My Favorite Question Is Why.

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It’s true, over the course of this blog’s existence I’ve tried different things for a while, wrote about certain things a bit, and even tried to get the community of followers to participate on occasion, but I can’t ever seen to keep focused on the new things or the introductions I might make. However, I was just going through my email for this blog and I’ve noticed a trend once again. There are people in and out of The Scorpion Army who are still sending me stories, still sending me pictures of themselves in various stages of undress, and still sending me fucked up shit that they found that they would like to see posted here. It appears that I have been slacking on my promise of posting whatever I want because I have my own set of rules, policies, and conditions. Is everyone right? Kinda. I don’t go for a certain demographic, age group, or political alignment, I shotgun blast my posts. If you like it then okay, if you don’t like it, then that’s okay as well.

So, maybe it’s time to start sharing once again the things that get shared with me, especially from members of The Scorpion Army, because they have already taken that one step of requirement, by simply following my blog. I have quite a backlog of stories, pictures, and oddities from around the world. So, it’s time, just fuck it, now we see how dicey things can really get. Normally I would ask if we are all fucking ready, but as it turns out, you just need to buckle up and enjoy the damn ride. I thought I would start by sharing the newest member of The Scorpion Army.

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Now That I Have Your Attention

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Did this post title grab your attention? Good, because that’s what this post is going to be about, getting the attention of the reader or visitor of your blog. Oddly enough, I get many compliments on my blog, how it is laid out, it’s flow, and it’s overall vibe. I’m very intentional when it comes to what is seen, there are no accidents here, it all has one very direct purpose, I want readers to be visually stimulated long enough to make them inquisitive. I have 8 seconds or less to do this, 8 seconds to either make an impact or to bore y’all to tears. Now, I get asked repeatedly how I figure out what I want my blog to look like, to feel like, and what reaction I shoot for. So, finally I let myself get talked into sharing my secrets and my model. Remember, this is how I do it personally, it’s not going to work for everyone.

In today’s technology-fueled and fast paced world, there are distractions in every direction. Our ever shrinking attention span makes it extremely challenging for bloggers to reach their potential visitors. Getting our virtual message across quickly becomes critical. Think of it like a billboard along a highway, a vehicle speeding along @ 70mph has 2-4 seconds to take in the information. With digital information at our fingertips, communicating to visitors is no different; you have just seconds to make that all important everlasting impression.

Depending on the generation y’all are directing your information to, the average attention span can vary wildly. Younger visitors, for example, are especially difficult to grab the attention of, having grown-up with the internet at their fingertips, their attention span is relatively short. Boomers on the other hand, may take a few extra seconds to consider the information being presented. On average, you have roughly 8 seconds to make that all important lasting impression, good or bad.

So how do you do it? Here are a few of my personal ways I’ve learned over the years on getting my message noticed.

State what you want to communicate immediately. Don’t beat around the bush. Don’t get cute or clever, just tell them what you want or how they can benefit from it. They’ll either be interested or they won’t, end of story.

Use unique imagery. As George Carlin said, “If you put two things together that has never been put together before, someone will buy it from you.” Combining images to create something that jars the imagination can stop someone in their tracks long enough to arouse curiosity.

Ask a question. Questions gets the mind thinking and humans are problem solvers by nature. When a question is put in front of us, our subconscious mind begins to work on it. When it comes to your blogging message, get the visitors thinking of how it will better them for reading until the end.

Add a little mystery. This technique is completely opposite of tip 1, however, if used effectively, it can stop someone dead in their tracks. Wrap your post in such a way that the visitors wants to find out more, thus creating a desire or passion for your message.

Tease them. Similar to creating a mystery, teasing arouses curiosity by providing just enough information to get their attention. Teaser ads are often used in print and sometimes outdoor. When using this strategy, timing, punch, and impact is everything. Make sure the time span between the teaser and the actual message is short enough that the visitor doesn’t forget about the teaser to begin with. As the old saying goes… “Always leave them begging for more.”

Use humor. A light-hearted image, a clever statement, or a quick joke or pun is a good method on getting someone’s attention. We all enjoy a good laugh or something that makes us smile.

Keep it simple stupid. Like a billboard, the fewer the words the better. This is sometimes challenging to accomplish, but a shorter message is actually easier to remember and makes the longer impression.

Know your target audience. Even the finest crafted message can miss the mark if aimed at the wrong crowd. Know what you want to achieve and who you need to achieve it. Then customize your message to fit the demographics.

Animate it. Where media dictates, use motion to grab the person’s eye. Colorful, fast moving images are immediate attention getters… just be careful not to over do it… then it just becomes obnoxious.

These tips just cover a few of my basics. Use your creativity to come up with new ways to grab (and hold) the attention of your visitors. I hope I held your attention long enough for you to complete this article. If so, mission accomplished. I don’t typically like doing posts like this, but because the are the basic tools in my box I figured it really couldn’t hurt. The internet is a great and vast place, y’all too will find your niche and make it work. I’m no expert, just a simple man with a blog that I have fun with. Remember that word, fun.

Don’t Speculate On The Intent Of Emails

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After the last few posts done here the emails and spammy comments have really been stacking up. First of all, I appreciate the fucking efforts y’all took to write to me and letting me know your opinions. Y’all may not know this, but it’s really hard to convey emotions in an email, but y’all sure in the hell fucking try. Now, first I would like to say that I received a fair amount of positive emails, some of which were from complete fucking strangers to me. I don’t try to post allot of touchy feely emotional bullshit stuff because many times its too fucking depressing to write much less to read. Which is why I veered away from telling the bartender stories for a while. But what is life without ups and downs, it’s called death, morons.

It’s good to hear that there are so many motherfucking psychology scholars in my reading audience who have a grasp on my personal reality (or lack of) and think that my past is getting in the way of my future. Are they fucking right? Can they know me best by what I leave out when I write. According to the scholars I am living my life in fear because I don’t want to relive my past. Pause. I find it hard to think I’m fearing something that I can’t fucking ever change. The truth is, I don’t want my past changed, the past happened for a reason, it helps me figure out who I want to be. And no, I’m not living in denial when I say I don’t have mental issues, I’ve just seen some shit that really fucking freaked me out. We’ve all got a past, we all have demons, and we all do what we must do to make it through another day. Every day I have the opportunity to wake up I am fucking thankful to have one more chance to tick one more day off the calendar. I think that’s more than allot of people around me can say, all I fucking hear is how people hate their fucking lives. Okay then, hate your fucking life, but can you leave my life out of it please?

Yes, I’m aware of what PTSD is and how people choose to live there life around it. Sure, I could go to the VA headshrinker and beg and fucking plea so they would medicate me so I would go away, but I don’t see the point personally. What I’ve seen or done in the world over the years is not what my fucking problem is, my problem is with the people who want to label, medicate, and discard people who really want and or need help. I merely had moments where I decided that certain shit wasn’t for me any longer, I made choices, and I took actions to change what I didn’t like. All joking aside, there are people with real mental problems who need real mental help to foster their care and improve their life as well as their well-being. People aren’t looking for an armchair psychologist who read a book once or saw some shit like this on Oprah, these are real people, not after ratings or fame. So fuck off.

Specifically, let’s talk about how we act in the real fucking world. I can sit here and say honestly that I’m much more of an asshole in person. However, I’m quiet, collecting information, surveying my surroundings, watching people’s body language, and picking apart the bullshit I’m listening to. Typically, my mouth remains closed unless your bullshit starts to get on me. I’m a very tolerant person (I really hate that fucking word, tolerant) and it takes a great deal to provoke me, but when you finally cross over that fucking line just be ready because I go straight for the throat every single fucking time. I try not to “people” too much any more in my life because everyone is offended by something. Well, fuckheads, it offends me that you’re offended. Here on my blog I get the emails all the time that tell me they are one and done because I have offended them. So fucking what, here’s a tampon, now move the fuck on. People pretend to be so pretentious and proper and politically correct. Boo hoo bitches I’m not like that. If everyone forgot about my blog, never looked at my blog, unfollowed my blog, and never looked here ever again, I’d be just fucking fine with each of those decisions. But what really amuses me the most are the self righteous premadonna fucktards who want to tell me what’s either best for me or best for my blogs, y’all crack me the fuck up, daily, multiple times a day, I’m not kidding.

Where does this leave us now? The same, we remain the fucking same, you and I, no changes. I figured out something a very fucking long time ago and it’s something some of y’all need to get through your thick little skulls, I’m not seeking your fucking approval. The only approval I need is from me. Yes, I share my posts on different social media sites updating whoever’s interested that something new has been posted. I’m thinking on quitting that bad habit altogether since 99% of the time that is all I post, just blog updates. Trust me, I have decided to quit fucking blogging on more than one occasion as well, simply because I get tired of the grief, the spam, and the fucktard version of psychoanalisms. I don’t blame y’all for be smarter than me, better spellers than me (thank you autocorrect), being better people than me, you are who you are, welcome to Earth motherfuckers. Whatever, right? Right. I’ve mentioned in the past (readers get it, skimmers miss it) that I just come here to write a little and post a little, I’m not looking for fame or fortune or even respect, I’m just here.

I would think that the fact that my blog makes you feel like you’ve shaved your twat with coarse fucking sandpaper that you just might realize we are different in many ways and we are the same in many ways. Remember, opinions are the assholes we wish to only peak at, because if we took a nice long look we’d realize that we don’t have the prettiest asshole to look at. Some of y’all will get that, for the rest of y’all I have provided Crayons and a coloring book. Of course, I’ve removed the black, white, brown, yellow, peach, red, and blue Crayons so you sensitive bitches don’t get offended and color in peace. I’m fucking nice like that, I cater to all the haters.

In closing, let me remind y’all I read my comments, social media posts, and emails everyday of the fucking week, sometimes I even respond, so your words are not being written in vain, well actually, your negative shit is in vain but it makes me smile. Not the fucking answers you were looking for? Oh well, write a nice formal complaint, fold it up real tiny like, and shove that motherfucker straight up your ass. I will be giving no further assistance or instructions on what to do. For you loyal readers, the ones who don’t feel abused or violated, welcome back and I have left some fucking snacks out for y’all. Anyway, I lost where I was actually going with this post entirely, I guess I just wanted to remind everyone that I’m okay, thanks for the wellwishes, and I too am glad to have woken up yet another day. Yay US!

There Seems To Be Some Confusion

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I’ve been getting many emails as of lately asking me what the fuck is going on with my blogs. It seems people still find me through a portal I created just over a year ago with a blogspot blog that points everyone here to my wordpress blog. Why the portal? I was compelled to create something that was connected to my Google account because I follow many blogspot (blogger) (Google) blogs to show people I relocated to a better neighborhood so people would know I wasn’t just some random “bot” following their blogs. Many, and I mean many, of my friends still are loyal to blogspot and the Google ways. So, anyway, about a year and a half after Google killed off my blogs I created the portal so people knew I actually had a blog, just not on blogspot.

Apparently it is now causing confusion as I have been overrun with emails with people wanting to know why there was two blogs. Of course, I ask them if they had read the statement at the top of the page which states it is a placeholder, a static page which will NOT be updated, and serves purpose only to find my new blog on wordpress. See for yourselves @ Portal To T.S.O.S.B. and y’all will see what I mean. I also point them to my opening post on wordpress called “I’m Back” which was written on 15 March 2013 and my second post called “R.I.P. 13 March 2013” written on 18 March 2013 to explain, somewhat, what happened. If y’all are new here or you never saw the posts, feel free to click the titles to look at them.

For future reference, the portal will remain active so people can find me. Sadly, the IYAAYAS Moderator is “dead” and no I don’t think I make any more references to the name after those posts since my blog became reborn here on wordpress. Which, this blog for some reason, has evolved and taken on a life of it’s own, and very easily stands on it’s own. People take on the assumptions that I’m new to blogging when in reality I’ve been doing this shit in one way or another since 2001. And yes, I’ve had a “few” blogs over the years, but one thing always remains the same, I’m consistent in my views and in my ways.

I don’t ask that people follow my blog, y’all follow it if y’all feel like it. Think of my blog(s) as the little shithole bar on the corner of your street, y’all stop in for a drink or three one day and maybe never return or you stop in and find yourselves hooked. It pleases me people visit here every day, roughly 2500 per day to be clearer, and I hope y’all enjoy your visit. Remember, I’m just an asshole from Houston Texas trying to write and post things I see every day, telling stories of my own, sharing the stories of others, and giving my general opinion. I’m not seeking fame and fortune through blogging because I’m just here to be here. My email is always open for questions or concerns or for sharing and I always welcome your comments, except for you fucking spamming bitches, y’all can suck a dirty asshole as far as I’m concerned.

With that mental image I leave y’all to your day. Hopefully y’all aren’t confused any longer. When in doubt, search my blog, categories, and tags, or just ask me. Remember boys and girls to eat it every day!

Have You Explored The Archives?

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Why do I ask? I see in my daily statistics that a very small percentage of daily visitors, about 2% of over 2500 people, take time to look at anything but the first five or six posts. Not that my posts are actually important or command attention, but with just shy of 2800 posts, one might actually be able to see things from the past, particularly important for new visitors, and maybe just fun review for the regulars. I post a wide variety of subjects, both popular and unpopular, to include miscalanious posts one never knows he or she is looking for. For everyone cruising through the archives, clicking on the terms in the tag cloud, and searching terms important to you, I give y’all my full salute, that takes balls, courage, and dedication. For everyone else, the shit you are looking for just might be here but you’ll never know unless you get to clicking. Anyway, y’all know I appreciate every single one of you motherfuckers for visiting! Keep that shit up!

Even I Get Shocked Occasionally

wpid-20150831_145108.jpgAs a parent there are just things I don’t worry about my children doing. As a parent there are things that I would be shocked if I knew my children are doing it. We live in a much different time than when I was 19, it was “simple” then, social media and texting consisted of passing notes, gossiping, and telephone calls from the living room family phone. Today everything is digital, as fast as hitting the send/post button. Yes, it makes “sharing” life’s little details quick and effortless, but at what cost to us personally, because once it’s on the internet it is there forever, and forever is a fucking long time. So, where am I getting with all of this information? Well, quite honestly, I got the shock of a lifetime a few weeks ago and I’m just getting the time (making the time) to tell this little story that hits real close to home.

My social media circle of “friends” differs a great deal from my kids, eventhough they follow me, I do not follow them, I don’t even look at their pages unless I get forwarded something one of them thinks I need to know for the humor aspect or ideas for me to write about here, it’s rare, trust me. But, a few weeks ago I get an invitation to see a friend of my 19 year old daughter’s page with a all caps OMG added in for good measure. I actually didn’t look at it the same day, I was asked if I saw it a few days later, so I went and checked it out, and yes, OMG fit, more like OMFG I don’t believe what I’m seeing was more appropriate. I was full on shocked, no doubt about it, my fucking jaw dropped in one second flat because I never expected to see what I was looking at. Of course, Facebook has strict rules, so I saw only some blurred out images, but I followed the link, something I still regret to this day, since there are things, as a parent, I don’t need or want to see, ever.

We have lived in basically the name area for the last 16 years, meaning my kids have had friends for a long time that all spent a great deal of time at my house, I’ve watched most of them grow into young adults. For many years my middle daughter (19) had a best friend, more like sister, she was raised by her aunt and uncle since age 5 when her parents were hit by a drunk driver and killed instantly. She spent allot of time at my house as the years went by and when she wasn’t, she was dearly missed. About a year ago, she moved away to North Carolina and the distance really caused a falling out in their friendship, reduced mostly to stalking each other’s life on Facebook. Which is where I got dragged into it. It was her wall I got the link to, it was what I saw there that shocked me, I mean really, really shocked. As I mentioned, there are things left better unseen. I know, ok, let’s get to it.

Upon arrival at her wall I see pictures of her, in the nude, blurred out of course, but one could still get the jist of the obscured pictures. Like a dumbass I followed the link to the full sets of pictures. It would appear that she had posed for a very popular men’s magazine, which I won’t name by name, hope ol’ Hef won’t be pissed, a few months ago. Now, with that being said, who am I to judge her for her own personal decisions? She’s an adult and entitled to make her own mind up what she will do in her life. It really caught me by surprise though, it was not what I was expecting to be seeing. What will make life interesting is the fact that she will be in town visiting her family in late September and I was recently informed that she will be stopping by to say “hi”.

Now, as a father, I have many questions and/or statements to make. Taking my past experiences into consideration we can all say I’m not necessarily innocent when it comes to the adult entertainment industry and lifestyle, I’ve been around the block more than once. My wife asked me how it would make me feel if that was either one of my daughters. Honestly, I don’t know the answer. I really don’t. I would be shocked, of course, but hopefully I would be supporting of the decisions. How does one answer that question under hypothetical conditions? I know one thing for sure, as I mentioned before, as soon as it is on the internet it’s going to be on the internet forever. Of course, what she has done is also available in print, still being sold in a local store near you and I. This is all I know, we make choices, we make changes, and we live our lives as we see fit. In more ways than I will lay out here, I’m proud of her and support her, not just because she’s like family, but because she deserves to have what she wants in life. So many people don’t follow dreams and aspirations, they jump into the line with the rest of the conformists and just muddle through life, not knowing if they are happy or not unless someone tells them so. And, like so many other things, this post is over. Hopefully it has given y’all something to think about, to consider, and that you realize that EVERY picture of a naked female you ever see is somebody’s daughter, think about it.

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.

Before You Try This At Home

Oh man, where do I even begin with this one. I say lets just jump the fuck in and see what happens by the time we get to the end. I must warn you, even though I’m not obligated to warn you, the contents of this post discuss sexual organs, sexual positions, sex, the human body, and some sexual history. Why do this post? I found the information to be both humorous and informative. So, I wanted to share, that’s how I am, I like to share with the people of the internet. Even though this is a sexual topic there will be no pictures of asexual manner, use your imagination or past experiences to fuel your needs for visual stimulation. Personally, the reverse cowgirl is my favorite position. To date, there has been zero injuries at my household and I intend to keep it that way thank you very much.

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Penile fractures are just as painful as they sound, and I mean that quite literally as one of the most distinguishable signs of the injury is an audible “crack.” A team of Brazilian researchers have dedicated months of their lives to recording instances of this traumatic injury in order to determine the sexual position most likely to cause it. In doing so, they discovered that the backward female on top, also known as the “reverse cowgirl,” triggered the majority of the injuries.

In a study now published in Advances in Urology, the Brazilian researchers reviewed the cause, symptoms, and self-report of erection for men who had experienced a penile fracture. These fractures occur when the lining of the penis ruptures, when a blood-engorged penis is suddenly and forcefully bent. Due to the nature of the injury, it’s most often sustained during sexual intercourse.

The data revealed some interesting correlations between sexual activity and likeness to experience this injury. For example, heterosexual intercourse was the most common cause, but the injury could also be self-inflicted via some sort of masturbation. As for sexual positions: “‘Woman on top’ was the potentially riskiest sexual position,” wrote the authors. This pose was credited with being responsible for roughly half of all instances of penile fractures, followed by “doggy style,” which accounted for 28 percent of cases. The remaining cases were described as having an “unclear” cause.

The review also revealed what some of the safer sex options may be. For example, homosexual intercourse was involved in only 12 percent of injuries. Interestingly, it seems that middle-aged Christian monks may have been onto something with backing the missionary position, as this pose was credited with the overall lowest incidence of penile injury. The authors wrote that with a man on top of the woman, as in the case with missionary, “he has better chances of stopping the penetration energy in response to the pain related to the penis harm, minimizing it.”

Perhaps the biggest discrepancy in the study was men’s unwillingness to disclose the nature of their injuries. Nearly a quarter of all patients questioned for this study refused to give any details as to how their fracture came about.

While sexual intercourse seemed to be the main cause of penile fracture in the West, in the Middle East, particularly in Iran, around half of all instances of penile fractures were caused by men trying to forcibly hide their erections. This may be due to the cultural practice of Taghaandan — Kurdish for “to click” — which encourages men to “break the Qholenj” by bending the tip of their erection until an audible click is heard. A separate study found the number of penile fractures in Iran caused by Taghaandan to be closer to 57 percent, explaining that a “direct blunt force or habitual clicking of the erect penis to achieve detumescence,[subsiding an erection]” was behind an overwhelming number of injuries in this part of the world.

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Pros: The position is a great variation from woman-on-top and gives the woman total control over the pace and rhythm and lets her set the agenda. She can also change the angles to see how to hit the sweet spot. Also the she has the option to rub her clitoris and get her man to hit the G-spot simultaneously which can give a very powerful orgasm!

Cons: Too much enthusiasm in this position can be hazardous for the male partner and he can suffer a penile fracture which is no laughing matter. It happens if the penis bends too much at the base which occurs either when the female partner comes down on the penis at the wrong angle or if she bends too forward or backward.  There actually was a case where a man sued his ex-girlfriend for reckless behaviour after suffering a penile fracture! Thankfully the court ruled in her favour deciding her behaviour was neither legally wanton (caused due to negligence) nor reckless.

Feel free to leave your stories below or the shy ones can email them to me. I like a good reverse cowgirl horror story every once in a while. Hey, did it happen on a Magic Weekend? Be sure to send in your pictures! Luckily for Sarah, proud member of The Scorpion Army, she was just passing on this information to me, she thought I just might get a kick out of it all by the time I was done reading. I know not where she got the information, we can all just assume she found it surfing the internet somewhere. The text contained here within in neither medical advice, nor sexual advice, or sexual counseling. What you take away from it is what you take, I offer no guarantee, warranty, or guided tours of expectations, I’m just here to have fun. I can only recommend y’all be safe in your adventures.

Encounters Of A Dreamer

I will always welcome stories from anyone who is willing to take the time to sit and write a story. I say that very collectively, y’all have seen what gets posted here on this blog and y’all know what I don’t personally post. Yet, the field of opportunities for what gets posted is as vast as the Great Plains of The United States of America, which coincidentally, is where this story comes from, all the way from the outskirts of a little town called Gettysburg, a little place located in the central region of South Dakota. Why is the location of this particular submitter important you ask? It’s simple, for me at least, as I would think people would be less inclined to do allot on the internet in a very rural town of just over eleven hundred people. When she graduated GHS in 2014, she was one of 20 some odd graduates. Seems small to me, I graduated in a class of 667 seniors. I’m just saying. Into the now, now, she is a student here in Texas attending Texas A&M in hopes of attaining her Biomedical Sciences degree. So, in my humble opinion, she has one hell of a brain to be in Texas A&M to begin with, and as y’all will soon see, what her mind sees and how it sees is amazing as well. How did she come across me? Oddly enough she was doing some surfing looking for the big city papers in South Dakota to read some local news, and multiple entries lead her here. Again, I will stress the importance of tagging blog entries. Now, at first she didn’t really want to start reading my blog, but said she was drawn in by many of my stories, she reluctantly admitted “binge reading” all night not too long ago and found herself inspired to “share” a dream she had recently with me and hopefully with the 3 people who read my blog pretty regularly. She expressed that I have a new fan and a new member of the mysterious Scorpion Army. Also, I just want to mention that she also let me know she has a few nice tattoos that I might like and she wouldn’t “mind” seeing them in the tattoo section or as a post here. Interesting, very interesting indeed. And, per her request, I will keep her identity my little secret, so for the express purpose of this post she will carry the alias of LabRat. The picture is credited to her friend who took it for her and has given The Sting Of The Scorpion Blog permission to use it at will. Without further introduction I give y’all the story she has sent me, she explained to me it was a very vivid dream she had and has yet to begin to understand.

Mr. Scorpion Sting ~

First of all I just want to tell you that, eventhough I found your blog by accident, I don’t regret a single moment I have spent there reading and looking at everything it has to offer readers. I never thought I would be writing my dream down for anybody else to read. But I am now, because I think it will help me better be able to explain it’s meaning afterwards. I’m open to the opinions of you and your readers if you care to share. By the way, I hope you don’t mind, I’m now a follower of your blog as well as have requesting to be a part of The Scorpion Army. My dream felt and seemed real, as if the memory I have is of something I actually did. I had to look into dreams and what they actually are, the simple answer is that dreams are a series of sensations, images, and deep thoughts that happen in a person’s mind during sleep. The question I fail, repeatedly, in answering is why I had the dream I did in the first place.

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The first thing I remember is sitting at the edge of my bed, stretching, feeling the coolness of the air in the room as it touches my body. As I wander around a house I don’t know I see myself moving quietly in the nude, as if I’m trying not to wake someone. I began to run a hot bath, the steam was billowing out like that of an old steam engine train, I could feel the heat and moisture of the steam but when I stepped into the water I could feel nothing. I continued to stand there under the water, letting it pour across my body like it was rinsing off what I did the night before. I bent down to turn off the water, letting the remaining water drip from my hair, as it ran down my back I could feel a coolness on my skin. After drying myself off I wrapped my hair up with the towel and walked back down the really long hallway back to the room with the bed. The curtains on the windows were pulled back now, lighting the room up with vibrant colors from outside. As I listened to the birds courting in the trees I sat in front of my mirror and put on my make-up, I dried and styled my hair, painted my toenails and fingernails a blazing red, misted myself with a sweet perfume, and when I was done I pushed in the chair and left the room. I watched myself walk, from a corner in the hallway, stalking myself, watching the way I moved, and could feel everything I touched, every step of my bare feet, every breath inhaled and exhaled, and even the smells of fresh squeezed orange juice as they passed along my path.

Soon enough I was walking out the door, still nude, still bare, but as if that didn’t matter, as if it was meant to be, and as if this was the way it was supposed to be. As I passed through the front yard I looked back to see the house I just left fade into the distance, as if the yard was a great distance, but then I am at the streets edge, there are other people walking by, or jogging, and even walking their dogs, none of which paid me any attention. I even kneeled down to pet this man’s small dog, I spoke to him but he didn’t answer, and then he continues to walk away from me. I felt his shirt in my hand being pulled away as I tried to stop him, I screamed “look at me asshole” as loud as I possibly could, yet he pulled away. I chased him, I ran as fast as I could, while he walked he soon disappeared into the distance ahead of me. I found my self at the intersection of a very busy street, waiting with others at a bus stop, I listened as they spoke around me, but never to me. Out of bravery or out of ignorance, I reached out to this woman standing there, busy looking at something on her phone, and I knocked her phone out of her hand with a violent slap. Nothing, she merely has a look of disgust on her face as she picks up her now shattered phone. The other people around her began asking what happened and her only reply was that she must have just lost her grip and dropped it. Ahh, too bad I said to her. She looks right through me to smile at the man behind me who had passed on his condolences for her now dead phone. Wait, what in the fuck is going on! Why cant people see me? Why cant people feel me? Why cant people hear me?

On the bus I sat next to a man doing a crossword puzzle in the paper, when he didn’t know the word he would cheat by looking it up on his phone. I never liked cheaters. I took his bottle of water out of the seat, opened it, and began pouring it all over his paper and his lap, but what people saw was him pouring the water everywhere, very casually, and without thinking twice about it. What is going on? Who are these people around me but so far removed from me. I recognize some of the faces, this is my route, this isn’t my first time on this bus taking this trip. I will see where it leads, I will see where to get off when I know where to get off. But how will I know? I don’t even know where I’m going or why I’m going there. When the bus stops it is in front of a very large and tall building, it blocks the bright sunshine seen around me, everyone exits the bus, most of them heading inside the big building, passing through the doors, until I was all alone on what seemed like a deserted street corner. I feel very alone, scared, emotionless, and decide to go into the ominous building myself. When I get to the doors there is a man standing there in a guard’s uniform, I watched as he opened the doors for each of the people that had come before me but he was standing there like a statue before me, motionless, expressionless, seems very unhappy. I walked up to him, inches away from him, until I was pressed up against him, until I pushed myself closer, I began kissing him on his neck, caressing his chest with my hands, I let my hands slip to his zipper which I undid, holding his very limp member in my hand. I squeezed him, I dug my nails into his flesh, and he had not a single reaction. Then I feel myself being pushed forward by him, he is leaning in to pull the door open for yet another person, one which I snuck inside right behind. The marble floor was extremely cold on the bottoms of my feet, I needed to be someplace else.

I stood in the line where the people waited to walk through metal detectors, have their bagged searched, and a wand passed across them, as if to give the appearance that they really do care. My turn at the gate, nothing to put in the basket, no bag to be dug through, nothing to declare, and no magic badge to identify myself to the guards. As I passed through the metal detector it went off, there was a man 10 feet in front of me and a woman about the same distance behind me, but this thing’s sirens and lights are going nuts. The people around, to include the guards are bewildered, they are talking that the equipment has malfunctioned. No dumbasses, it didn’t malfunction, I don’t think at least, come get me, I’m right here, I feel you touching me as you come closer, but you don’t feel me, see me, smell me, or hear me, your fucking loss, I’m going in. Going in? Going in where? Follow the herd, they are all going somewhere inside this building, just follow the herd. I get on an elevator, packed so tight it was like being in a grinder at a meat market, the smells of 20 people all melting together to make one very bad smelling elevator. So much heavy breathing, it was like listening to an orgy in progress, bodies grinding, rubbing, moving, and the “ding” sounds the start of the mass separation, I’m forced out with a large number of the herd, so I just go with the flow. The moved like ants, all following the scent trail to their destination, one by one they dropped off into offices and cubicles leaving me out, I was standing there looking at people work, looking at people surfing porn on their phones, and even one woman I had followed to the bathroom because she looked suspicious, who sat in a stall, alone with her tiny little vibrator that she put to quick work. She had to bite into the flesh of her arm to contain her moans from her coworkers, faster and faster she went until she almost collapses. She wipes down the still dripping vibrator, slips into her purse, wipes herself down too, then it is over, as fast as it started, without washing her hands she touches up her make-up, tusses her hair a bit, and away she goes.

Bored with this floor I catch a ride on the executive elevator, we’re going all the way to the top floor. These men and women quickly load into a boardroom, get their coffee, muffins, and waters as they all try to find the best seat. When the big cheese enters they all stand, as if to show respect, but only thinking about their chair pushing away as they sit and making an ass out of themselves in front of the boss. Why else would they cling to their chairs? Fear? Speed? When they sit and he begins to speak I find myself on the long table, walking back and forth, looking at the view of the city out of the window. I found it fun to fuck with people’s hair, a little messing up of the different heads here and there never hurt. Then one man, as he brushed his hair back into place touched my hand, he looked right at me as if I had just been caught, stared into my eyes for a moment and then it was over. Did he know I was there? Did he know I was squatted down on the table in front of him, so close I could feel his breath on my stomach? Could he really feel me touch him? Did he really just touch my hand and feel it? Answer me motherfucker! Out of frustration I licked the side of his face, starting at the chin and ending at his forehead, he tasted like a woman. I wonder if that was the taste of his wife. Or was it his mistress? Or is he a sick pedophile fuck? Who are these people anyways? Why am I here? Needing a break I excused myself from the meeting and found myself in the office of one of the kings of this corporation. He’s living large, his office is huge, decorated with some very fine things from around the world. Probably all tax loopholes of some sort. His giant antique leather chair was very chilling to my flesh when I first sat in it, soon after I began to feel the wetness of my legs and ass on the leather, I was perspiring as I sat here, it was very warm, it was making me very sleepy. I cleared a space on this big desk to lay on it, I curled up and fell asleep right there. When I woke, it was dark in the office, dark outside, dark everywhere. I needed to get out. I find he has an elevator which goes straight to the parking garage, how convenient, so I took another ride.

The parking lot was empty, I walked around looking for a way out, then I see a car, a very nice car, with the lights on, as I approached the car I could hear it was running. When I peaked inside I see nobody, the door was open, and I got in. I put it in drive and just stepped as hard as I could on the gas pedal, I was going very fast in a short amount of time. I found the exit of the garage and headed towards it, the gate opens slowly and the guard looks at me in the car but cannot see me because the windows are tinted very dark. Then I just started driving, I drove all around the city, a place which is very different after dark, there are different people out, people who see the world in a different way. I started thinking, wondering about my day, this bizarre day which has also been fantastic. I drove that car fast, the speedometer stopped at 220mph but I kept going faster, every light on the street was green, I just kept going like there was no end, before long the blur of the city lights were far behind me, but I just keep driving. Everything comes to a dead stop, the car is halted by something, I am thrown forward through the windshield of the car, thrown so far I cant even see the car. It’s very dark, I’m very cold as I lay motionless, laid in a shallow puddle of water, face down, only hearing the sounds of the wind and rain. I wasn’t able to move or didn’t want to mover a very long time. I could feel the heat of the sun that came up in the morning, the sting of the sun as it blazed down on my back mid-day, and how I could feel relief as the sun would set again. I the final night I felt this for the last time.

The first thing I remember is sitting at the edge of my bed, stretching, feeling the coolness of the air in the room as it touches my body. As I wander around a house I don’t know I see myself moving quietly in the nude, as if I’m trying not to wake someone. I began to run a hot bath, the steam was billowing out like that of an old steam engine train, I could feel the heat and moisture of the steam but when I stepped into the water I could feel nothing. I continued to stand there under the water, letting it pour across my body like it was rinsing off what I did the night before. I bent down to turn off the water, letting the remaining water drip from my hair, as it ran down my back. I began walking, passing the room I didn’t know, walking wet, walking somewhere, walking anywhere. I went outside, sitting on the stairs of the porch, looking at the car that had been crushed into the giant tree in the front yard. I began walking towards this mangled car, remembering a car similar to this one from somewhere in time, there was blood everywhere, the interior was bathed in blood, the windshield laid a distance away from the front of the car, blood pooled on the hood and ground. I walked forward, seeing something in the distance, something glistening in the light rain, there was a nude girl’s body laid face down in a shallow puddle of blood and water. She looks peaceful, she looks as if she is part of the land, I kneel down, whipping the hair from her bloody face when she opens her eyes, looking into mine. She smiles at me, she whispers to me to that I am feeling no pain, I’m suffering no longer, she takes my hand into hers, pulls me closer until we lay together, together in peace, together forever.

When I woke up in the morning following this dream I remembered as if it happened. The girl was me, I watched myself during the entire dream. I, too, sat at the edge of my small bed, dripping in sweat, wondering what in the hell just happened. My friend and room-mate explained to me that she was woke up by me during the night when apparently I had the bath running at about 3 in the morning. As she watched me walk around the house naked she says she stopped me at the front door because I was trying to go out side for some reason. She took my hand and led me back to bed, where I was tucked in and watched for the remainder of the night. When I saw her when I first woke up she had a very scared look on her face, it reminded me of my mother’s face when she told me my grandmother I was vey closed to had passed away. I told my room-mate about my dream, it freaked her out a little, but she was there for me, held me, and brought me hot tea while I took a very hot bath to soak my aching body. She remained at my side, helping me scrub my back, then drying my hair for me, and eventually we just went down stairs, curled up on the couch and watched movies the rest of the day, old movies from the fifties, seemed like that was all that is on at that time of day. After we talked about my dream that first morning it has never been discussed again. I want to talk to her about it again, I want her to read this thing after it is written on your blog. I appreciate your willingness to share my dream with your audience. Maybe, just maybe someone out there has an explanation. Thanks again, yours truly LabRat.