The Lost Cause of Teazers: Conclusion

Here is the dry affidavit.

Camden, Tennessee. Trail of Tears territory. According to a 23andMe saliva test, I have .3% indigenous DNA. There are signs for the area of Camden calling it Magic Valley, and it's certainly a magickal place to stroll around and inhale centuries of a certain Southern Gothic je ne sais quoi. I highly recommend the truck stop buffet on the highway next to Teazers. It has salad, black eyed peas, and assorted other vegan-by-default cultural delicacies to warm the soul and fill the belly. I'd go there most days before work in November and December 2019, sitting for an hour or so drinking black coffee, eating plate after plate of salad, people watching at the height of the holiday season. The attached gas station store sold local vegan-by-default turnover pies, made by a woman in a neighboring town. Up the highway in Hurricane Mills, there's a charming Loretta Lynn museum and attached buffet. Sometimes after work, I'd drive into Camden to use the Casey's gas station wifi, eat a fresh vegan deli sandwich, and bask in the early AM glory of magic valley. Sometimes I'd stay in a local hotel, but many nights I headed over to the Birdsong Road Marina, to safely park in one of the RV spots and sleep in my car.

About a month before returning to Teazers in 2019, I was fired from a club called Mouse's Ear in Knoxville, for exercising my labor rights. Right after Mouse's Ear fired me, my catalytic converter stopped functioning, causing the check engine light to come on and a significant loss in engine pressure. A sensor had also malfunctioned, overheated, and melted into the body of the car. For most of my Teazers 2019 experience, I was stuck saving up money to fix everything. I couldn't just cut the converter off, because it's manifold is designed in such a way that it is permanently attached to the rest of the vehicle. Stettner's Auto Repair in Camden is where I repeatedly went during the day time, to have them work on this or that. A MAGA hat sat squarely on Stettner's front desk, with Mr. Stettner repeatedly complaining about Californians ruining freedoms to saw off catalytic converters, and how a lawsuit needed to be filed against catalytic converter designs like my car had, which ruin engines.

For a few days while in Camden, I had to drive out to Nashville's NLRB office, to do my affidavit against Mouse's Ear, which was later found meritorious. That meritorious finding would eventually lead to Mouse's Ear settling, and requiring them to fasten labor rights posters in their club, similar to the other clubs around the country that have had to put up posters after my meritorious complaints.

Steve Earle's “Copperhead Road” is a song I first heard at Mouse's Ear in Knoxville. Since then, it has become one of my favorite songs, and I've requested it at every club I've been to after Knoxville. Manager Diamond at Teazers had a severe problem with “Copperhead Road,” and many of the other songs I requested. At a certain point, she began harassing me, by putting on shitty misogynist rap songs which she described as “club music,” and banned country from being played at Teazers. She insisted I had to dance to “club music” that she thought customers would prefer. This was all the more strange given the rural location of Teazers and the local population's love of country music. An ugly stripper not from the area, named Kelania, regularly criticized the Gen-X Alternative and Country songs I danced to, as though she was unable to cognitively understand dancers who don't like dancing to disgusting crappy ass-obsessed modern rap music.

An obese dancer from Mississippi named Red, mentioned in previous posts, furiously humped customers during dances, in order to keep them buying more songs from her. While I barely made any physical contact with customers and still sold many songs, near the end of my time at Teazers, Red resorted to spreading rumors that I was “giving hand jobs,” even though the dances occurred out in the open for everyone to see, and even though she clearly saw that I was not doing those things she accused me of. Red would waddle around the club telling customers not to talk to me, saying that my behavior was going to get the club shut down. It was astonishing, but not surprising.

Diamond didn't seem at all concerned about my privacy or concealing my legal identity. For example, while I didn't tell Bobby Wayne Coleman my personal information while discussing genealogy with him, one day he revealed to me that Diamond told him my legal name, age, and occasional occupation as a welder.

After my car was fixed, after I walked through all of the Camden cemeteries I needed to visit, after my Mouse's Ear affidavit was completed in Nashville, after I determined that Diamond had driven a previously thriving business so thoroughly into the ground that it was struggling to stay open, I typed up a note to her at the local Camden library, describing her labor violations that I was not interested in following. Tennessee is a one-party consent audio recording state, so I made sure to keep my recorders on inside my bag for the entire time I was at work-- toilets flushing and all. My friend Phoenix and I discussed possibly striking in a dramatic way, but Phoenix was getting badly bullied by Diamond and Daisy, had a demure personality, and just decided to stay home instead of going back there. After expressing my labor rights to Diamond, I have one funny recording of her screaming at me,

“Are you a fuckin' lawyer?!”

Diamond's lawyer question was funny for me to hear, and for the Nashville NLRB agent to hear, because I'd been asked that before. In fact, I was angrily asked if I was a lawyer just a month prior, by Mouse's Ear owner Buddy Browning, when Mouse's Ear in Knoxville terminated me. The answer to that question is of course no, I am not a lawyer-- just a worker who knows my rights, and wants other people to respect those rights.

I had to leave Camden right away after getting fired from Teazers, and did most of my Teazers NLRB affidavit in my car, in the parking lot of a Paducah, KY McDonald's, telling the Nashville NLRB agent about all of the things that had happened at Teazers, occasionally getting off the phone to run into McDonald's for a coffee or bathroom break.

The Lost Cause of Teazers: Daisy and The Dancers

Here’s the dry affidavit.

Before we begin, I'd like to say that I will not be doxxing Daisy Mae, even though I totally intended to up until around last Autumn, when she emailed me asking for help on how to sue Teazers, as well as offering me her help with my claims she thought I still had. I emailed her back and told her what had happened to me when I attempted to hold Teazers accountable-- that I collected plenty of evidence of Teazers misclassifying dancers, Diamond's abuse, my illegal termination-- but that a club with such a low yearly gross income is not in the NLRB's jurisdiction, that most lawyers aren't going to invest in suing this place, and that Teazers is just too poor to file claims against. Sometimes small businesses can get away with horrible things like Teazers does. While some clubs commit tax evasion by lying about how much they make per year, I do believe Teazers is legitimately destitute enough to not matter.

Over the six or so years that I've been suing clubs, I've occasionally received communications from people who I least expected to contact me-- managers who have fired me, owner's adult offspring offering me moral support-- or dancers who intended to testify against me but had a change of heart, want my help and offer their help to me.

I met Daisy on the first day of my 2019 return, while I was sitting down in the back office with Diamond, filling out paperwork. Normally strip clubs just have the dancer select her own stage name, but Diamond stated that dancer Daisy was going to “name” me, and proceeded to yell for Daisy to come in. The thought of being “named” disgusted me, especially by another dancer who the manager seemed to be sharing some kind of power alliance with. I was expecting a plastic surgery type of a stripper to come in, but Daisy Mae appeared to be “all natural” in that way, rather pear shaped and country with bleached hair. I quickly said,

“How about Wendy!” I pretended like I had just thought of the name, when in fact I've used it off and on for years. I'm pretty sure it's what I used in 2012 at Teazers. Daisy seemed apathetic to what name I should have, thankfully, and aside from running into the office, she did not appease Diamond's attempts to triangulate or establish a controlling power dynamic by “naming” me. Daisy agreed that I could be Wendy, so Diamond did as well.

Daisy was about as tall as me, if not taller. Her voice is raspy from prolonged smoke inhalation and hard living, with an almost Mississippi cadence to her drawl. The town she is from is about an hour south of Camden, closer to the Mississippi border. She speaks with confidence, projecting from deep within her bowels. We're about the same age. Whatever happened in Daisy's life that culminated to the way she was in late 2019, made her a true Alpha.

Daisy took a liking to me almost immediately, expressed that she respected me and my confidence, and attempted to befriend me. Sometimes confident alphas react that way toward me. However, I witnessed the ways in which Daisy bullied other dancers, behaving like a volatile control freak who instilled fear into them. I feared that with time, she would grow irritated with my reserved nature and superior hustling skills, then turn on me. That is, in fact, exactly what happened in the few short weeks that I was at Teazers in late 2019. During my last night at Teazers, she messed up my money significantly by harassing me with customers, and repeatedly threatened to beat me up. I'll try to describe her behaviors as best as I can emotionally handle, how she triangulated much of the other dancer interactions, and the centralized power that she and Diamond harvested within the petty walls of this workplace.

Often times at strip clubs, length of time one has worked at one place is a good indicator of social power. Daisy stated that she started working at Teazers in the Summer of 2012, shortly after my first time there. A dancer named Blue, who I met in 2012, was also working there in 2019, and confirmed Daisy's longevity.

In addition to Blue dancing there, the other dancers included Phoenix, Ebony, Red, Ginger, Molly, Black Cherry, and Kelania. Most of these dancers were named by Diamond and Daisy.

With the exception of my friend Phoenix, none of these Teazers dancers were kind or welcoming to me, and most of them were unattractive on the inside as well as outward appearances.

Phoenix started working at Teazers shortly after I returned in 2019, and stopped working there around the time that I was fired. She hadn't danced before. Her previous job was a union painter, and together we discussed all of the disgusting, sexually harassing, disrespectful, horrible males who work in the trades, both union and non-union.

Beastly Daisy recognized that Phoenix wasn't as troubled as everyone else who worked there, so she regularly harassed and bullied her. Daisy noticed that I raised in the social ranks quickly at Teazers, so while at first she referred to me as “Miss Wendy,” eventually she began spreading false rumors that I was engaged in prostitution. Daisy and Diamond also began harassing me about a made up smell they said I had, and badgered me to put on perfume and clean myself more often. I had no offensive smell, but it was just their way of harassing me. Diamond and Daisy would regularly hang out in the bathroom to gossip and talk. While food and edible items weren't generally allowed in the dressing room, and Diamond harassed people who she found out brought food in there, Daisy could do all of those things. She also had a NyQuil addiction, and regularly gulped shots of it from the bottle she kept at her spot by the mirror. She'd joke and state that Diamond was her mother. Generally Daisy and Diamond only kept around dancers who fell in line and did as they told them to, whose appearances did not threaten them, and who were too economically desperate to challenge labor violations and workplace abuse. All of these dancers were unkind to Phoenix and I, but plebs are gonna pleb.

Daisy stated that her child's father tried to murder her, by throwing a plugged in toaster into the bathtub while she was taking a bath. She didn't press charges to put him in prison, she said, because she wanted her son to grow up with a father. Daisy's newest boyfriend at the time was a fellow named Tanner who lived on Birdsong Road in Camden, where some of my ancestors were born, lived, and are buried.

I was happy to receive an email from Daisy stating she wanted to help me after all, and I hope she evolves to recognize her own abusive behaviors.

The Lost Cause of Teazers: DJ Dennis

Here is the dry affidavit.

What StripperLaborRights.com series would be complete without a post about the piece of shit DJ involved in my rights violations, harassment and termination? Teazers had a morbidly obese DJ named Dennis, and this one goes out to him.

I wish I had a photo of Dennis to post on here, but can only describe him with words. He is a bald, fat white man from Memphis. He is in his late twenties or early thirties, with a Southern twang and sweet disposition. He had some sort of goatee that he frequently, pathologically caressed during times of excited conversation.

I was nice to Dennis for most of the short time that I worked for Teazers. His wife had recently died of cancer, which left him a single parent to a litter of children who he and his wife produced during her short time on Earth. I handsomely tipped Dennis out of pity. He was very poor and financially needy.

Dennis’s sister was a cook at Teazers. She got paid an hourly wage, but occasionally gave customers lap dances, because she did not give a fuck about the worker rights of dancers, and was willing to skim off our profits when not cooking food in the kitchen. When I was giving my affidavit for Teazers, the NLRB examiner and I had a good chuckle about how gross it was that Dennis’s sister was dry humping customers in between frying things up in the kitchen. Dennis’s sister was upset with me after I asserted my rights to Diamond, and expressed her dismay with glares and gossip.

Dennis and I had a business arrangement worked out where I would carry around a bucket for a song or two, asking customers for tips to the DJ. Dennis would then give me half of his tips that I collected for him, excitedly expressing how thankful he was for me to collect like seven dollars for him or whatever. I felt nothing but pity that this paltry sum caused him such joy. Eventually Diamond saw what Dennis and I were doing, wanted to triangulate, felt threatened, and banned us from doing that.

Like most strip club DJs, Dennis was a two-faced shit talker who did his best to stay afloat socially and exploit everyone for tips. Dennis would regularly tell me all sorts of things about Diamond ruining all joy, attractiveness and profits in Teazers. However, Diamond’s dancer friend Daisy paid him money to play songs I didn’t want to dance to on stage and bully me over the microphone. Dennis would have done almost anything for money in that place, including bothering me with songs, in a way that caused me to assert my labor rights and get fired. The details are in the affidavit and I do not wish to dwell on them any further, so I will end the post with this— perhaps if Dennis lost some weight and gained some skills, he could join a Memphis labor union to support his starving children, so he wouldn’t have to drive out to Camden on the weekends scrounging for bucks and being an asshole on the microphone while his sister dry humps losers right next to him.

The Lost Cause of Teazers: Bobby Wayne Coleman

Here is the dry affidavit.

Teazers has a loser regular named Bobby Wayne Coleman. Here is his photo that I found on his facebook:

He’d come in there most nights that we were open and stay a few hours. All of the staff and dancers knew who he was, and occasionally he’d hop up on stage to jokingly dance or do other tacky, slapstick things, as though he were in high school being a popular/funny guy with obnoxious masculinity for all to see and laugh at good ‘ole boy Bobby Wayne Coleman.

He’d usually say very sexually disgusting, vulgar things to me when I sat down at a table to chat with him, which inspired me to avoid him most of the time. However, I did some genealogical research on Bobby to find that there were multiple inter-marriages between his ancestors and mine in Camden, TN, over the course of two hundred years. He has some relatives who are buried in the same Birdsong Road cemetery where mine are buried. The cemetery in question is relatively small and isolated, so it was interesting to find all of the similarities between Bobby’s genealogy and my own. I think we are distant cousins. It was around the time I mentioned the cousins thing to Bobby that he started being nicer to me and asking me out on dates.

Diamond didn’t like it very much when I sat and talked with Bobby Wayne Coleman. She’d do all kinds of creepy things like come up behind him while I was asking him genealogy questions, to rub his shoulders and rub her ugly old lady fake tits against the back of his head while he was eating some of the nasty food that Teazers served. It was so grotesque to see, but also morbidly entertaining like I was stuck in some horrible John Waters movie.

Here is a food photo I pulled from some Teazers social media:

Bobby Wayne Coleman had a married friend who came to the club with him sometimes. I wish I could remember that guy’s name so I could doxx him. One time, he and his married friend had to bolt out of there, because his friend’s wife called to check on where he was. His friend lied to his wife and said he wasn’t at Teazers. After Bobby and his friend left, his friend’s wife and her gal pal rushed in from Camden, to ask the dancers if they had been in club. Diamond instructed everyone to lie and say we hadn’t seen them. I really wanted to tell, but instead I just avoided the women completely.

I suspected that Bobby was some kind of drug dealer by the frequency with which he visited Teazers and comfort level he had with all of the staff. Bobby owned a hydroponic CBD hemp operation that he was really proud to talk about, but then sometimes he’d get into talking about cannabis in a secretive way with certain people, as though there was some stuff he didn’t want to broadcast.

Bobby completely stopped acknowledging me after I asserted my labor rights to Diamond, informed her she is breaking the law, and refused to do any of the stupid bullshit rules she spitefully told me to follow. It was an unfortunate but unsurprising consequence. On my last night of work before being fired, Bobby was in there hanging out and wouldn’t even say hi to me. As disappointing as it was, Bobby Wayne Coleman certainly isn’t the first cousin of mine to side with some stupid bitch who likes to triangulate.

The state park near Camden is called Nathan Bedford Forrest State Park. Nathan Bedford Forrest was the first Grand Wizard of the klan. I consider the fact that they haven’t yet renamed that state park a testament to how stupid and horrible most of the people in and around Camden are.

The Lost Cause of Teazers: Door Guy Frank

Here is the dry affidavit.

Teazers had an allegedly disabled guy named Frank who worked the door, sometimes getting paid and sometimes not getting paid. He was a former truck driver who had some alleged physical malady preventing him from returning to his profession, so he took a liking to hanging out at the door of Teazers, collecting fees and walking dancers to our cars. Occasionally he would tell dancers various rules, as though he was a manager. Frank was oblivious to labor law regarding contractors and employees in the strip club setting. He was also oblivious to how grotesque it was when he whistled at us or went into the dressing room to talk about rules. I was happy that most of the dancers were really mean to him. Part of his job was to announce that we were open over the CB radio, in order to attract patrons. I think he was fired from Teazers for a time, because he was providing insufficient advertising for us, but he continued to come into the club to hang out for many of our open hours and eventually got back on the pay roll. He was passive-aggressively creepy and annoying.

I’d like to know what Frank’s surname is so I could look him up, do a background check, doxx him more, etc. If anybody reading this has any information about Frank, personal anecdotes or just facts, please contact me through the tab at the top of this page.

The Lost Cause of Teazers: Diamond

Here is the dry affidavit.

I first met Diamond in the Summer of 2012. I still don't know her real name. It's so exhausting thinking about Diamond, because she's such an awful person. That's why I've procrastinated for this many months in continuing the series-- because I hate that woman to an extreme degree and don't want to think about her. Thinking about her gives me trauma fatigue and makes me want to lay down for a nap every time I start to make this post. That being said, in 2012, she was relatively unremarkable in terms of being abusive and harassing dancers. Diamond was simply a bartender/server/kitchen helper in 2012. In 2019, she was a manager.

Diamond was her dancer stage name, which she used because she also danced at Teazers. I didn't see her dance until 2019. She is an unattractive old lady of Italian-American descent, with short bleach blonde hair, and large fake tits bolted onto a petite, muscular, V-shaped frame, which she proudly flaunted around the club, as though she thought of herself as attractive. I've encountered a lot of small masculine V-shaped women with fake tits in strip clubs, who are proud to be there. I can only deduce that they were so void of femininity early on in life that they are making up for lost time within the walls of the club. Diamond is from the Rochester, New York area. She migrated down to my ancestral homeland of rural West Tennessee a couple of decades ago, so she could work at a truck stop strip club and flirt with disgusting perverted truck drivers all night. It's likely one of the few places in the world where someone as gross and disgusting as she is able to feel special.

Below is a photo of Diamond in the kitchen of Teazers when she was younger:

In the Summer of 2012, I was on a road trip, exploring the lower half of the United States. Tennessee is where most of my estranged maternal lineage has lived for a couple hundred years. I combined a genealogy trip with a strip club trip, a practice I have repeated throughout my adult life, in order to afford fine cuisine and study time.

There is a desperate hopelessness to the Teazers geographic location, wooded and haunted and weird. Patsy Cline's airplane crashed within walking distance of one of the Freemason cemeteries where some of my long lost kin are buried. When Michelle Obama's bill to help prevent childhood obesity in school lunches was launching, I was sitting inside of a Pizza Hut in this community, eavesdropping on some morbidly obese locals, who were angrily discussing how the Obamas were impeding on their freedoms. In all likelihood, I was related to some of the folks in that pizza hut, but they never would've recognized me and I certainly didn't say anything to them. Nobody knows who I am out there, but I often know who they are.

I found Teazers on TUSCL.com. When I called in 2012 to ask about work, a female manager named Cameron answered the phone. She told me that I would need to come in to meet her first. She had a sweet, cheerful Tennessee honey twang and a high pitched voice like my own. When I went in to meet her, she and I hit it off right away. She was almost nine months pregnant at the time, with big blue eyes, porcelain skin and prominent cheekbones. Cameron introduced me to the owner, who was a bearded older male from Michigan. Bob Seeger's “Turn The Page” was the song that was playing when I first entered the building. The owner was leisurely strolling around the club in blue jeans, while Cameron did most of the work, which included running the DJ booth until the DJ arrived, bar tending, running the registers, and of course controlling the dancers in a managerial fashion. Back in 2012, I didn't know what the Economic Realities test was with regards to independent contractor determination, but I did think it was fucked up that Teazers took $5 out of every $25 dance I gave (a predetermined price set by the club), and I was bothered that they enforced a variety of rules upon me that I didn't have to follow at Oregon strip clubs. Wooden paneling covers most of the interiors of Teazers. Thick cigarette smoke fog swirls throughout the building, intertwined with the scent of sizzling steak. I only worked there for a shift or two during that trip. I returned to work there for a day or two a few months later, while passing through the area on a different road trip.

The next time I decided to work at Teazers was in late 2019, when I was running out of other viable options, due to my labor activism, lawsuits, and blacklisting. By viable options, I mean that from my 2012 experiences, I thought I could dance at Teazers without having to make physical contact with the customers, I could earn a middle class living, and I would not have to dance to crappy dubstep or misogynist rap music all night. I called the club to ask if I could come back to work there. Cameron didn't answer the phone though. Instead, Diamond answered. I asked her if Cameron was still the manager, to which she replied no, and informed me she was the new manager. I was instructed to come into work so she can see me in person before determining if I could work there. She told me that it was mandatory to work a certain number of full shifts per week.

Upon my return, I asked Diamond what happened to Cameron. Diamond informed me that the dancers didn't like Cameron, because Cameron “played favorites” with the dancers-- a practice I never witnessed. She then informed me that Cameron was stealing money from the cash registers and safes, which caused the owner to initiate a police investigation in an attempt to catch her. Diamond told me that the police and owner were unsuccessful in catching or convicting Cameron of these crimes, which made me happy. Remembering beautiful poor Cameron run around the club so pregnant in 2012, doing so much of the work while the owner didn't appear to do much of anything, I was happy to hear about her potentially redirecting the profits of a miserly exploitative piece of shit strip club owner. I didn't say any of that stuff to Diamond though.

The small dressing room in Teazers was down a few steps at the back of the stage, just as I remembered. With cinder block walls, limited heating and modest flooring, it was nothing to brag about in comparison to the lavish dressing rooms of Vegas or Chicago, or even the modest homey ones of rural Minnesota. In 2019, the dressing room wall décor were photographs of Diamond, which were not there in 2012. Other changes in the dressing room included a specific area of tables and chairs that Diamond claimed as “hers,” with her dancer supplies in the area, and her name on various items. The dressing room aesthetic was abnormal compared to other strip clubs. While there are often alpha females involved in strip club dressing rooms, the extent to which Diamond established her presence was odd. It was entertaining to me in a novel way to see a New York Italian engaging in such behavior in such a place as rural West Tennessee.

Most of the dancers at Teazers in 2019 were unattractive, and unable to engage in interesting conversation. Compared to the several dozen per shift who I worked with in 2012, many of whom were conventionally attractive, the amount of dancers in 2019 was about ten total. I was informed that many of the dancers I met in 2012 were travelers who knew Cameron or who heard about the money making potential of Teazers and considered it an economically desirable place to work, despite the commute. All of that was gone in 2019. Upon my 2019 return, it was very easy for me to surpass other dancers in the lap dance selling tally, simply through customer conversation and steady eye contact. The other dancers were baffled by my tally, and secretly engaged in conversations about the possible root of my sales tactics. Most of the 2019 dancers engaged in hardcore grinding activities with the customers, the extend to which I did not witness in 2012. Their dances were illegal in a prostitution way, but the dancers were mostly in denial about doing them. What made their denial more strange was the fact that they made repeated attempts to label me a prostitute, even though they were able to see me dancing and visually know that I was not engaged in any illegal activity or barely touching at all.

For those unfamiliar with strip club politics, sometimes if one dancer is making significantly more money than the others, she will get labeled a prostitute, even if she does not engage in illegal activity. Ironically, often times, the people doing the labeling do engage in illegal activity themselves.

Among the dancers, Diamond was the biggest bully. Her managerial position gave her power that other dancers did not have, so she was able to randomly accuse people of prostitution and threaten to fire them whenever she wanted. You can read the dry affidavit linked at the top of the page to get a full understanding of Diamond's behavior as a manager. In a nutshell, she abused and harassed every attractive woman who worked there as a dancer, accused them of engaging in prostitution, bullied them into quitting on a regular basis, incited violence and bullying from other dancers, and pressured women to engage in degrading acts on stage. Business was slow at Teazers while I worked there in 2019, which surprised me, because it was quite busy in 2012.

The DJ in 2019 regularly told me that Diamond had caused this lull in business, by intentionally getting rid of attractive dancers and keeping ones who did not threaten her ego. The extent to which she flexed these powers was comedic. I was informed that Diamond had only been a manger at Teazers for less than a year, and that the owner wanted to find a new manager. In 2019, I did not see the owner I met in 2012, but was informed that he was the same one.

Diamond Doesn't understand labor law, so when she started exerting pressure on me to follow arbitrary rules that she didn't enforce on less successful dancers to follow, and when I did not follow those rules, she fired me. She very clearly misclassified and very clearly got rid of me for my protected speech in the workplace. This post isn't as elaborate or detailed as I wanted it to be. She is so detestable and it has taken so long to get this up already. I should hope in subsequent Teazers posts, I will discuss more instances with Diamond, workplace violations, and the colorful social landscape of Teazers.

The Lost Cause of Teazers: An Introduction

Teazers is a truck stop strip club located in rural West Tennessee. I was fired from Teazers last December, 2019. The NLRB is allowing me to post my affidavit on the site, though most NLRB affidavits are confidential. The NLRB is unable to help me with Teazers, because while I was misclassified and fired in retaliation, Teazers does not make enough money per year to be included in the NLRB’s jurisdiction. Teazers is so poor and I worked there for such a short period of time that no attorney is interested in representing me. That is why this series has The Lost Cause moniker. However, it is interesting from a legal standpoint and entertaining enough to do a short series on. Each post will include a link to the dry affidavit at the top of my more entertaining personal memoir.

Recent News in Stripper Rights

Juliet’s in Erie, PA gets sued. Crappy journalist makes crappy pun that’s been done before as article title.

Houston club gets sued. Cool.

Oregon Supreme Court Judge Hans Linde died. Hans helped make it possible for Oregon dancers to freely express themselves by being nude at work, leading to Portland’s notorious strip club boom. I don’t know where I would be in life without Hans.

Cristina Villegas was featured in Vice for her youtube channel. I worked with little Cristina when she was just starting out, looking like a normal human before her plastic surgery. Now she’s made Gold Club quasi-famous with her youtube channel. Meanwhile, I’m suing Gold Club. Interesting.

Strippers: YOU CAN AND SHOULD APPLY FOR PANDEMIC RELIEF

I normally wouldn’t link to a Tits and Sass article, but this one is so vitally important that I am. Click the previous sentence to read about pandemic relief. If you don’t want to read a Tits and Sass article about pandemic relief, here’s a brief summary of suggestions. I know I should’ve posted about this sooner, but better late than never:

— If you do your taxes, you’re probably eligible for the $1,200 stimulus check.

— You might be eligible for SNAP benefits if your club shut down this year and you have no way to buy food.

— If you do your taxes, even as a 1099, you are eligible for unemployment benefits, including the $600 weekly on top of regular unemployment. State websites and agencies are very difficult to reach, but it pays off tremendously once you’re approved. The $600 weekly ended in July, but you could still get it all in retroactive back pay and start getting current pay for whatever amount your state is currently giving out.

An Update on Sash Seamans

I wrote about Sash Seamans during Shakers Studies. I have recently received news that Sash Seamans works at Club Omaha and provided a false statement in an affidavit, to benefit Shane Harrington and his club, due to the class action lawsuit that brave dancers brought against Club Omaha. It is unfortunate that Sash Seamans has decided to continue going the route of utter scab, liar and slave to the capitalist patriarchy, yet unsurprising given her history and fetish for wearing diapers. Sash Seamans dances under the stage name Dakota. If you have any damning, incriminating or otherwise controversial information about Sash Seamans, please contact me through the tab at the top. You can search for previous posts mentioning Sash Seamans through the search bar at the top.

Smoke-Free Illinois

In 2006 when I started dancing in Oregon, indoor smoking was legal and everywhere. I complained about it one day in the dressing room. Multiple strippers began berating me. They told me that if I didn’t like smoking, I shouldn’t be a stripper. Indoor smoking in Oregon strip clubs became illegal a couple of years later. I was thrilled. Every place I worked at complied. Other states followed.

I worked at a place in Colorado that had some special license to allow indoor smoking. Tennessee clubs in certain places still allow indoor smoking. In these instances, the businesses are operating legally with indoor smoking. Hopefully one day, it will be illegal for them too. I expect they will comply, because that’s what businesses do with smoking bans if they don’t want to get shut down. I support enforcing these bans wholeheartedly.

Illinois is a weird state in terms of corrupt politicians, two-party consent audio recording, and the conservative redneck culture in the Central and Southern parts of the state that are at odds with Chicagoland. Chicagoland businesses I’ve been to always comply with indoor smoking bans.

I tried working at Country Rock Cabaret in Sauget, Illinois in December of 2019. It was fucking disgusting. One of the disgusting things about that place that surprised me was their unwillingness to comply with the Illinois smoking ban. My lungs were in pain and my respiratory system suffered. Smoking bans are absolutely worker rights issues.

At The Pony in McClure, they did not comply with the smoking ban either. However, they didn’t want to have ash trays sitting around, just in case the wrong authorities came in there. It was the bartender’s assigned task to fill little plastic ketchup holders with water half-way, then put them on each table. Customers were to put out their cigarettes in the water of the plastic ketchup holders. It was Pony’s weird discreet way around being obvious in their failure to comply with the smoking ban. My lungs, beautiful pure voice and beautiful face suffered with all this smoke in the workplace.

I reported Country Rock Cabaret and The Pony to the health department and other Illinois government agencies. Do you know if these places were ever held accountable for failure to comply with the smoking ban after I reported them? Please contact me. I’d like to know.

Here is a helpful website about smoke-free Illinois.

The Pony in McClure, Illinois

At J.B.'s in DeSoto, when one of the dancers with a hair hat was mad that I was selling most of the dances and I wouldn't let a customer touch me at the bar, after I punched him in self-defense and I didn't get fired for it, she began ranting about “going back to John-John's club!” She threatened Chris that she would go back to John-John's club. I already knew who John-John was and what club she was referring to, because I was there not too long before J.B.'s.

McClure, Illinois is pretty much East Cape Girardeau. Cape Girardeau is just over the Mississippi river, in Missouri. I just adore Cape Girardeau, MO. Trio Plant Based Fare is a superb Cape restaurant where I ate at once, sometimes twice per day. The lesbian feminist presence in Cape is abundant. I'm not a lesbian, but I feel safer in lesbian feminist spaces because, despite some bad apples, places like Cape Girardeau are generally safer for women to exist and not get sexually harassed by random men in public. Towns like this also have a greater amount of social and community services for vulnerable people like me. I can wear whatever I want walking around Cape Girardeau and not feel judged or preyed upon, and I'll know that good Samaritan socialists will have my back if I fall on hard times. The old architecture and quaint, un-gentrified small town charm of Cape is just delightful gracing the mighty Mississippi. This past January, I thought I might try relocating to Cape Girardeau, by getting a job dancing at The Pony and then finding some welding position in the area. Unfortunately, The Pony is nothing like Cape Girardeau. The Pony is nothing like any half decent strip club I have stayed at for extended time frames. I only stayed a week at The Pony.

The Pony had just recently re-opened after being closed down from flood waters that frequent Southern Illinois. Business was a slow stream of scum bags. There were no cameras in the lap dance rooms, which caused a lot of dancers to engage in sexual acts, and a lot of customers to expect me to engage in sexual acts. I didn't, of course, and of course my customers were disappointed by that. The Pony wasn't as disgusting as J.B.'s, in that management never came at me in the bathroom to yell at me for not doing gross stuff. Management's stance on that at Pony was more inclined to let the dancers decide, but also not reprimand customers for being pushy. They just stayed out of it.

Misclassification in the contract and verbal commands from management were abundant, in the typical scheduling, prices, money control and theft, staff tipping fashion. One of the DJs had a friend who sexually harassed me while I was trying to talk to the DJ about my songs, by asking me to go home with him. He looked like he was on methamphetamines.

A customer took a photograph of me during one of my shifts. Of course, I freaked out about it. Decent strip clubs don't allow photography inside the facility. I am notorious for patrolling customer cameras, in defense of even my worst stripper enemies who don't want their pictures taken. The manager of The Pony, John, did not care if photography occurred inside the club. John was younger than me, a small skinny wigger with a crew cut and glasses. His homies called him John-John. He wore over-sized formal attire and was relatively new to the industry. He was the type of smarmy fuck who exhibits behaviors and gestures toward me as though he feels threatened. He was a wannabe pimp, a quasi-SJW, and exploitative misogynist. He attempted to sell my dances 2-for-1 when it was a slower part of the night, by speaking to my customer while I was sitting with my customer at the bar. John attempted to coax me into getting my pictures taken for The Pony's facebook page, and began harassing me when I said I was totally unwilling to do that. He didn't take no for an answer, and wanted to know the psychology behind my refusal, while also continuing to ask me to do it. Being that John was younger than me and physically smaller, I was slightly entertained and appalled at his attempts. He had no idea who I am. His behavior also made me want to cry, thinking about how I was having to sit there talking to him about photography in strip clubs, and how if I was younger and smaller, John would have succeeded in coercing me. John aims to please his boss Jerry Westlund, who is the owner of The Pony clubs in several states.

Most of the dancers at The Pony were kind of unattractive and couldn't really dance. Most of the time, dancers make up for these deficiencies by twerking or otherwise having an ass-centric stage performance. The one exception to this at Pony was a very petite African-American dancer in a wig, named Star. She was a really talented pole dancer. Because she was a big fish in a small cess pool in terms of stage performance, and because John was fond of her on a romantic level, she exhibited behaviors throughout the club that were bitchy and bossy. My pole dancing was better, and I preferred to dance to Rammstein that week. I'm also not impressed or intimidated by bullshit, so I wasn't phased by her at all in the way that other dancers might have been. Nonetheless, John used Star to do work for him, such as spy on me, to make sure I wasn't napping on the couches when there were no customers in there. Napping was not allowed. Sometimes when ugly bitches like Star feel threatened by my presence, and management doesn't like my unwillingness to submit to the club rules, two people like John and Star team up to bully and harass me. Scab Star and Exploitative John were to the benefit of Jerry Westlund's pocketbook.

I was called to stage on my last work shift, and instead of my pre-selected music, John played Chris Brown for me. I don't dance for Rihanna beating Chris Brown music, so I got off stage in the middle of the song. John was not pleased. He and his sub-manager proceeded to have an argument with me about it. I notified them that as a contractor, I wasn't required to go on stage at all-- unless I was actually an employee. They first refused to give me a copy of my contract when I asked for it, while telling me that it was in my contract to go on stage. They finally got me one, reviewed it and found that I was correct. I didn't have to go on stage if I didn't want to go, and I certainly didn't have to dance to Chris Brown. Seeing me asserting my rights upset Star to an extreme degree.

John played my music from my list the next time I was on stage, but not without punishment. Star knew that I didn't want my picture taken, so she made sure to photograph me on stage, and tell her friends to photograph me. They also video recorded me as I walked around the club in my leotard. John proceeded to play loud gunshot noises over the speakers throughout the night.

The house mom wasn't at the club earlier on during the week when I started, but my last shift was a Saturday when she was working. She was a morbidly obese, sweat hog looking woman who sat on her ass, partying with Star and other such individuals, occasionally taking photos of me. I think her name might've been CeCe. I was informed by John's sub-manager that it was mandatory for me to “tip” CeCe at the end of my shift. I refused to do that, again citing my legal rights. John's sub-manager threatened to fire me and said I might not be allowed to come back, while John played some more gunshot noises over the loudspeaker.

I didn't come back to The Pony after that shift, but the main reason for that was because it was so slow in there that I could hardly make decent money. I did make sure to photograph all of the misclassification rules posted in the dressing room. I have a copy of the contract and can provide testimony to anybody who would like to sue them. There were some sweet, economically disadvantaged young women from Missouri who worked there while I did, who I know are suffering. I'd be happy to help them out with my testimony and evidence that I collected. I wasn't there long enough to have a case with just me in it that a lawyer would invest in, and I don’t care that much to represent myself in conciliation.

Jerry Westlund posted his phone number in the dressing room, for dancers to call him if they have any questions. I called him after I left the club, but he hung up on me when I told him who I am. I had never heard of this guy before dancing in McClure, but apparently he's well known in the industry. He seems like a total piece of shit. I looked up The Pony, to see that it is a violent place. I am always confused when I read about crazy gang warfare in pleasant places like the Cape Girardeau area. I've also spoken to other people in the industry, who have informed me that Jerry Westlund does things like bribe mayors of towns into keeping his illegally operating quasi-brothel strip clubs open and operating the way that they do. I can only hope that one of The Pony's violent gang warfare stray bullets hits Jerry Westlund in the jugular and sends his blood flowing into the mighty Mississippi.

If you have any salacious or incriminating information about Jerry Westlund, please contact me through the tab at the top, anonymously or not.

There weren't any other strip clubs close to Cape Girardeau, and I had to move on from that town for the time being. But hey, if you're ever lucky enough to visit Cape, be sure to check out Trio Plant Based Fare. Their Alfredo is to die for.

How Has Centerfold Changed So Far?

I received information from a reliable source that Centerfold in Columbus is classifying dancers as employees. I also received information from a reliable source that dancers are charging what they want per song, such as $40. Both of those things are great news. What it tells me is that the club decided to both properly classify dancers, while also allowing them the freedom to charge higher prices for their time. It is a myth that clubs would have to control dancers more if they properly classified. Clubs can still allow dancers freedoms that contractors enjoy, while also properly classifying employees.

A reliable source has also informed me that Centerfold is one of the only clubs open in the area since the pandemic started. I support Centerfold staying open and would like them to thrive.

Do you have any information or experience with how Centerfold is doing these days? I’d like to know more about the working conditions and results. Please contact me through the tab at the top.

J.B.'s in De Soto, IL

Some of you may remember that I retired from stripping in 2018, and you may wonder why some of my more recent posts have referred to myself as a stripper in the present tense. It turned out to be a temporary retirement, with a return that lasted up until this past March. Most of that return time was spent in Knoxville, Tennessee. I was fired from my financially stable, no-touch Knoxville club in November of 2019, for complaining about misclassification. After that, I struggled to find another club that was both financially stable and allowed minimal to zero physical contact. It was a rough road ahead, one that I didn’t anticipate.

One of the clubs I tried working at after leaving Knoxville was called J.B.’s. It was right outside of Southern Illinois University, in the town of De Soto, Illinois. I called ahead of time to ask about auditions. The manager hired me over the phone. I was skeptical about getting hired over the phone, without being evaluated by my physical appearance. I knew from past experiences that it is important to work in a club that holds their dancers to a certain standard in terms of mainstream beauty. Otherwise, the result is usually a club full of prostitutes who do not fit beauty standards. Those kinds of places are often more violent and dangerous to work in. But, I figured I would give J.B.’s a try. I also had a morbid curiosity to see what kind of a place J.B.’s was when they hire dancers over the phone without looking at them first. It was January, and by that point, I had already searched in Florida, North Carolina, West Tennessee, Kentucky, and other towns in Southern Illinois for a decent place to work. I found mostly shit holes. It was cold outside, and I barely had enough gas money to get there.

Unsurprisingly, J.B.’s was a lot like the kind of place I worried it might be— ghetto as fuck, BBWs and hair hats all over the place, dirty unsanitary surroundings. The sound system had electrical problems, the pole was a hollow pipe, the ceiling was too low for me to fully stand up on stage. They didn’t check dancer ID’s when hiring. The dressing room had no lockers. The other dancers were boisterous, under-privileged, and disappointed that I was there. These kinds of places are inherently dangerous to work at, but also a particular kind of dangerous for someone like me to work at.

Misclassification at J.B.’s was abundant. One of the most cringe-worthy practices at that place was that they kept the dance money and didn’t give it to the dancers until the ends of our shifts. The set dance prices were rather low. I sold the most dances during my shift, mainly because in contrast to the work force, the customer base had a good number of gentle rednecks and university types who found my conversations relatable and intellectually stimulating.

The manager at J.B.’s was a Latino who went by Chris. He seemed like a nice enough guy my first shift. I only worked one other shift after my first though. Chris didn’t kick out the customers for trying to make physical contact with me at the bar. These were not customers I was willing to dance for, but random people who felt entitled to put their hands on me. When I complained about them touching me, when I punched a man, the more disadvantaged dancers sided with the customers who wanted physical contact. In vernacular-laden language that was hard to decipher, these workers were opposed to me asserting my physical boundaries and consent. I can’t describe their central features or method of speaking without offending people, but I have had these experiences before and was not surprised that they would side with the male predators. It’s their centuries-long survival tactic to do so.

Most of the customers who I was willing to give lap dances to were respectful of my requests that they keep their hands down and not touch me. However, one drunken college white boy with dread locks repeatedly tried to touch me. He had to be a decade or so younger than me, and had many one hundred dollar bills loosely in his pockets. The lap dance room was a small, dingy open space behind the stage, where all of the dancers took their customers. Most of what I saw from other people was grotesque dry humping, and a bouncer standing outside the room who didn’t do shit. When I took my dread locked white boy back there, he smacked another dancer’s ass. He was not thrown out or reprimanded by the bouncer. I shoved him to sit down on the couch and told him not to touch me. I kept a good distance between us while I danced, and any time he tried to get up or flail his arms out, I’d shove him back with my hands, or kick him back into place. He only bought a few songs though, and I really wanted at those hundreds. I told him that I would dance closer and hoover over him if he gave me one of those hundreds. So, he took one out and put it on the arm of the couch. I continued to dance for him, while he continued to try to touch me without my consent. He grew frustrated with the amount of times that I shoved him, so he got up to stumble over to the bouncer and complain about me, like a total Karen. I quickly took the hundred off the arm of the couch and shoved it in my hand bag. Complaining to the bouncer wasn’t good enough for him, so they went to complain to Chris that I wasn’t giving him a good enough dance. I knew it was only a matter of time before that additional hundred was brought into the conversation, so I scurried to the dressing room bathroom and locked the door. The Queens in their hair hats were discussing a desire to beat me up as I scurried past them. I inserted the bill in a place of my body that I knew Chris would not look. Then, Chris came knocking on the door. He scolded me for not humping the guy during the dance. He did a demonstration of how I was to give lap dances, that involved straddling and humping. I did not bother and did not care to tell Chris that he was a disgusting pile of garbage who was essentially engaging in coercion and trafficking, or that I hoped J.B.’s was shut down. I didn’t bother to explain consent to Chris, or why he was completely out of line in even talking to me. He asked about the hundred dollar bill, but I was able to brush it off as a drunken guy paranoid about lost money. After I left the bathroom and returned to the main floor, the angry customer was still stumbling around, complaining about me. Chris made vague threats to me that I should worry about my safety and that he had no interest in protecting me. I hope Chris dies of COVID-19 this year.

I left my shift early that night and never returned. I had enough money to get to my next destination, pay for quality vegan cuisine and a decent room. With only two shifts, I didn’t work there long enough to have a case any lawyer would be interested in. But, if you have ever worked at J.B.’s and would like to sue it, I would be happy to provide testimony. I would be happy to provide evidence of misclassification and sexual harassment. J.B.’s is one of those places that shouldn’t exist, but does because nobody has stopped them from operating that way in rural Southern Illinois.

Is Brenda Willis Bonzo Filing Bankruptcy?

Recently I received notification of Case No. 20-CV-005318, Judge Colleen O’Donnell. Brenda Bonzo is the plaintiff and Nolan Enterprises (Centerfold) is the defendant. If you have any information about this case, please contact me ASAP. If you have any information about how Brenda isn’t really qualified to get a BK but will somehow try to lie under oath again, please contact me.

Currently I am pursuing criminal charges against Brenda for motivating her friend to sexually assault me so she can have camera footage and fire me for prostitution. Other charges I am looking into include Brenda lying under oath about why I was fired from Centerfold, and forging documents that were intended to support her false testimony.

Brenda owes me tens of thousands of dollars from losing Centerfold, so I am not surprised that she would try to weasel her way out of paying me. She may succeed. I have heard of clubs doing this in the past to dancers who won fair and square and were owed money.

Here she is showing off her bald spot and cat-mermaid earrings:

Moving Joel Wheelock Watch

Within the next few weeks, I’ll be moving Joel Wheelock Watch to it’s own unpaid site. You’ll be able to find a link for it on the resources tab. He is still a misogynist piece of shit who hasn’t repented for all of the abusive, horrible things he has said and done to strippers. However, I am sick of seeing his name on the front of my site all the time. It’s also bothersome when people ask about it. So, he’ll just have his own wordpress or tumblr, something like that. I’ll repost on here whenever there is a new JWW post over there.

Editor Needed

I am hiring an independent contractor editor to go through my blog, pick out typos and spelling errors.

Normally I write the articles and publish them the same day. I don’t always have time and energy to make them perfect. Sometimes I look through the blog’s past articles, find mistakes and feel embarrassed that they are up there that long.

Sometimes I find statements that are inconsistent with other statements I later made. This is because opinions and perspectives change, and nuance is a part of the human experience. Sometimes, this is because I was not clear in explaining a situation that may seem contradictory, but is actually truthful and complex.

If you would like to look through past articles, have a strong command of the English language, and work out a payment, hit me up through the contact tab at the top of this page.

BBHMM!

Unsurprisingly, the NLRB higher courts upheld a decision made last Summer.

I was not contacted by a single journalist about the decision, but somehow it became big news. Every single article I have read so far contains multiple factually incorrect statements about me and this case. Various people have come out of the woodwork, to contact and congratulate me, calling me a “superhero” and such. I don’t feel like a superhero. In fact, the articles are very misleading and put the situation in a more positive light than it actually should be portrayed. I am not surprised by the work of lazy liberal journalists though. Eventually, when it is all over, I will do a series about Centerfold, including personal public letters to all of the journalists and bloggers who are writing factually incorrect statements.

Since Brenda Bonzo and Greg Flaig decided to appeal it last year, the amount of money that they owe me has increased significantly, because of daily interest accruing. It would have been cheaper for them to just settle in 2018, or not appeal it in 2019. Instead, they have spent thousands upon thousands of dollars on an expensive, high profile lawyer who is very frustrated with their antics. They owe me more money now than ever.

Recent News in Stripper Rights

VIP’s in Chicago is finally getting sued. They changed to a Rick’s, but are still being sued. I worked there many years ago and tried to find a lawyer to help me sue them. It’s too late now for me to sue them, but I wish Aurora the best.

The New Yorker did a quality piece on the fragile existence of sex workers during the pandemic. I can relate to this article, as I’m sure many of you can.

A strip club in Sun Valley, CA is getting sued. Good luck with that one, ladies.

Some cool apps were created for strippers to survive the pandemic and otherwise assert their rights.

Club Omaha is getting sued. I’m glad Shane is being held accountable. I’ll be watching this one closely and providing updates and interviews. You can search for Shane on the site search tab to see previous posts I’ve made about him.

A Florida club is being held accountable. Bravo.

Another Florida club is being held accountable.