In Which I Get The Hell Out

After a few days of hanging out with the most awesome people ever in this big scary city and not really making much money I start to see how people end up staying here forever. I love it.

The animal cops leave a note on my windshield while I’m sleeping saying that it’s illegal for dogs to be left unattended in cars and they will kidnap Bro in 24 hours if I don’t call them. I call them, they ask for my name, I tell them it’s none of their business but they can obviously run my plates if they’re that interested. They say I shouldn’t be defensive, they’re just concerned about dogs. I say if they were that concerned they would have knocked on the door and woken me up instead of leaving a note threatening to kidnap Bro. They say I’m interfereing with their investigation, and I tell them they’re interfereing with my life.

I start bleeding from my cunt and Craigslist suspends my account. Bye bye, money I’m not making.

The goon buys me Thai food and gives me massages. Bro and I hide in our wilderness courtesan friends house so he doesn’t get kidnapped by animal cops. We do photo shoots and I discover that over a decade of stripping has left me with a pretty good understanding of how to present myself, compared to other women. I teach the wilderness courtesan how to stand sexy and walk in six inch heels.

A sweet gay boy from a monkey store with an owl that I love comes over and I dress him up in stripper clothes too. After several days of no sessions and no sex, the wilderness courtesan and I decide to take care of each other. The goon is in heaven, watching. The gay boy invokes Jesus Christ and changes out of my latex dress as he runs for the door. The wilderneses courtesan has these amazing orgasms, and tons of them. I’m so jealous. I can’t wait for my thirties.

We eat fancy cheese, and brownies, and go to see Faeries that turn out to be Ferries. Every day we think we are working, and every day our customers mostly cancel or don’t show.

Helga stops starting. It has something to do with reverse, which makes no sense to me. She’s parked on the side of a big scary street in a big scary city and Bro and I decide to abandon ship. He carries the tennis ball, and I carry the dulcimer, to the wilderness courtesans house. She has a big fluffy bed, and it is the third night in eighteen months that I’ve spent not in Helga.

About the time that the not starting starts to make sense to me and I begin to consider taking apart the steering column she starts! I’m not stupid. I know I’d rather be broke down anyplace besides here, and preferrably at a truck stop. I get in and drive away. I’ve got forty dollars, but then I find some cash that I stashed last time I had bunches, and it makes me feel rich.

Helga keeps starting and I keep driving. I’m going to a little gathering in the woods, which is where I probably am while you’re reading this, because I actually wrote it a few days ago.


  1. Do you ever worry about Bro being in the van for periods of time? Is it ever too hot in there? I have NEXT to no respect for most animal units, but I do get that they come across the worst kind of assholery on their job, so they presume the worst. I know you take A-1 care of him, but they don’t.

  2. umm…. jo, it was obvious from her explanation that she was in the van *with* Bro when the animal cops left their note. If they had knocked and woken her up, they would have discovered that he was NOT abandoned. If she can survive in the van at the same time, it was obviously NOT too hot for Bro!!!!!

  3. Your previous posts sound as if you were carefully walking around something sticky. I hope that the woods will help you readjust.
    And I am looking forward to my thirties too.

  4. Forgive me if you’ve answered this already, but what exactly does the word “goon” mean in this context? It’s clear that the goon is a servant of some type, but how does he figure into this equation?

  5. To Allie: My guess was someone in a Dom/Sub relationship. But I’m probably wrong.

  6. Ann: I figured the same thing, but am thrown off by his ability to be there all day long (which implies he does not work) *and* spend money buying people food or whatnot. My impression of him is as someone of substandard intelligence, which would eliminate the likelihood of him being wealthy, save if he possesses a trust fund.

    I think because he and his role are so ambiguous, I’m most curious about him. It’s like when you [editorial sense] remember a childhood story, but you have forgotten a few small but significant details and have to call home to inquire about it so the story is complete. Or rather, for me, he is that small but significant detail.

  7. hello people confused about da goon- he is functioning as a bouncer (in case the client goes wonky the goon throws him out). he has average intelligence of men around nekkid women aka “sub-standard”- at least compared with nekkid women.

  8. I just read panda bear’s comment and laugh spit my coffee all over my monitor

    and hey, the 30’s were great-
    the 40’s are even better.

  9. ” I start to see how people end up staying here forever. I love it. ”

    Me too ! It’s such a special place ( including the surrounding area ) filled with progressive thinkers. Every time I go there, it feels like home to me.

  10. OMG, you guys! The goon has a brain and a job. He’s just a nice guy who worries about his hooker friends and comes over and hides in the closet in case anything goes down. Just like any bouncer, we tipped him a percentage of what we made. Of course, hanging out with us has benefits, too. 🙂

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