I’ve always been curious about how strippers deal with the flow. Although the Mesopotamians (hell, every ancient culture) believed that women shouldn’t work, prepare food, or travel whilst bleeding, modern girls can’t just take a week off. But what if you work naked? Thongs with a tampon string hanging out are so not hot, cramps aside.
And the blood-smeared pole-ew! I’m sure some working girls read your column; after all, the hos do love Murray. He reminds them of that one creepy uncle, I think. Will you find out for me, please?
Also, find out if we can re-institute the menstrual taboo against working. Then, support me.
-Tired of working the bloody chain gang
You know, I’ve never once contemplated this shit in my life, but now I’m having 126147562456456 close calls and business ideas pop inna my head. Think of all the possibilities!
You know there’s plenty of goth mothafuckas out there who would pay top dollah to watch a girl roll around on the stage, rubbing her menstrual blood all over herself. Yes! We won’t even need a regular cast of strippers. Flowing and can’t strip at your normal club? Moonlight at Murray’s House of Hos n’ Flows! Leave your mark on our Jack the Slipper n’ Slide!
Head on down to our Red Sea Diver cafe (complete with submarine theme) for Chef Flo’s signature White Asparagus in Ketchup! You won’t know it’s not bloody alien cock!
The possibilities are endless: girl-on-girl tampon jousts with real blood! Flowing contests for distance/volume/accuracy! It’ll be pure Bloody Bloody Bedlam!*
Hell, this place is gonna be so much fucking fun, we’re gonna have girls trying to extend their periods just to spend more time at MHoHnF. I wonder how we’ll get around the Health Dept. Inspection?
Ideas are welcome.
That’s what I’d do if I were a stripper. Well, that, or just wear one of these.
But my idea seems somehow much less goddamned hippie.
Now leave me the fuck alone.
* Murray’s House of Hos n’ Flows is not responsible for damaged brought about by anemia caused as a result of enjoying flowing too much at MHoHnF. Flow wisely.
Dear Murray a tasty, tasty bitch beloved and feared by hordes of basement-dwelling illiterati and their fierce antagonists, the Grammar Nazis. He single-handedly turned the webcam whorefest of Myspace into a lively commerce of ideas, including whether or not the TUBGIRL photo will ever be topped as a postmodern expression of the inexpressible. According to web historians, he has inspired more photoshop projects and syphilis jokes than Britney Spears (who he has been repeatedly linked romantically to). He is also rumoured to be the father of Anna Nicole Smith's baby, a disciple of Cliff Yablonski, and the second gunman on the grassy knoll. Although he could not be reached for comment, he reportedly resides in or near the tent cities along the LA River Basin, third right after the walrus sunning station.
He has vehemently denied all charges that he is any any way responsible for that rash your wife claims "is from the heat".
His primary function is doling out advice; the inspiration sprang from an endless and eventually dull repetition of fucktards failed to heed his words.
A secondary result is a dysfunctional family "round table" of people who contribute innumerable one-liners and personal experiences, rarely related in any way to the actual question.
It is estimated that tens of thousands of readers have "LOL'd" approximately 5,395,645,694,167,467,105 times, with the toll expected to rise.
He is immune to kryptonite, chlamydia, and brainwashing.
Wikipedia has banned PENCILTITS's entry, debating the relevance of his tasty bitchiness.