Two Feet And A Heartbeat

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To think that over the years I have given thousands upon thousands of dollars to that special place in all of our hearts, a little place many Americans shop every day. I never, not in 50 lifetimes, thought I would be on this side of the fence where I would become part of this machine. Eventhough I do enjoy a fair amount of anonymity here on this blog and in social media, my conscious forbids me from revealing the name and/or location of this place of employment since over the years I have read the many instances where corporate retaliation ends up in termination of employment. So, for now, until I know what I can say legally, I will remain as vague as I please. Y’all have a fucking imagination I would assume, this would be a fine time to start using it. But wait, this post is about two jobs actually. I think before I begin I will say that yes, I did consider an offer to go back to being a bartender. An option that was quickly dismissed by my significant other unless it comes down to being the very last resort. I will be the first to tell y’all that $28.59 an hour, 30 hours a week, and NO weekends was a very hard opportunity to turn down and dismiss. With that being said, I respect my wife’s wishes. Yes, it would mean going back to the very club I worked before. New here and curious? Just search my blog for the answers you seek.

Anyway, I have been trying to get back in at the very place which laid me off 18 months ago because they are hiring now, the money is decent, and I know the work involved inside and out. I’m a perfect fit. One problem though, a big problem, the position doesn’t open until the 3rd week in August. Which means, plainly, that I can’t want another month for a job I don’t even know if I will be hired for in the first place. Fortunately for me, taking a night shift weekend job gives plenty of opportunities to work day shifts full or part time at the same time. Seems, as I have seen, its almost better to have two part time jobs. I have also noticed, in this being round two in an 18 period, that many companies are simply looking for people with two feet and a heartbeat to fill mindless jobs for $9.00 an hour. Unless you’re fucking McDonalds, where I was turned down employment opportunities because I lacked one year of fast food restaurant customer service experience, identifying that I don’t have the skills to serve their products to the demanding public. Yea, WTF is the term you are searching for. Which, for me personally, gives me one more reason to hate that company with a bitter fucking passion.

Oh right, get back to the present, and tell y’all about the job I will be taking, in fact I just spoke with the HR and I’m to go in for completion of my paperwork and orientation later today. Meanwhile, I will continue my pursuits in getting on the payroll of one of two former employers again. I have not been enjoying this fucked up little journey, but I have come out of it a little wiser in my opinion. This whole thing begs the question, why is my lack of customer service experience make me a least desirable employee versus a high school kids looking for his/her very first job? Is it because I have the obvious demeanor on my face that states I’m not a people person? I cannot help it, people have jaded my views over the years of my life which have given me fantastic people skills. It truly is a double edged and double standard society we are a part of. All I know is I’m not a candidate to prostitute myself out for sex because there isn’t much of a market for someone pushing fifty in the parts I live in. Plus, my wife would have issues with it. Too bad selling my blood and sperm wouldn’t be too profitable because I have plenty of both. Plus, I’m a rare blood type, AB-, that should be worth much more wouldn’t you think?

What’s a fucking shame is that my disability is in such a mess or I would just quit working altogether. I shouldn’t say it like that, but it’s very true. Someone recommended I monitize my blog with advertising, or sell shit here and in an online store, and a few other ways to use this blog to make money. I won’t ever do it because this blog is my hobby and would cease to be enjoyable if it became work. Hell, people coming here is their unfortunate accident to begin with so it really would not work out well. I’m boring enough without trying to sell y’all shit you don’t need or want. In the end maybe this new job will help get things back on track. I can hope, right?

Girls Just Wanna Have Jack

Speaking of Jack, I had a good friend email me asking why I have done a couple different glamour tributes here on the blog but NEVER to the Jack Daniel’s girls. She has taken it upon herself to send me a small portion of her personal favorites and asks of me to please post them for her. So, I plan on doing just that, but before we begin, I want you to read my favorite part of her message to me.

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“Seriously, I’ve been bartending for several years and I wanna smack the piss out of every fucking girl who has me make them a fucking amaretto sour or a damn melon ball (etc.). I actually blew an otherwise successful job because I refused to let this wack job girl order a fuzzy navel. What a waste of time and money to drink fruity concoctions, have it straight up and have Jack. I believe if you are going to drink, drink with purpose and with pride. A girl that can handle Jack straight is to be held above others. I’d be damn proud to sit down and drink with you. So here’s to you “Jack Daniels drinking chick!”, you have my respect.”

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You’re Bitching Up The Wrong Tree

Okay, visitors here know in a past not so distant life ago I was a bartender in a full nude strip bar. Many of y’all still ask me why. Why? The money was great and the scenery wasn’t that bad either. As well, many (not all) have judged my morals or judgment in career options, mostly I was told how I glorified the world of stripping when strippers are really disgusting slut whore beasts and are the lowest form of human on the planet, right after the douchebags who go to strip bars and pay to see naked women dance in their face. Yes, I simplified it for y’all, forgive me, but I never understood how or why people judge strippers. Strippers strip for whatever reason, I’m not real sure how many of them want to shake what their momma gave them in front of strangers for money. But, I know for a fact that there are reasons women strip, every single one of them has a reason. Some of those reasons have been explored here in the past, and I always get told that I’m very biased because I “lived” in their world too long while working as a bartender. How can that even be true or make sense.

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I thought that since I received this great example from an angered reader who wanted to reach out with her own information that this would be the perfect opportunity to take another moment to discuss choices of employment, perhaps motivations, and of course to glitzy lure of stacks of cash. In a moment, y’all will read the email I got yesterday explaining to me that I needed to be more clear to people so others who do strip or want a career in stripping have information so they don’t get fucked, literally. As far as my past posts, they are my own personal experiences OR experiences that were shared with me by real life strippers while I was a bartender. And, look people, again knowing from personal experience, some of the choices for employment are harder than others. So, read the email below, catch back up with me afterwords. If you ask me, the writer/sender was/is a stripper and got burnt somehow, I would assume she sued or attempt to sue her place of employment because one of her patrons tipped her with information instead of dollar bills. Just my humble opinion.

Begin email———————————–

1. Strippers, exotic dancers, showgirls, lap dancers, peep show dancers, & erotic entertainers are EMPLOYEES of the club they work for.

Stripping is a J-O-B. Strippers will never be independent contractors. It doesn’t matter if the boss calls a stripper an independent contractor or if it’s a term she applies to herself.  The reality is that the way strip clubs operate, the strippers working in can only be employees. It’s because management must exercise a certain amount of control over working conditions or else there would be chaos. Some might argue that management creates more disorder with their policies than order. Management need to figure out which dancers are going to work on any given shift; how many shifts there are in a day; how many hours each shift runs; many decide what dancers may wear at work; how many dances she perform on stage, and so on. The reason why strip clubs misclassify strippers as “independent contractors” is to dodge their employer obligations. The irony is that clubs say you’re an independent contractor but actually treat you like an employee.

2. Strip club employers must pay all their workers minimum wage, at a bare minimum.

Strip club employers must also pay into social security, worker’s compensation, employer taxes, & a slew of others good things that workers in any other industry are guaranteed as employees.  Personally, I think that strippers should get paid far more than minimum wages.  After all, not every chick is willing to take her clothes off in front of random strangers & gyrate on their laps to arouse them!  The management like the money strippers make for their business, but they don’t want to pay these women for their labor.  THIS IS ILLEGAL.

3. State labor laws state that it is illegal for an employer (here, the strip club owner) to take any portion of his/her employee’s (here, the stripper) tips.

To add insult to injury, management charge strippers for the privilege to work!You know:  those stage fees, quotas, commissions, piece rate system, locker fees, booking fees, etc, etc…. It’s also illegal for employers to require strippers to tip other employees (DJ, House Mom, Manager, Bartender, etc).  Management minimally pay non-stripper staff and expect strippers to underwrite the remainder of their wages.  Why are these fees-to-work illegal?  Because strippers earn their money through tips that customers provide for them.  Strippers use their tips to pay management these illegal mandatory fees. THIS IS ILLEGAL. Lets review by answering the following questions for yourself.

Were you misclassified as an independent contractor while being employed as a stripper?

Did management fail to pay you minimum wages while you were a stripper?

Did you have to pay management to work while you were employed as a stripper?

If you said “yes” to one or more of these questions, your labor rights were violated. Take action to assert your labor rights!

End of email——————————————-

**** On a very special note. The Sting Of The Scorpion Blog has not, will not, and cannot provide any legal advice. Visitors of this blog should consult with their own lawyer for legal advice. The information provided was for informational purposes ONLY. I claim no legal knowledge in regards to topics discussed here. Now, you’ve been warned and informed motherfuckers! ****

In reality I don’t care what people do with their lives, how they spend their money, or who they choose to see naked. I can, however, say that every single person who walks through the door of a strip club (employee or patron) has their own reason for being inside those walls. I mentioned before, my goal was to make money, as much as I could as fast as I could. Now, having a 8-5 job during the day and then working another 8+ hours afterwards as a “part time” sucked, I won’t lie, it made for long days/nights. As well, it was a 42 minute drive for me personally which racks miles up on the vehicle as well as adds just a few more hours each day. Yes, once at work the scenery, in general, was pleasant. The work environment was a bit weird because my involvement with the business of the club were pretty nil. I did, however, meet some very nice people along the way while I worked there, I’ll leave that part right there. Want to know more just read around this blog a little and you’ll see what I mean.

Getting back to how I or what I write about glorifies the occupation of stripping, because, lets face it together, I get accused of never writing about anything but strippers using their nakedness to separate men of all ages from their money in the shortest time possible. What y’all have got from me is the brutal honesty, not the fucking fairytale la la land some people seem to live in. I guess my point is simple, working as a stripper is what it is, it’s a choice someone makes, and often enough people get judged because in someone else’s opinion it was the wrong choice to make. Trust me, I’m 46 years old and still get grief from my mother because I bartended in more than one strip club over the years. “How can you do that to your wife and treat her without respect by working at a strip bar?” is my favorite question to date. My wife only had one dislike about me working there and that was the simple fact that I was getting in after 1 in the morning day after day and I was tired. I was tired and didn’t want to do anything except hang out around the house, I was a big fan of not going anywhere or not doing anything. In the end, it was my wife’s opinion that made me want to quit in the first place. She asked me to quit one time, and I made it happen that day. On the flip side, all joking aside here, she was the one that said I needed to get a part time job to fill some time, make a little money, and get out more. In fact, it was a friend of a friend of a friend of one of her co-workers that my wife gave me the number to call for the job. She was informed, the moment I went to the interview, that it was at a strip club. Her answer was it was decision either way, but told me I knew I could make some serious cash if I took it. Yes, she does not about my past life, not that it was talked about much.

Luckily, at the place I worked, everyone was an employee, we all had health coverage if we chose, we could participate in the 401k, they were workers comp compliant, the whole 9 yards. However, indeed, a portion of my paycheck was dependent on bar sales, door sales, and stripper tips. Yes, now I’m the bad guy. No, it wasn’t my rule, and nobody fought it, it was just the way it was I guess. But, they did not pay to dance, they did not have fees except for one, which was if you were scheduled to work and you were a no show/no call, you were given three days off without pay as a warning to be more courteous to your coworkers. It mentions minimum wage above, um no, how the average stripper was making from $18.00 to $23.00 an hour, plus tips, plus dances, plus whatever the hell else they were doing on the side, if anything. Again, I’m not defending the industry itself, merely where I worked.

Oddly enough, during the mere course of writing this post I have received 4 more emails “scolding” me for being a sinner, supporter of sinning, and indulging in the slavery which we collectively call the “sex trades” since stripping somehow falls into that category. Maybe I truly am blind, somewhat oblivious to the blythe which is that of the life of a stripper. But, wait….. for….. it….., I don’t care, I really don’t, I don’t care what people do which their lives. Well, that’s not altogether true, I do care that I contribute a large amount of my paycheck to pay for others to sit at home on the crack pipe, on the xBox, or on the porch, instead of them getting out and getting a fucking job. We’ll talk about that another time, I read a study recently that the average person on a combination of government service programs average about $19.20 an hour. Like I said, lets get back to that another day. My mere connection with the stripping industry is purely coincidental, meaning we would work in the same building, all of us dependent on the very steady stream of people entering the neon lit establishment we called a strip bar.

But, I understand, the easy thing to do is to judge those doing things we don’t agree with. We should just be happy people are out working instead of sucking on the welfare titty all day. Until we as human beings stop looking at the opposite sex with lust in our eyes there will always be a place where we can see the opposite sex naked. Have y’all been on the internet later, have y’all seen what y’all have been searching for, and y’all call me the pervert?  Again, another post for what people’s perversions are. Your choice, fucking hate me, if that gets you though the day, great, just fucking hate me. Meanwhile, I will give you something to think about, my final thought here today. All strippers have a story, a life, a family, and although you detest their industry or them as people, just remember it takes guts to strip in front of strangers, it takes courage to get out there to earn a living no matter what your craft may be. Before we get all biblical on me, remember, I don’t by into it, so in reality it’s a major waste of both of our times. But, as usual, I will get the emails, the comments, and so forth, and I will post here on this blog the ignorance that is spewed. There is no justice in the world, we all know it, sometimes we decide that instead of running away from life, we jump on that old hag, dig the spurs in deep, and ride her until that bitch throws us or we tame the beast. Your choice.

The Big Lights In The Big City

I’ve yet to use all the stories in my little black notebook, but I have to take pause from it on occasion since I still receive great email entries to my Bartender Stories in my email inbox on a pretty regular basis. Sometimes, I get intrigued enough to skip the newest ones to the head of the line. Today is your lucky day, today you get a treat, y’all haven’t had a Bartender Story in a long while, so today that is what you get. However, even though this will be a Bartender Story entry for the purpose of tracking and filing, it also has a Magic Weekend scenario as well which is twisted into the story quite aggressively. The story will actually begins with the Magic Weekend portion and quite rapidly turns into a Bartender Story. Oddly enough, I am still finding out that I’m still part of the “network” of friends of friends of friends who I knew in a past life. This particular story comes from an 18 year old young lady who had just graduated high school and was, or so she thought, faced with the difficult choices of what to do with her life now. Sure, she would like college to be her next step, but is faced with paying for what she wants. She also has friends of friends of friends, as she finds out one night at a party she was attending for her on and off again boyfriend. She soon found out she was invited, but unfortunately not as a date, but by co-friends of the boyfriend that she still hung out with. And I suppose that is a good place to begin, the couple of days prior when she got the invite. I will be telling this story in third party orientation, meaning, I will tell it in my “voice”, but bear in mind that it is after reading her email, and continuously referring to it, it will just be easier this way.
So, three days prior to the party Adrienne received a text from one of her friends in an expansive circle of friends, inviting her to a birthday party of her time and again boyfriend that she didn’t know if she had got from him or not. Well, she hasn’t got any invite from him, in fact its been a while now since she has heard from him, she has pretty much dismissed him as someone in her past now. But, she will go to the party. She knows she will be the youngest person there, as she would go to these same kind of parties since she was sixteen. She replied, and said she would probably be there, not to see him, but to just get out and have some fun. She finished getting ready for her job, a job that pays the bills, but not a job she wants much longer. She mentions that she grew up in the southern suburbs of Houston, and has found that there aren’t too many jobs for an eighteen year old female with only a high school diploma and no real skills to speak of. She would love to be able to get an instructor position at her local yoga facility, yoga is what she really knows, that and dancing, she loves both. But, can’t figure out the economics of making either of those work out for her financially. So for now, she works at Twin Peaks, where she makes nice money in tips if she is willing to work on the weekends when the other girls want off to go party. She always is available, but not for this coming Saturday, she just hopes the party and break will be just that, a break and a great party. She worries most about the drama, if there will be drama, and she will regret the night altogether, she has talked herself out of going a dozen times or so, but has finally decided she will go, get fucked up, get laid, and have a good time. Now she has a mission, next is to figure out who her next victim will be, she uses the word “victim” loosely, but reminds me that she just needs the hard sex, not another drama filled “relationship”. As the week has now passed, she woke up Saturday morning wanting to hit the mall, she wanted to do a little shopping to get her something new, something that just might attract a little too much attention, something that will get her what she wants.
She shopped for a few hours, did some heavy flirting with some heavy, heavy petting at this one store, she decided that the little skirt and top would do just fine, that sixteen year old boy begged her for her number, he wasn’t quite done, everyone got all worked up in the changing room and she just walked away, she got the reaction she was looking for. Once she leaves the mail she decides to go ahead and spend the extra money at the salon, get her hair done, get her nails done, and get her toenails done. She wants to be presentable, she wants to draw attention, she wants to go the extra mile, not leaving one thing not done. When she gets home she wants to try on her new clothes and shoes where she notices its been a while since she have passed a razor across her body and new that needed to be her next step, nothing worse that being felt up when he notices she brought sasquatch to the party. Then again….. no, the blonde sasquatch has got to go. What good is it being smooth from shoulder to toe if we don’t lotion from shoulder to toe as well. She decided a sparkling lotion she bought at Victoria’s Secret as a gift for someone but decided to keep would be just perfect. As she sat in her robe doing her makeup she couldn’t stop thinking she was already ready for the end of the night, the grand finally, when she is sprawled out on the bed wet, used, and left to dry all by her self. She looked forward to the moment she laid there and her the door shut behind the nameless guy who had a wife or girlfriend to attend to. But, she is at home, in her robe that needs to be washed, finishing up her makeup. As she stands, she lets her robe slide down her back, across her ass, and finally hit the floor, she walked out to the kitchen with the cool feel as the air the air passes across her nude body, a feeling she will soon heat up. She pulls a shot glass out of the cabinet, a bottle of Patron from the freezer, and has herself three or four quick shots. She likes the smooth cool burn of tequila as it goes down her throat and finally finds a resting place in her stomach.  Maybe just one more. She moves to the living room, flips on the DVD player and the television, feeling that she needs to do a little stretching, work out any kinks, getting her muscles heated up, get stretched, and do a little meditation. Nothing worse than having body slamming sweaty sex with a mind that is wandering and wondering what the rest of the world is doing, one needs focus, one needs commitment, and one does not need to worry about getting that weird cramp in between the shoulder blades when the back is arched back to brush your hair in his face doing the reverse cowgirl. Who needs that shit, preparation is key, get relaxed, get in the zone, and then anything is possible, anything. He might be like a Lays potato chip and cant have just one, maybe she can get lucky two or three times, what a way to ruin a Sunday, to worn out to do a damn thing, she can think of no way better to have her Sunday ruined.
As she gets dressed she realizes this will be the perfect night for going commando and the corset style shirt she will be wearing is no place for a bra, and 5″ stilettos to seal the deal. She feels great, feels she looks great, and she grabs her other two bottles of tequila to head off to the party. Perfect, the gas light is blinking, so much for thinking ahead, so the first stop will be the gas station up the block. Finally, on the road, the road which she hopes leads her to some of her fantasies being fulfilled. What is it about driving into the darkness that makes us nervous, gets our anxiety blowing up, and somehow anticipation turns to fear and regret? Fear and regret, before a party, who in the fuck needs that emotional turmoil? The answer, music, loud music, I feel Metallica coming on hard, it plays so loud I can feel the bass vibrations through the driver’s seat, now we are back in the party mood, nothing better on the planet than a seat that proves time and again to provide great vibrations time and time again. Arriving at the party she is greeted with all the fake hellos and greetings, the pecks on the cheek, the grope across the ass, and the mindless chit chat bullshit from people you know could give a fuck less if you were actually there or not. Why can’t she have the movie star actress red carpet entrance? What would be wrong with that? Instead, it is what it is, the preoccupied squaller that is to be expected at all of these parties, one she arrived late to on purpose, she wanted the alcohol flowing thru these young rum pirate studs so most of the work would be done, now that they are drunk they are looking for pussy, anyone’s pussy, as long as it’s warn and wet. Lucky them, that’s a perfect description of what I’m bringing to the fucking party. No signs of the so-called whatever once and again boyfriend, he’s probably hidden away banging some chic who’s name he will soon forget, well happy 21st birthday asshole. As the party rolled on I got to talking with some of the attending girls, after a while two of them drop that they are strippers locally and met these guys and came for the party as well as maybe work in a little work for some extra cash as the night rolls on. They had, held, and remain with my undivided attention. Needless to say, the conversations I had on the couch, how I saw them work a room of horny guys with cash in their pockets, and how it looked like they were living a fantasy life had me very intrigued. I watched them dance, saw the way they effortlessly moved, it was a routine without the routine, it was amazing. She knows she can move like that, she spoke with one of the strippers, and they worked it out where she could dance with them. In the end, she didn’t get laid, not once, but she walked away with $1,900.00 in cash from tips and a business card with a number to call on Monday early afternoon. She drove home, alone, and knew she would never believe herself in the morning when she remembers the nights events.
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Sunday arrives, she wakes up, and amazingly is surprised she remembers the entire night which preceeded. She spent the day cleaning her apartment, doing laundry, and really wondering if she wanted the “life” of a stripper. What does the life of a stripper actually involve? How good or how bad can it really be? She has been looking for a better job, with better money, and doing something she really loves, dancing. But can this be considered real dancing, could it fulfill her dreams, or would it be just another job? In her opinion, there was but one way to find those answers, she would make the call on Monday. The rest of her day didn’t involve much, she had a light dinner, had a long hot bubble bath, which she shared with her bottle of Patron, and then called it a night. She was off Monday, so she had time to hit the grocery store, get her oil changed, and had her car washed, all in hopes it would kill the day that much faster. Guess what, it worked. When she got back home she dug out the business card, dialed the number, and was very surprised when she was actually talking to the girl from the party, who just happens to be the recruiter for the club I was formally a bartender at a few years ago now. She went in that night for an interview, they had her out dancing quite a bit, seeing crown reaction and her interaction with the crowd, really looking into her stamina and how she carried herself dancing in the nude. She was asked to wait at the bar, have a few drinks on the house, and just have a rest for awhile. While at the bar she sees a few of my old posters, drink specials, and on one of the posters behind the bar was a link to my blog, which she killed some time looking at, she just happened to find the sections mentioned earlier, The Magic Weekend and Bartender Stories. She mentions she didn’t realize it at that moment, but found herself a few days later writing me an email. Great news, she did get the job! She did quit her other job. She explained that in the first week she made more in tips than she would have made in three years of being a waitress at the other place. After a few weeks she already had allot to share, but for now she wants to leave it to end right here. She passes on she is happy now, that she never saw this as a career path she would have chose but has no complaints, she is treated well at the club, she has money in her savings account now, and she wonders why she was satisfied with her life just a short month ago. She realizes the newness of the job, the money, the bright lights, and all the different people she meets will soon ware off and wonders if she will still be as excited as she was that first night.
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I know, personally, that no one can answer those questions for her. I also know that unless one has an eventual plan it can seem like one is lost in all the blissfulness that happens every night of the week. She did invite me to come meet her sometime in the near future. Seems like the perfect opportunity to take my future son-in-law for a visit to my old stomping grounds, it will be his first time into a full nude strip club, maybe any strip club, since he just turned 21 a few months ago and my daughter keeps a tight lease on him. But, I have permission to take him out drinking anytime from my daughter and my wife, maybe we will just step it up a notch or seven. Anyway, that’s Adrienne’s story that she wanted to share with everyone. I look forward to hearing more from her, will be interesting to see where her new career takes her as time passes. Let this be a lesson to y’all, I do read my email, I do try to keep up sharing and posting, and I’m always wanting to hear about what happened on your personal Magic Weekend.

Does Tequila Qualify As A Hobby?

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There is no doubt that people continue to make choice, there really are no boundaries or limitations, because tequila will NEVER let you down. Y’all don’t have to take my word for it, y’all don’t have to let the fact that tequila is my favorite alcohol, nor do y’all need to let my 20 plus years of bartending make a difference, but one can NEVER go wrong drinking tequila. As an insulin dependent type 2 diabetic, I wonder if it was coincidence that my diagnosis only happened within a few months of me quitting drinking. Things that you’ll read might get you to wondering the same damn things I’m wondering.

As the Pringles campaign so eloquently put it, “Once you pop, the fun don’t stop.”

You know that group of friends who can never decide what type of round to buy at the bar? These people spend their time arguing between Jameson, vodka and Fireball. But do you know the one suggestion that will shut them the F up? That’s right — tequila. I mean, people went as far as creating deep-Fried tequila that will actually get you drunk. Do you see people doing that with vodka? I think not. So get ready to open your eyes to the benefits of tequila, some of which you never even thought could be possible.

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1. It helps lower blood sugar. How exactly is this possible? Well agavina, which is a sugar that comes from the agave plant used to produce tequila, triggers insulin production and therefore lowers blood sugar. We can thank our friends at the American Chemical Society for this one.

*** Exhibit A ***: A sweetener created from the plant used to make tequila could lower blood glucose levels for the 26 million Americans and others worldwide who have type 2 diabetes and help them and the obese lose weight, researchers said here today.

The main reason it could be valuable, they explained, is that agavins, a natural form of sugar found in the agave plant, are non-digestible and can act as a dietary fiber, so they would not raise blood glucose. Their report was part of the 247th National Meeting of the American Chemical Society (ACS).

The meeting, attended by thousands of scientists, features more than 10,000 reports on new advances in science and other topics. Being held at the Dallas Convention Center and area hotels.

“We have found that since agavins reduce glucose levelsand increase GLP-1, they also increase the amount of insulin,” said Mercedes G. López, Ph.D. GLP-1 (glucagon-like peptide-1) is a hormone that slows the stomach from emptying, thereby stimulating production of insulin. She added, “Agavins are not expensive and they have no known side effects, except for those few people who cannot tolerate them.” In addition, agavins, like other fructans, which are made of the sugar fructose, are the best sugars to help support growth of healthful microbes in the mouth and intestines, she said.

Agavins can help people feel fuller, which could help them eat less. Agavins contain fructoses, which begs the question: Are agavins like high-fructose corn syrup, a processed sweetener that has gotten a lot of bad press recently? López pointed out that, indeed, high-fructose corn syrup is loaded with fructose sugars and, therefore, can raise blood sugar levels. But agavins are fructans, which are fructoses linked together in long, branched chains. The human body can’t use them in that configuration, so they don’t affect blood sugar, she explained. Agavins also sometimes get confused with agave nectar or agave syrup, which appears on many health-food store shelves. These products contain fructans that have been broken down into individual fructoses, so they are much more similar to high-fructose corn syrup.

Also, she and her team said agavins are better than artificial sweeteners, which are absorbed by the body and can cause side effects, like headaches. “One slight downside, however, is that agavins are not quite as sweet as their artificial counterparts,” she said.

Of course, the agave’s claim to fame is as the plant from which tequila is made. López explained that agavins are the only carbohydrates used to produce the drink. All ethanol in tequila comes from the fermentation of glucose and fructose generated after agave pines are cooked. But because the agavins are converted to ethanol, agavins are not found in the finished product.

López said that in the study, her team fed a group of mice a standard diet and added agavins to their daily water. They weighed the mice daily and checked their glucose blood levels weekly. Most mice that drank agavins ate less, lost weight and their blood glucose levels decreased when compared to other sweeteners such glucose, fructose, sucrose, agave syrup and aspartame.

“This study represents the first attempt to evaluate agavins as sweeteners in spite of their lower sweetness compared to sugar,'” she said. **” End Exhibit A **”

2. It aids in weight loss. Yes, you heard me correctly; there are certain components in tequila that can help you lose weight. In further tests done by the ACS, tequila helped overweight mice lose a significant amount of pounds.

3. You don’t get hungover. You may quickly disagree, but we’re not talking about that shitty watered-down tequila most people are accustomed to. Rather, we are discussing real 100 percent pure agave tequila. Try drinking this instead and see if that headache becomes a memory of the past.

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4. You can drink it straight without wanting to throw up afterward. Have you ever tried throwing back straight shots of vodka? Chances are they’re coming right back up. When it comes to tequila, you can rest assured that it will sail smoothly down your throat.

5. It helps fight cholesterol. OK, let’s get scientific for a moment. Increasing fiber in your diet helps in the reduction of cholesterol levels. Like fiber, agavins lower triglycerides in the blood and levels of cholesterol as determined by researchers in Plant Foods For Human Nutrition.

6. Tequila may be used to help treat colds. Back in the 1930s, doctors were known to promote this tequila concoction to fight off the common cold: .5 ounce of tequila blanco; .5 ounce of agave nectar; .5 ounce of fresh lime juice.

7. It helps you numb the pain. Tequila has been proven to dilate the blood vessels, which results in better blood flow, minimizing pain levels. When it comes to emotional pain, you can bet tequila is the remedy for that too.

8. It can serve as a “drug delivery system”. WTF does that even mean? OK, so basically when drugs are taken, the acid in your stomach typically breaks them down before they can even hit your intestines. Why is this a problem? Because it decreases the drug’s effectiveness. Tequila serves as a protective barrier of these drugs as they work their way into your system.

9. Diabetics can indulge too. The high amount of sugar that is present in alcohol is what poses an issue for diabetics. The thing with tequila, however, is that it has significantly less sugar; therefore, it will have much less of an impact on blood sugar.

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10. You look like a damn badass on a first date. How many times do females worry about what to order on the first date? I only know this because I’ve had countless conversations with friends on whether or not it’s appropriate to order anything but wine. The answer? Order tequila and stand out from the crowd. Make a long-lasting impression because you can be certain he will always remember you as the girl who ordered tequila on the rocks on your first date.

11.  It won’t make you feel as fat as vodka and beer. Raise your shot glass and cheers to this because tequila helps to regulate the absorption of fat in your intestines! And when it comes to alcohol, everyone knows how much drinkers detest bloating.

12. You don’t have to waste your calories on a chaser. One of the best parts about ripping shots of tequila is that you don’t need soda to chase them with. Honestly, you don’t really even need a chaser because the taste of tequila is that good, but if you can’t really stomach it, there are always limes!

13. Everyone respects a person who rolls up with a bottle of tequila to a pregame. There are always those people who insist on bringing a bottle of Fireball to every pregame they go to and the word we use to describe these people is: basic. A unique individual busts out the tequila and really gets the party started.

14. It cleans your colon in a different way than you may think. Touching upon the points found in eight,Researchers at Mexico’s University of Guadalajara claim that blue agave found in tequila helps deliver drugs to the colon, which helps to treat illnesses such as Crohn’s disease, colitis, IBS and even cancer.

15. It chills you out and helps you sleep. Everyone knows tequila and relaxation go hand in hand. You don’t need to drink an excessive amounts one or two shots will do. Next time you can’t fall asleep, try sipping on some Don Julio.

Below are some recommended warning statements tequila producers should add for friendly public service announcements.

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WARNING: The consumption of tequila may leave you wondering what in the unnatural fuck happened to your bra and panties because tequila does make your clothes fall off ladies.

WARNING: The consumption of tequila may make you think you are whispering when you are really not.

WARNING: The consumption of tequila may cause you to tell your friends over and over again that you love them.

WARNING: The consumption of tequila may cause you to think you can sing.

WARNING: The consumption of tequila may lead you to believe that ex-lovers are really dying for you to text them at four in the morning.

WARNING: The consumption of tequila may make you think you can logically converse with members of the opposite sex without spitting or drooling on them.

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WARNING: The consumption of tequila may often lead to attempting and successfully repeating the revered tequila body shot. Will you give or receive?

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WARNING: The consumption of tequila may cause you to roll over in the morning and see something really scary (whose species and/or name you can’t recall).

WARNING: The consumption of tequila is the leading cause of inexplicable rug burns on your forehead.

WARNING: The consumption of tequila may create the illusion that you are tougher, smarter, faster and better looking than some really, really big redneck who proceeds to kick your ass.

WARNING: The consumption of tequila may lead you to believe you are invisible, resulting in you attempting to grope members of the opposite sex. Sometimes this works out, other times not so much, what the hell, roll the dice.

WARNING: The consumption of tequila may lead you to think people are laughing along WITH you.

WARNING: The consumption of tequila may cause a disturbance in the space-time continuum, wherein gaps in consciousness appear, and eventually disappear forever.

WARNING: The consumption of tequila has been known to inexplicably cause pregnancy.

WARNING: The consumption of tequila is a major factor in dancing like a talentless teenage boy.

WARNING: The consumption of tequila may cause you to tell the same boring story over and over again until your friends or perfect strangers feel inclined to SMASH YOUR HEAD IN or at least entertain the idea.

WARNING: The consumption of tequila may cause you to say things that you think make you sound clever to people you are trying to communicate with, this is your brain lying to you but the tequila takes over and speaks for you.

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The Sting Of The Scorpion Blog disclaimer. Never have I claimed to be a medical care giver nor do I have any formal or informal education and/or training which would quality me to give medical advice. The preceding post was for informational and entertainment only. You go read and find your own conclusion. However, I am a formally trained bartender with over 20 years of professional experience, since retired, so I do feel I know something about tequila, which so happened to be my specialty and my personal preference in alcohol, so call me a little biased. If the preceding made you think, entertained you, filled you heads with useless information, left you wondering, and left you thirsty for my friend tequila, my job is done here.

All Stairways Don’t Lead To Heaven

As I lay here alone after a long night’s work I find myself thinking about how all of this madness I call my life began. I suppose I have to start from the beginning, as I do each time, not to re-live everything, but to remind myself that the choices I have made may not have been the choices others might make and in the end they have become not what defines me, rather than the scars that let me remember that this shit has all been for real. I was born on Valentine’s day 1993 in a no name mid-western town in the middle of nowhere. It was said my mother was very sick and she was actually lucky to have delivered a child at all, her pregnancy a mistake, her choice not to abort a bigger mistake, but she defied them all, she was able to do it, I was born, she gave me the name Chance. A few weeks after I was born she returned to the hospital for her health issues, where she remained four days until she passed at the age of nineteen. I was raised by my mother’s sister and her husband, I knew them only as my parents until I was in grade school, where when asked, they could not prove they were my parents. Why? When my mother died they just took me in, I was family, and that’s the way it was, nothing legal, just being good family. I was my aunt and uncle’s only child and I thought we lived just as every other family lived, but I was wrong, there were many things that weren’t right about how I was raised, but these things would not come to light until I was in high school.

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After I turned around 11 and began resembling a girl, my uncle paid close attention to everything I did. Even before that he was always the one to give me my bath every night. He always claimed it was his duty to make sure I was very clean. I was only allowed to take bathes, even into high school, and he was always present scrubbing me from head to toe. When it became time to begin shaving he was the one that I always shaved me, claiming that hair anywhere but on a person’s head is dirty so it must be removed daily. As time progressed I began to notice the meticulous care he would take with my bath grooming but I always just kept my mouth shut because we both knew this was something he was good at and I was to accept things for what they were. I wasn’t allowed to have a boyfriend, or any friends really, most of them were run off by my uncle, who claimed they only wanted one thing from me, to be in my pants and inside of me. When he would talk to me the things he would tell me made me fear boys in general, I didn’t trust any males, just my uncle.

One day, however, I lost that trust for him, and our relationship has never and will never be the same. When I was fourteen, my aunt got sick, real sick, and within a few months passed away. Within a few days of her funeral my uncle informed me that I was to be the woman of the house now, fulfilling the duties of his dearly departed wife. I didn’t understand at first, since I had been the one who cooked, did the laundry, and cleaned already after my aunt became to ill to do it. But there was more duties, the duties I never saw, duties in the bedroom to fulfill his needs. I did everything he asked, full body massages to begin with, that evolved into hand jobs, which turned into blow jobs, which led to him taking my virginity. A task, he explained, that is done by all fathers with their daughters. Eventually, because he says he didn’t want me to become pregnant, we would only have anal sex. This arrangement went on for three long years until one day he didn’t return home work, instead I was visited by CPS, who removed me from the home I grew up in, because my uncle had been arrested for the rape of a local 15 year old girl at a nearby part. It was at this time that I realized how wrong things have been for as long as I can remember.

I was immediately placed in foster care where I was babied and treated like a mental patient. The doctors wanted me to take antidepressants and other behavior altering drugs to help with my day to day struggles. But I wasn’t struggling, I wasn’t unhappy, nor was I depressed about anything. Quite the opposite, things were looking up for me to be quite honest. Shortly after my uncle’s trial, while awaiting sentencing in his cell, he took his own life. I would suppose it was because he couldn’t face imprisonment or the stigma of being labeled a child predator, I will never actually know why. At his funeral I kept thinking of the stairway that went upstairs to his bedroom and what used to happen there. I’ve decided I won’t spend my life hating him for being the beast he was, I’ve decided to put that in the past, each day it gets easier and easier.

Living on my own now, I live in a moderate house in the south Houston area. Its a house with a staircase, not unlike the house I grew up in, the realator tells me its nice on the second floor, I wouldn’t know because I’ve never been. One day I will go, but I don’t see it happening today. I imagine myself, in my dreams, walking up the stairs, I see it as a sexy assent, one to fulfill my own dreams, I want it to be real, and I want to find happiness at the top. For now, it is just a dream because I know all stairways do not lead to heaven.

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The above story was provided to me by Chance when I was an active bartender at the strip club we both worked at. She had contacted me recently and after we spoke I was reminded of the story she told me one summer night not too far in the past. She agreed to me posting it and she told me she was looking forward to reading it when I was done. To be honest, I never wanted to put her story out, it was on my do not use list in my notebook, but as a request of a friend, here we have it today.

Being Politically Incorrect: Now Fuck Off

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Where in the fuck do the politically correct morality police get off being my mother? Why in the fuck have they chose to subject me to hundreds of e-mails a week and hundreds of spam comments a week? Who the fuck do these people think they are? What in the fuck do they think they can change about my blog? When in the fuck did I become a fucking interest to the fucking politically correct morality police? F.Y.I., y’all will fucking find the morality police is only one of the many names used to describe the fucked up groups of people whose self-appointed job is to enforce standards of moral behavior and religious adherence among the general public, these bleeding pussies are here to protect us from the real world. Have these fucking freaks of nature been having a spell of moral panic? Is their moral panic over an issue deemed to be a fucking threat to, or shocking to, the sensibilities of “proper” society? How about y’all just have a very tall glass of shut the fuck up for a minute.

If you haven’t fingered it out yet, this is my politically incorrect declaration about the morality police fuctards who feel it is their god given right to bombard the Sting Of The Scorpion Blog with all of the bullshit that they disagree with that I say or I post here. So, let me start off with a big GO FUCK YOURSELF to get this kicked off. What does what I write about have to do with anything in the fucking lonely lives of the morality police? I know what I fucking post and I sleep fucking great at night. In some way I have touched these little bitches  in a special way, like how a girl gets finger fucked for the very first time. I guess because they like the way I touch them that they need to bitch at me like my ex-wife who is, to date, at the very top of my “cunt list”, but these fuctards are a very close second. So I say the word, and many variations, FUCK, does that make me a bad person? I post pictures of women with tattoos and women packing heat because those are things I really fucking like. I regularly talk about how fucked up the VA is because I’m a disabled vet who is a part of that fucking broke system.  Does the fact that I was a bartender at a full nude strip bar (and liked it) a problem because I write about it or because it is an industry that exemplifies gratuitous nudity in exchange for money? It is a historical fact for those followers of the bible that “Jesus Loves Strippers” but that is something that the morality police like to forget.

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Somewhere, somehow, the morality police opened their doors to the anti-meat-anti-hunting-geniuses because they keep trying to tell me hunting to provide meat for my table is wrong. Wrong? It’s wrong? I do not, I have not, and I will not ever condemn a meat free lifestyle if that is the choice you have made. I may not understand your decision and I might joke about your choices, but your choices are yours to make. I would like to think if you want to be left the fuck alone about not eating meat that you should close your fucking piehole about my choice to stalk the meat, kill the meat, smoke the meat, and then eat the meat with my family. Y’all really need to back off this one because it isn’t ever going to fucking change, ever. Never once, however, do these fucktards ever get real specific about what rubbed their pussies the wrong way. Perhaps that is the problem, perhaps it is because of their own experiences that they must warn me that I am on the highway to hell with what I write about. Well, you stupid fucks, I write about what is in my life, around me, or the fucking things I like or dislike. Some of those things are fucked up, some of those things are the fucktards who get so pissed off at me for talking about their beliefs and how they live their life.

I think if I was a bleeding cunt that maybe I would hold that against the rest of the world as well. Is it because you suffer that you want to make others suffer? I was told once by my dad when I was younger to never trust something that can bleed for a week and live. He also warned me of the hypnotic spell the women will put men under, he called this the power of the pussy. He tried to warn me that she with the pussy is who is in charge. It’s true, for the most part, that because you have a pussy you think that all must bow to you, begging your little twat for forgiveness because we were born with a dick. All of the haters I have all have referenced that they are female, not one male has ever emailed me or spammed my blog in anger because of my topics or language. Why do you little bitches think that is? Need a bandaid? Perhaps you are angry with me because I write about your fucked up ways and your fucked up thinking, perhaps when you whip out your grammar Nazi handbook you should show me the part where it says that The sting Of The Scorpion Blog is supposed to give a fuck about spelling or proper sentence fragmentation. Fuck you, I’m not 6. Speaking of which, no, no I don’t think I will ever write with the maturity my age states I should have. I think it is just plain time for you politically correct bleeding pussies to just turn the internet off, turn your computer off, unplug the smart car, and go for a walk. Get outside into the real world with real people. Do keep your hole closed because if you act out in public as you do on the internet you might just not like the reaction you get.

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Where do we go from here? It’s true, I don’t give a fuck about your feelings about what you may find at The Sting Of The Scorpion Blog. Why should I fucking give a shit and really fucking care? Come here if you want, don’t come if you don’t want, either way it doesn’t make a fuck to me because this blog doesn’t pay my fucking bills. In fact, it’s totally free. It’s free hosted, I don’t charge admission, I don’t ask for donations, and I don’t try to sell you stupid shit you don’t want. I do this shit for fun, I do what I do here for my personal entertainment, I write about the things I see or hear because it is fucking fun to do so. What’s even better that somewhere along the way I get to rub some of y’all  pussiy fucktards the wrong way on a very regular basis. Except, nowadays I think we are past the heavy petting, we are past trying to shove three of my fingers thru your granny panties, we are past you not wanting to be touched “there”, no, I think we are to the point where I expose what has really been going on here, because not everyone gets to see you as I do. I know I told you that I wouldn’t tell everyone what a fucking little whore slut you really are. I know you wanted me to be discrete about your little secret of only letting all the guys ass fuck you so you can tell your future husband you truly are a vaginal virgin. Yes, your fucked up little secret is out now, boothefuckhoo. It is also pretty fucking obvious that you suck the cum out right out of that dick after they all pull it out of your ass because all you do is talk shit. So, shove a plug in your gaping asshole because you are dripping anal ooze all over my fucking blog.

Now, get the fuck out. Let the door hit you square in the ass. Don’t stop, don’t look back. All you will see is me bending over blowing you a big fat fucking kiss. I know y’all aren’t capable of listening, that fucking point gets proven time and time again. I get it, you fucking despise and hate me. I know y’all are too fucking stupid to listen. I know y’all will be back, y’all always fucking come back for some reason. Well, just remember I may not appreciate the fact that you suck in all of my fucking oxygen but since you always arrive with your panties pulled so deep into your bleeding cunts, I give y’all a break, because I like freaks, I even like you. So, polish up your badge bitches so you can continue to spread the your fucking legs and let out all of the things that are so wonderful about the fucking morality police. Until the next time we meet please feel free to fucking piss off.

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