRO RELAPSE is a series of older articles from various places where I used to write before Talking Pulp.
*Written in 2011.
It is no secret to those who know me, I love spending quality time and a good chunk of change at the strip club. Those chicks fucking love me, especially after Christmas bonus time! Well, they act like they love me, which I am totally fine with because while they are acting like they are into me, I am acting like I am into them when all I really want is to grab a few titties, slap a few butt-cheeks and have my cock attacked by gyrating asses. A girl that really knows how to utilize her knees during a lap dance really gets my wallet’s respect (hint, hint to you strippers reading this).
In the past, I have been engaged to a few strippers because on more than one occasion, a night of drunken debauchery, capitalized on by yours truly ballin’ outta control, has led to genuine feelings shared amongst myself and a few of these ladies. I’m not talking feelings grown out of monetary exchange, I am talking about two people connecting and finding some common ground and understanding. Granted these situations never panned out, as most strippers are flakes in the real world and I am hard to please and easily irritated but it doesn’t mean that I don’t wish them well. In fact, I have tried to help many understand how they could make a shit ton of cash but usually my economic lectures are interrupted by another stripper walking up to steal me away from the one I’m talking to or by some generic crunk song forcing the stripper on my lap to act like a trained monkey dancing for treats.
I have given this lesson to many but only a few have listened. However those who have listened have made a fuckload of bank! See, I have a very simple plan, one that could provide strippers with the riches they so desire and often times try to get by latching on like parasitic lampreys whenever they discover a guy who seemingly has a bottomless bank account. Fuck those guys, your plan of seductively siphoning off their riches never works out to your benefit, at least not long-term. Rich dudes are completely fucking unreliable. The only person you can rely on is yourself. Only when you break through and shatter your anti-capitalistic mentality and look at your “assets” as a real business, will you be able to transform your lackadaisical and often times inebriated work ethic into a lucrative and promising career. Wouldn’t you like to be a millionaire before the strip club owner pushes you out on your 30th birthday? Well, this is a lesson on how to do just that.
In the area that I live, strippers work for bargain prices, so my neck of the woods actually provides me with a good example. If you make more for your services than the girls do in my area, adjust your math accordingly.
In my town, strippers typically charge twenty dollars per lap dance. I have been to places where the prices are as high as forty to fifty bucks a lap dance. I refuse to pay that. Not because I am cheap but because I don’t find the exchange of that amount of money to be equal to the service provided. Maybe I am just spoiled in my neck of the woods with our twenty dollar lap dances but hey, why pay fifty for one when in most towns you can get a b.j. for less? Hell, I know a girl that gives $10 handjobs. Not that I would want a cheap b.j. or handjob, I’m just trying to put the cost of competing services into perspective. Now back to my point.
A lap dance is twenty dollars ($20). That twenty-dollar lap dance usually lasts about three-to-four minutes. Let’s round up to four (4) minutes to have the numbers nice and round. So if a stripper performs five (5) consecutive lap dances that amounts to one hundred dollars ($100).. cha-ching! That’s one hundred bucks made in twenty (20) minutes, as 4 (minutes) times 5 (lap dances) is equal to twenty (minutes). Since twenty minutes is a third of an hour, multiply these numbers by three (3). The total money made in twenty minutes is $100, so the total money made in one hour would be $300! If a stripper works non-stop, she can make $300 per hour! Fuck getting that psychology degree you are all supposedly working so hard for at the community college!
And real estate licenses? Shit, the best real estate per square foot is any lap you’re grinding on.
Granted, a stripper can’t work non-stop. I mean, they do have to go on stage every hour or so for at least two songs. They also have to go to the back to freshen up and either get a swig of water or vodka. God forbid they dehydrate. So for reality’s sake, let’s say that she can squeeze in at least a half hour of real work, she is still averaging $150 an hour! Keep in kind, that this is a stripper at a $20 per dance rate. If you charge $40 per dance, you’re back up to $300 per hour! If you’re a $50 per dance stripper, you’re averaging $375 per hour! Those rare dancers in the really high-end clubs that can get $60 per dance from the high rollers will average $450 per hour! I wish I were a chick so I could hustle these horny motherfuckers and bank some serious cheese.
The craziest part is that strippers don’t just work for an hour, well technically they are at the club for more than an hour if they show up on time and don’t get sent home early. If they keep hustling during those hours, this hard earned cash will multiply with ease. If a stripper can maintain this pace, she’ll be rich in no time. Now, I know that there are peak times and low times during the day but if you have the looks and the tools, you should be able to get the attention of every dude that walks through that front door. Run that club and be the “go to” chick. It ain’t a hard thing to achieve, you just have to not look like ass and you have to make an effort to please and be pleasant and classy at the same time. No dude wants to continually throw money away on a hood rat. Stop acting like a dickhead, ladies, and get your shit together. Moving on!
If a chick works, say an 8-hour shift, and maintains her money making pace, she’ll walk away with $1,200 that day! Sounds crazy but strippers I’ve coached in the basics of economics have pulled this off. Sure, there are days where this won’t happen but one girl I talk to told me that she can pull this off about three times a week, when she works five to six shifts. If you can hustle like her, you can get paid! Am I sounding like an infomercial for a bullshit product yet? Really though, I ain’t selling anything, all this knowledge is free! Well, maybe you can hook me up with a few lap dances next time we meet, as a courtesy of course.
So my girl that was able to hit the $1,200 mark was also able to average this three times a week. That comes out to $3,600 a fucking week! That ass is expensive! Think about that number for a minute. You could pay for your titties in one week!
Now most of us are aware that there are 52 weeks in a year. If you multiply $3,600 (per week) by 52 (all the weeks in a year) you could hit $187,200 in a single year! This is before taxes and shit but who really claims all of their “tips”? Also, this is before you have to pay your dues to the club owner and DJ and whoever else, depending upon your establishments set up.. but damn! $187k a year is over 18 times more than the poverty level!
In five years, at this pace, you could earn $936,000! That is just shy of a million dollars! If you push even a little harder, you could be a millionaire in five years. Fuck that club owner, you could buy his ass out and run that shit the way it should be run. Hell, that might actually be a bad idea because you may just want to focus on shaking that ass because that ass is one hell of a bread-earner.
In ten years, you could earn about 1.9 million dollars! So if you started stripping at 18, by the age of 28 you could have nearly 2 million dollars. Do you know what you could do with that much money? This is considering you didn’t blow it on drugs, asshole parasite boyfriends or Hello Kitty sandwich makers. The truth is, your ass can make you rich.
So why are strippers usually broke and always whining to you about it? Quite simply, they have the shittiest work ethic I have ever seen. Some of them are there to please but half the time they are socializing with you, it is a waste. They are either trying to get you to buy them appletinis or Chinese food. Often times, the customer has to ask them for a dance, as they are too busy gossiping with regulars who are just there to drink. Otherwise, they are just bumming cigarettes while rolling their eyes whenever another stripper (who is hustling) walks by with a customer in hand. If you don’t get off of your fucking asses and try to sell your products and services, the competition will crush you and the opportunities and most importantly the money will continue to pass you by. The knowledge I have shared here is literally a million times more valuable than any dollar bill I have shoved in your black light reactive panties.
Do you want to be a winner or do you want to debate with yourself if you should quit and go back to Hot Topic because you feel that you were better off there at $7.25 an hour? At least the assistant manager from Spencer’s thought you were cute enough to buy you a smoothie everyday. Fuck all of that, it would take about 3 hours of shitty menial work at Hot Topic just to equal the $20 you could make in 4 minutes at the strip club. Do the fucking math.
You have also got to stop with the negativity and bullshit excuses. I’ve heard it all before. If you know that you are good at what you do, why the fuck are you working in a club that barely gets any customers? I’ve heard the day shift excuse too. You’re only on day shift for one of three reasons. The first, you are getting old. The second, you are a newbie. The third, you aren’t pulling your weight. If you were the top attraction, you’d be working the prime schedule. Even then, if you get the prime shifts and the customers just aren’t there to make it lucrative for you, go work at another club. Hell, move to a bigger town and get a job there. If you are better than most, you will make more than them. If this is what you do for a living, make it your fucking passion. If it isn’t, get out and go do something else. Take pride in what you do or don’t do it. PERIOD! If you take pride and have the work ethic to hustle, you will do what you have to do to make it big. Free market ass is where it’s at!
I’ve given you the keys to success here. All you’ve got to do is work it and work it well! If you’re on drugs, stop using them at the office. If you spend more time drinking with desensitized regulars than looking for the steady flow of new paying clients, stop it and switch your game up. If you’re spending more time gossiping with the other girls or whining to customers about your prick boyfriend, you will never succeed at the level you could. All it takes is effort; the problem is that most strippers seemingly don’t have any. Instead of taking that as an insult, any stripper with half a brain should look at that fact as an advantage. Your competition is easy pickins. So pick away, hustle and count that paper.
You’re fucking welcome.
RETRO RELAPSE is a series of older articles from various places where I used to write before Talking Pulp.
*Written in 2015.
This article is inspired by a few things I have witnessed or heard from friends in the craft beer industry that are too respectful to publicly speak their mind – contrary to those that this is about.
Many of us that travel in craft beer circles, at one point or another, have heard the Legend of the Douchebag Brewer. He’s the brewer that has gained a bit of small town fame around his place of origin. He has also built up a reputation of traveling around and being a complete dickhead when visiting other breweries or talking to other craft beer connoisseurs.
The douchebag brewer is high on his own bullshit and whether or not he is good at his craft, he perceives himself to be the best in the world. In fact, he has to make sure that everyone knows this by always talking up his beer, his secret process and how it is superior to everyone else, all while trashing other hardworking and passionate brewers in the process.
Some of these douchebag brewers like showing up in brewery taprooms when the other brewers have left for the day. They then cowardly trash the beer to the bar staff or to other patrons, most of which are loyal customers of the brewery that the douchebag is trashing.
Their inflated sense of worth must cloud reality because whenever I’ve encountered this character, I have made it a point to avoid his brewery and write him off as a piece of crap not deserving of my business or respect. And I am sure that other craft beer connoisseurs view this character the same way.
These douchebag brewers often times take their self-obsessed views to social media, using Twitter and Facebook to express their “expertise” in regards to how great they are, how much everyone else “doesn’t get it” and to sell their preferred beer styles as superior to every other. Their palate is God and we all must bow down! Trust in Beer Jesus or be damned to an eternity of poorly crafted Berliner Weisse!
Some of these idiots perpetuate whatever beefs they seem to have with other brewers, whether real or imaginary. It is like some old school rap beef but no one really cares except for the whiny self-important douchebag brewer and maybe one hardcore fanboy that still relishes in the fact that his buddy brewer gave him a free beer six months prior.
What these people fail to realize is that they are doing massive harm to the craft beer industry and to their own brand. People don’t like supporting assholes and more often than not, they won’t knowingly support a douchebag. And trashing others who do what you claim to love is counterproductive to the bigger picture.
The craft beer industry is competing with the macro beer industry, who have now felt the threat and upped the ante in attacking beer that is better than their mass produced adjunct-filled garbage. If the freedom fighters are preoccupied with in-fighting amongst themselves, the evil empire wins. If you are as passionate as you claim about craft beer and your product, you shouldn’t want the evil empire to win.
Craft breweries need to build each other up. With as large of a piece of the pie as macro breweries have, there is enough to go around for craft breweries. If you think there isn’t, than you simply don’t understand business, economics and what it is that you do.
Most of the breweries that I love and frequent, go above and beyond the call of duty when it comes to helping out the other breweries around them. People share brewing tips, they help the new guys get off the ground, offer business advice and often times collaborate in new beers, which strengthens their bond and thus, strengthens the craft beer scene.
There is a kinship among brewers and breweries that doesn’t exist in most other industries. Most brewers have the respect for one another being that their passions are the same and that they are all small businesses trying to make it in a highly competitive industry in a country with an unreliable economy. Through hard work and passion, there is a respect between brewers.
The douchebag brewers apparently don’t understand that and are only out for their own gain regardless of how it effects the industry as a whole. You have to build and create, not trash and destroy.
Now assuming that some of these douchebag brewers are as good as they claim, why wouldn’t they want to use their knowledge and skill to make the industry a better place overall? Through collaborations and joint ventures, they can help educate newer and less experienced brewers. They could be business and brewing mentors to many of the brewers who are good but not yet great. Besides, isn’t the world a better place with more good beer than more shitty beer?
Most brewers out there are pretty good people that understand all of this. But with everything, there are always bad apples. I choose not to support them because they are actively working against something I love, as well as the livelihoods of others who feel the same as I do.
If you are the master of your craft, you have a responsibility of passing that craft on. If your craft doesn’t survive, future generations won’t give a shit about you anyway.
When Budweiser, the Coca Cola of shitty beer, feels compelled to attack craft beer in every ad, they are against a wall and threatened. When you’ve got the beast’s balls in your hand, you rip them off, you don’t just stand there arguing with the other hunters that you are the best at holding the beasts balls because that’s when the beast bites your head off.
Ego ruins everything. And brewing great beer shouldn’t be about ego, it should be about kinship and respect because ultimately, isn’t beer better when you are sharing it with your friends?
Release Date: February 23rd, 2018 (London and California premieres)
Directed by: Steven Fletcher
Written by: Steven Fletcher
Music by: Harry Filby, Matthew Fletcher, Tristan Kane
WavemStudios, 120 Minutes
I never owned a Commodore 64 but I had a cousin that owned one. Every time I went to his house, all we did was play games on it. To me, it was a really cool experience and very different than playing games on consoles. All I owned were a Nintendo and the Atari 5200, so using the Commodore was always a treat.
And while I don’t have a lot of experience with Commodore, I did have some experience with Amiga, as my mum had one for work. I got to play it whenever she wasn’t using it for graphic design and it always sort of brought up the same feelings I got with the Commodore 64.
The reason I bring up Amiga, is that this is just as much a documentary about that company, as it is Commodore. In fact, there’s even a lot of stuff in here about Atari too, as many of the people interviewed worked for two or all three of the companies in some capacity.
If you like the history and culture of the tech industry or video games, this is certainly a worthwhile documentary to check out. It’s certainly a must watch for retro gaming junkies like myself.
This was a crowdfunded documentary that really should have pleased its investors. It’s meticulously produced and presented with great interviews, stellar editing and a really good flow. Plus, it’s incredibly informative, as all the people in this give personal stories and their two cents on the business end of things regarding the evolution of all these companies discussed and ultimately, how Commodore ceased to exist.
I was entertained and engaged for the entire duration. And honestly, it made me want to fire up my Commodore emulator.
Pairs well with: other tech industry documentaries.
RETRO RELAPSE is a series of older articles from various places where I used to write before Talking Pulp.
*Written in 2014.
It is just about that time of year again, where us bodaciously bearded man-beasts have to deal with some amateur wannabes trying their damnedest to attempt at being manly men for thirty days.
Let me start by saying that I’m all for supporting the right kind of causes. What Movember supports is a bit confusing as it is a collage of manly health issues. Honestly, it just seems like a disorganized clusterfuck that claims it is drawing attention to “man problems” while used as a smokescreen for some guys to actually fulfill two agendas.
One: it gives bitchmen the ability to feel like tough guys because they have charity as an excuse to grow really shitty mustaches that make them look like perverts.
Two: it gives bitchmen a reason to embrace other bitchmen because if women have their pinkie breast month in October, they should have their prepubescent middle schooler facial hair love fest to raise money for a multitude of random man things.
I’m all for bringing some much needed attention to the issues on an individual basis but it is hard to ascertain just what the fuck is going on when there is just a bunch of shit tossed into a basket. This just perpetuates the “fight for the cause” herd mentality that a lot of Americans have.
What I am talking about is how most people see a cause or hear about a cause and just jump on it and never actually look into it to see if it is really worthwhile and not a waste of time. Many people tend to be afflicted with a chronic guilty conscious and need to ease that guilt by feeling like they are doing something positive. They don’t really care if they are actually doing anything or not. As long as they participate in some way, they can pretend their guilt is gone – only for it to return with a lot more weight next time around.
I can’t count how many times I’ve seen some prepubescent pervert-looking jackass in November and asked, “So why are you attempting to grow a mustache?” Only to get a response like, “It’s for the cause, man!”
“Yeah? What cause?”
“You know, Movember!”
“What about it? What does this help?”
“I think it’s for cancer?”
“So you don’t know exactly? How is your mustache helping whatever the actual cause is?”
“It’s bringing awareness to it?”
“How? You don’t even know what it is actually bringing awareness to?”
“Yeah, dude! But it’s Movember, bra! Fuck the world, right?!”
This is a guy that owns a “Kony 2012” shirt because he thought that he would be a better choice for president than Barack Obama last election cycle. This guy also dumped a bunch of ice on his head two months ago because he thought it somehow raised awareness for.. I don’t know.. what was that thing again? ALS? American League Soccer?
I know that I am coming off as a complete dick. I’m fine with that. I just want to see people become aware and knowledgeable of what it is exactly that they are supporting. I’d prefer to live in a world where people don’t just jump on the bandwagon because some fucking celebrity and all their non-critical thinking friends are all trying to alleviate the guilt in their empty viral age souls.
If you believe in a cause, then fucking believe in it. It’s not some fun thing where you get to pretend you’re a manly man for thirty days only to countdown till December 1st, just so you can shave your lip because your false badge of manhood is too much for you to handle. And if you truly want to support the cause, you don’t grow a fucking mustache and call it a day. You donate money, raise money, volunteer your time and actually effect the cause in a tangible and positive way. People dying of ass cancer (and a bunch of other causes) isn’t just some reason to adopt a monthly mustache fad once a year. You’re a joiner and a sheep in a world where the shepherds themselves are blind.
If the cause is truly important to you, be a fucking leader. If it isn’t that important to you, don’t pretend that it is.
Additionally, real men who find these things important are doing their part. They don’t need to play dress up and look like they taped daddy’s shaved off whiskers to their face. In fact, most of these real men are probably sporting real beards and gnawing on a bison leg as they toss their hard-earned shillings into a bag and mail it off directly to the cause.
I’ve made it my personal mission not to just ignore the do-nothing pube faces, but I’ve also decided to really look at all the stuff that is included in this Movember collage, learn what each cause does and then look to see what they would do with my money and decide if it is worth sending them a personal check – directly and without third parties and marketing firms as middle men. And yes, I said “money”. Because you can’t pay for stuff by just growing out your girl ‘stache.
Maybe I will write about my findings at a later date, in an effort to shed some light on these various organizations out there trying to help the many men’s health issues.
At the end of the day, I always think about this though:
Why is there an organization for breast cancer, another for lung cancer, one for prostate cancer and others for every other type of cancer? Why don’t they all band together and put all their resources and money to use for one huge cause: CURING CANCER? All of it! Not ass cancer, titty cancer or lung cancer but CANCER!
The answer to this is simple, because each and every cause is a big business. While some may be ethical and ran with great intentions, many are not – even if they started out that way. That is why you really need to know how your dollar is being spent. But then, most people don’t even go that far because growing a few rat pubes on their lip is enough to make them feel like a hero until the next fad comes along in a month.
*Written in 2014.
There isn’t a night where I go out that I don’t run into at least a few dudes who can’t seem to handle just one cocktail. You know you’ve seen them too. Hell, for all I know, you, the reader, could be one of these 5-star party animals that finds themselves crashing and burning after one Jägerbomb or even worse, one bottle of Bud Lite Lime.
You are the Mike’s Hard Lemonade drinker. The Smirnoff Ice sommelier. The ’90s poster boy for Zima, who considers a classic cocktail to be some swill manufactured by Bartles & Jaymes. The guy that doesn’t understand why people roll their eyes when you show up to a B.Y.O.B. with just one six pack. You show up the most gung ho, the most ready to throw down and often times the most obnoxious. You argue with bouncers about your shorts and trucker hat outside of a nice establishment. You have just one bowling shirt that you think is sufficient for dressing up when taking your significant other to a fancy anniversary dinner of Jack Daniel’s ribs at T.G.I. Friday’s. You probably get drunk on those Jack Daniel’s ribs. Hell, you probably still own a Korn t-shirt. You’re a self-described animal of the night that can go the distance and turn any shindig into an ultimate rager. The fact of the matter is, you’re the first one to fall in a room full of more suave party people.
Now don’t get me wrong, you can be fun and entertaining but after one round of shots, it isn’t fun to be holding you up against the bar, as you drool like a sloppy baby yelling out your ex-girlfriend’s name in front of your current girlfriend. I appreciate you buying me whatever the hell sweet and disgusting shot that was and I thank you for it, as it is still alcohol of some sort, but your response to my gratitude shouldn’t be puking and pissing on me while I’m trying to sit you down in a chair. Frankly, despite your inability to hang with us professional alcoholics, I’d like to spend more than fifteen minutes with you before 6 oz. of Popov and cranberry effect you like a Floyd Mayweather uppercut.
You’re not a bad person, you’re just not doing it right. You need help. You really need to train. You need to step your game up and learn how to control your shit. Maybe your DNA isn’t wired for drinking and if that’s the case, just stick to beer. However, when I say “beer”, I’m referring to something respectable. Nothing flavored, nothing clear and god forbid nothing low calorie! If you’re going to drink, just fucking drink. That is, unless you’re some dainty white girl who finds herself sitting around the house munching on SnackWells cookies because you can eat more of those than you can E.L. Fudge.
If you are a cocktail drinker, put down the energy drink mixers, pick a better vodka and for fuck’s sake, get to know some good whiskeys. There are a ton of badass cocktails that you can drink that have a ton more flavor and character than your disgusting concoction of Goldschläger and O.J. Hell, I made a list of my Top 10 Classic Cocktails (link no longer available). You should read it and start there.
It doesn’t end there though. You need to learn how to go the distance. If you crash early, pace yourself. Don’t start with a wimpy shot that will knock you on your ass immediately. Order a decent beer or a decent cocktail and take it easy. You don’t have to slam the fucking thing.
When starting out my alcoholic training regiment, I suggest that you limit yourself to just one drink per hour. When you get to a point where you don’t want to pass out in a pile of vomit within that time, up your intake to two drinks per hour. To be honest, I very rarely ever go beyond two-to-three alcoholic beverages in an hour. This is how I pace myself, still get seriously buzzed but don’t find myself hitting the floor like a tranquilized hippopotamus.
Now this may take some time to master and to get the hang of but I’ve had well over a decade to practice and I’ve got my shit together. I used to find myself overdoing it and honestly, sometimes on a rare occasion, I still do but for the most part, I keep it together, have a good time, get moderately inebriated and don’t find myself making bad decisions or becoming the burden of the party.
Class up your shit. This isn’t just drinking advice, it’s life advice. Maybe it is time to grow up because dude bros in their mid-thirties who still carry themselves in public like freshmen frat boys at their first kegger are just embarrassing themselves. Plus, you’ll never make a good impression on a potential life mate if you’re in the fetal position, soaked in piss.
And definitely don’t drink in front of bosses or co-workers until you can handle more than one cocktail.
I’m just trying to do my part. You’re welcome, America.