It's just becoming ridiculous lately. Anyone who is in this industry knows how obnoxiously loud a stripper can become after consuming her preferred painkiller. Shit, even a fledgling two weeks in at a club will most certainly experience this and develop immediate aversions to particular strippers who just can't shut their fucking mouths. I mean, they're already loudmouths right out the gate, but once these particular broads get a few Cosmos into them, everyone proximity to them are fucked. Customers likely don't get that annoyed because their time in a strip club is sporadic, but I know damn-well security, deejays, and especially bartenders would rather throw ninja stars laced with strychnine at an intoxicated stripper than have her finish out her shift.
The dressing rooms are usually a fucking nightmare by 11:30 p.m., ya know, once 2/3 of them are just hammered beyond belief. Depending on the club you work in, you might or might not get a chance to pass this seeming torture room during your seven hours, but if you do, you know damn-well that merely walking past the door sounds like pigs and cows are being slaughtered in there. The screaming and cackling is out of control and must be stopped as so the rest of the staff can retain sanity.
Every so often there will be clamor that's above and beyond the norm and this feeling will automatically overcome you that something's about to go down. You'll hear chairs flailing and one broad in particular will be screeching loud enough to make bats fly out the cave. This is the point where you know the catfight is ensuing, but a male
veteran of the club won't be so inclined to walk in and stop the fight. No, not if you're like me, because it would be much more fulfilling if you just cracked the door open, threw some knives and a pistol on the ground then closed the door, board it up and let 'em fucking kill one another.
Ya know, if one were to think of phrases or a series of words that most commonly come out of normal people's mouths on the regular, one would probably assume stuff like, "I'm hungry," "I'm tired," or "I hate my job." Not me. You know what mine is? "Shut the fuck up." I must say that fifteen times a day to strippers and have been saying it for years and years. Does it do any good? Fuck no. I'd get more accomplished if I just started beating my head repeatedly into a wall, but "shut the fuck up" just so happens to come out and maybe in my little mind, it helps me cope because I can at least say I tried to stop the madness.
Of course, since "STFU" isn't doing anybody jack shit these days, perhaps we could move on to alternative methods of silencing these beasts. Here's what I came up with.
Mononucleosis
Mono is spread through direct contact with saliva, so if she won't kiss someone you know who has it, you can always ask them to just spit in her face and maybe some will get in her mouth. Dispersion of this sickness also includes sharing utensils or drinks, so almost like putting out a saltlick for a deer, just leave an infected alcoholic beverage set at the bar and most assuredly a stripper will try to steal it for herself within 14 minutes. How you are going to get the specific stripper you want silenced to drink this tainted elixir is going to be up to you, but I wish you all the best in your efforts.
Now, because it takes about 30 to 50 days for symptoms of mono to appear, you might want to put a little forecast into the equation, because if you have to wait almost two months for the bitch to be gone directly after you infect, especially when you're already at full tilt, that time will go by too slow and you'll start fantasizing about her throat in a vice, and, man, you don't want to go to prison over this, nor do I want you to. I mean, the chick will be back to work in a couple months or so, but still . . . just think of the serene environment you've created for everyone else. I imagine they will thank you, actually.
Unfortunately, people who have already been infected with the virus that causes mono (Epstein-Barr virus or EBV) will develop an immunity that protects them from future infections, much like chicken pox, so before you do any of the aforementioned, maybe pretend to like her enough to get it out of her if she's already been infected.
If she has, you needn't worry. There are plenty of alternative ways to silence a drunk stripper.
Muzzle
Hey, now this isn't too far out there; work with me here for a moment. I mean, the muzzle was invented for animals that were too stupid to keep their mouths closed for whatever reason, and as we can all agree, mammals that walk upright in heels and pay tip-out are often too stupid to keep their mouths closed as well, so they shouldn't be excluded from those who deserve restraint.
Ideally, no . . . no we don't put the muzzle on them at the beginning of their shifts, but somewhere near the one o'clock hour these could come in handy. Just think of that one bitch who's always sloshed beyond control and won't shut the fuck up and everyone who has to work around her knows this. As punishment, for her last half-hour on the floor, she would have to wear a muzzle. We could even make it fashionable for her by using Hannibal's.
Sure, people will laugh at first, but as time went on and this became an industry standard, I think we'd all see her being punished and simply shake our heads in disappointment. This method will truly tell us if drunken strippers possess shame or not.
Chloroform and Hanky
Wait 'til she's piss drunk and her obnoxious level has breached tolerability. Maybe take a smoke break from wherever you're stationed and ask her to come with you for a moment. Ultimately your goal is to make her pass out so she shuts up. Now, punching her is likely a class A misdemeanor in whatever state you're in, but I don't know what the penalty could possibly be for allowing your fellow coworkers a couple hours of peace and quiet by smothering her annoying face with a dosed hanky for a few seconds. I mean, to be real honest, it sounds like public service to me, but I'm sure it's highly illegal.
Best to do this in a closet or maybe out back. Maybe flirt with her for 3 seconds and pull the handkerchief out and tell her you found it on the floor, but it smells something ambrosia and you want her to maybe identify the scent so you can pick some up for your mom. If she won't smell the hanky, kick her in the head first, then when she falls just put the hanky over her face since she wouldn't smell it to begin with. I envision it goes something like this:
With any luck, the chloroform mixed with all that vodka she's taken in on this particular evening, she'll awaken and her recollection won't play a role as to how everyone's headache magically went away after they hadn't heard from her since she'd fallen on stage earlier.
An Open Fist
Ah . . . tried and true. The 'ol slap isn't being performed nearly enough on people's children as of late, so it's only fair someone fills the slot. What's great about slapping obnoxiously drunk and annoying strippers is that sometimes they truly won't remember they've been checked, which doesn't necessarily teach them a lesson for next time, but holy fuck, talk about satisfaction.
Don't slap strippers in house. Wait 'til you're outside the club and make sure you're done fucking/dating them before you give them the wallop to the cranium. Now, even though the urge is immense to clench your fist and just pulverize her, I recommend not taking this route because how tainted your criminal record will be from that point onward. They'll make you lose your mind enough to the point of wanting to repaint the walls with their blood, but just don't give in. A slap while they're the shittiest of shitfaced always pulls through . . . especially to those young ones who think they know it all.
