COMMERCIAL BREAK

I don't usually talk about my personal life so publicly, but I feel the need to clarify the shower issue regarding James Charles Link, and go into detail about some of his other problems. Pardon the tangent and additional interruptions of Mouse's Ear Memoirs. My hypergraphia tendencies get the best of me sometimes. James has gone out of his way to discuss me publicly when he knew I didn't want him to-- so why not return the favor? The following is not a comprehensive post about him-- just a fragment of the information that I have. I'm doing a good deed for the next woman who may fall victim to his charms. These are things I wish I knew ahead of time. I never would have tracked down his home phone number and called him if I knew these things ahead of time.

I've camped and traveled all over the United States and Western Europe. Sometimes daily showers aren't available. I've had intimate partners who didn't shower regularly-- a freight train hopper, a vagabond who slept in redwood forests, and a Wandergessellen straight out of Deutschland. They all smelled like sweat and pheromones, and I liked it. They're also good at keeping secrets, and some of them are still my allies. I understand the arguments against daily showers. The issues with James Charles Link was a whole other ball game.

I was sitting on Jimmy's lap at the Recovery Rec Center where he was “volunteering,” when I noticed a strange funky odor. I thought it was the couch we were on. It was a rotten, ass-like smell that one might expect on the upholstery of a rural Indiana Narcotics Anonymous couch, so I didn't think much of it. The top portion of his body smells good. Later in the evening, on a different couch at the Recovery Rec Center, I was again sitting on Jimmy, when he removed his pants. All of a sudden, a poopy bio-waste stench started wafting, clouding my sinuses. Jimmy was excited that he had gotten this far with me at all-- it was the farthest we had been at that point, in terms of physical intimacy. I became nauseous as I sat there inhaling, wondering what in the fuck. Jimmy is missing half a testicle, and he wanted to show me his 1.5 balls. He was very focused on the entertainment aspect of missing half a ball. I wanted to be polite, but I just blurted out that his genitals stank. I couldn't find the source of the odor at first. His circumcision scar is jagged and ugly, yes, but many United States males have the same genital mutilation. I barely noticed his missing half testicle that he insisted on showing me. Soon thereafter, I noticed a thick white goop in between his legs-- where the thigh meets the pelvis, and in between. It was pooled. It looked like he took ricotta cheese and smeared it all up in the crevices of his private parts. The ungodly, horrifying, reeking infection continued to permeate, like an evil genie being released out of it's bottle. I started shrieking like I was in a horror movie. He wouldn't let go of my hand because he was still focused on trying to show me that he was missing half a testicle. He wanted me to feel his half testicle. He firmly forced my hand to his genitals, even as I pulled away and told him to stop. He was ignoring me and the smell. I don't know how someone gets to that fungal point in hygiene without realizing that something is awry, without being concerned about it's potential effect on a lady's company. Didn't it burn, I wondered? Didn't it itch? It was a moist, thriving ecosystem down there, in between his legs, with red inflamed skin along the edges of the goop. It was like a Chinese wet market or Wuhan petri dish down there, stinking of exotic life forms, producing the next strain of a global pandemic. I had to lean over the couch to catch my breath, because I felt so sick at both the smell and sight of it. I have never smelled anything so horrifying on a human body in my entire life, goddamned ever. It was Midevil. Oh my fucking god. It was Bubonic Plague level filth on this Recovery Rec Center couch in Crawfordsville, Indiana.

Jimmy identifies as a “grower,” because his dick is rather small when flaccid. When he finally acknowledged what was going on with my nose, his dick rapidly deflated like a balloon letting out air. I laughed at it, and our play time was over. He put his pants back on. An argument ensued. He angrily explained to me that with his six cats at home, his mother and grandmother decided to use the bathtub as a giant kitty litter box. Therefore, with the tub being a giant kitty litter box, the shower at his home isn't available for use. His mother and grandmother go to their friend's house to shower, his grandfather doesn't shower at all, and he stated that he occasionally goes to his friend's house to shower. He was angry with me for rejecting him sexually and questioning his hygiene, as though I was the one with the problem. He began trembling with Male Rage. He insisted that the white stuff was baking soda. It sure as hell didn't smell like baking soda to me. He told me that the rash and stench was the result of doing carpentry work. I've spoken with a lot of carpenters who have never even heard of this problem. I have asked a dozen or so tradespeople about this issue since it happened. Most of the tradespeople I've asked have been union, and the most logical answer I got was,

“He's a rat. That sounds like a problem a rat would have. People who work rat are too dumb to know how to wash their balls with soap and water.”

Jimmy has multiple personalities that I was unaware of, up until that point on the couch with the ricotta. I wish someone would've warned me beforehand about everyone inside of his head. Dustin Zahn, for example, could’ve notified me that Jimmy has multiple personalities when he introduced us, before going off to cheat on his wife Amy Shelton. After I rejected Jimmy sexually, the angry personality burst out of him. I get giggly panic attacks, where I am so nervous that I start laughing uncontrollably. I wasn't laughing because it was funny, or because I was relaxed. I thought he was going to hurt me. His fists were clenched, he was holding them up like he was going to box at various points, trauma-dumping about his horrible childhood, oscillating back and forth between his normal personalities and his angry personality. A nice one kept warning me about “Him.” At one point, he put his hands around my throat in some type of choke, and warned me that “He” will do that to me if I continue to pursue him, and that I should stay away from “Him.” He kept going into the bathroom to talk to himself in the mirror, then pacing back to me to yell some more. His personalities were talking to each other.

I should note that Jimmy occasionally code switches in a Rachel Dolezal fashion. He lies about being “part black,” even though he is white. I do not believe he has any black in him whatsoever. He occasionally humble-brags about having “lived in a black neighborhood.” I know there really aren't black neighborhoods in his home town of Crawfordsville, Indiana, so I had to grill him to find that he was referring to some vague time in his twenties when he lived in Decatur, Illinois. This was allegedly when he joined the Bloods and murdered seven people. It is interesting to me that Jimmy desperately wishes he had some African ancestry and lies about it. Crawfordsville is an incredibly white town, and it's interesting how desperately some of it's cracker citizens want a connection to oppressed minority populations, so much that they make up fake identities to tell people. This might happen because it makes them feel valorous to think they're victims of racial oppression.

Jimmy was complaining about his “blue balls” during his tantrum. A part of me was just laying there marveling at the freak show before me. A part of me wanted to get out of there, but we were all alone in the Recovery Rec Center building, in the middle of the countryside. If I screamed, nobody would hear me. I thought that if I bolted out of there right away, something bad would happen, such as getting bludgeoned to death on my way out. In those moments, I thought about Jeffrey Dahmer's first kill, when he spontaneously bludgeoned a guy to death for wanting to leave his house early. Jimmy was frantically searching for objects with which to kill himself. I thought it would be better to stay with Jimmy and calm him down until 10PM rolled around and it was time to go our separate ways as planned.

After Jimmy had calmed down and we were hanging out again, he continued to repeatedly take my hand and move it toward his groin, trying to force me to sexually touch him. He repeatedly forced my hand in a stroking motion. It was fucking disgusting, but I still had a misconception that we could have a normal interaction of some kind, or that it might work out. I have since called a women's crisis line about the thing he did with my hand, to which I was advised that “he is poison” and will always be poison. Every time I pulled away and told him no, he would apologize, and then do it again a few minutes later. He also begged me to have intercourse with him, and tried to convince me that it would be OK with regards to the ricotta as long as contraceptives were used. He tried to remove his pants again. I had to yell at him to keep them on. Jimmy trauma-dumps during almost every conversation I have ever had with him, perhaps as a manipulative tactic to get one to feel sorry for him. As much as I understand the situation now, his trauma-dumping was working at the time, because I did feel sorry for him, and I experienced extremely intense feelings of sympathy and concern for his well-being. He continued to bring up his sexual desires, even after I made it clear that I wasn't interested. Even the first time we hung out, before this evening, I said I just wanted to talk and get to know one another. The first time we hung out, he wouldn't let me go anywhere else in his room besides sitting on his bed, and he repeatedly asked me to lay on him and “grind” against him. He was displeased that I was unwilling to do that. Perhaps because he frequents the dirtiest of strip clubs, he thinks that is what I would want to do right away while hanging out. He cut me off mid-sentence almost every time that I spoke, tried to guess what he thought I was going to say, and then responded to his own guesses. To reiterate-- he finishes sentences for me, inaccurately, and then replies to himself. So, he doesn't actually know much about me, aside from his own guesses and replies.

James Charles Link pursues few different categories of women as potential mates. He is extremely sweet and charismatic when one first meets him, so a lot of women become interested in him at first. He also masks who he truly is. I will describe these categories of women below.

One category is the Fat Single Mom. These ladies are lonely townie types, and they like his flirty fun company. None of them are stupid enough to have him as a committed partner, but it's fun to have him as an orbiter. Secretly he is a misogynist pervert who hates “being in the friend zone.” Many of these women are alcoholics or drug addicts themselves, so they have that in common with him. Jimmy makes fun of fat people privately, but he also realizes that the fat single townie moms are more in his league, so he orbits them in hopes that some day, one will be his girlfriend, or at the very least, have sexual relations with him when they're emotionally vulnerable.

A second category are his E-Girls-- Jimmy follows dozens if not hundreds of internet models on Instagram and social media, as assorted jerk off material. Many of them are obviously young enough to be his daughters. I'm not sure if he actually thinks he can get with any of the E-Girls, or if he just likes looking. One can easily scroll through all of the ladies who he follows on social media, to see his numerous hearts that he clicks on for all of them when they post a new picture.

A third category are the “sex workers” at the local strip club, where he goes with Dustin Zahn when Dustin Zahn wants to cheat on his wife Amy Shelton. It's a small town, so some of these women are people who he grew up with and has known for decades. Some of these women know about his traumatic upbringing, and they feel sorry for him enough to allow him in their circles, even though he is a terrible person. When he first met me, he assumed I was in my early twenties, and he assumed I was similar to my coworkers. Most of his stripper friends are third-wave feminist SJW types, who think of themselves as opposed to things like rape culture and workplace exploitation, even though their boss Jeremy Loewenstein is a disgusting piece of shit who promotes rape culture, labor violations, and illegally fired me. These types of women are the garden variety poseurs who believe they are subversive in some way because of their gothic/indie fashion statements. You can find them on social media, virtue signaling about whatever SJW du jour topic is trending. These women are not really subversive at all though. They don't mind colluding with shitty men, exploitative bosses, and other hierarchical entities that they have no interest in challenging. These women are not risk takers in any regard. Jimmy feels better about himself for being considered their friend, because he is a borderline Male Feminist. We've covered Male Feminists in depth on this site already, but in a nutshell-- Male Feminists are the worst type of disingenuous leftist garbage.

Aside from the previous three categories of ladies who James Link pursues, he also pursues an assortment of waitresses, customer service workers, and any other attractive female who he bumps into around town and can fantasize about sexually. He'll take pictures with them and post about them on social media, as much as they will allow him to do. He follows their social media profiles as much as possible, in the off chance that one will copulate with him.

All of these categories of ladies can overlap too. For example, there are waitresses who are also e-girls, or strippers who are single moms, etc. He makes his facebook profile appear much nicer than he actually is, in part to attract potential mates. His posts include outings with his mother who he secretly hopes dies, and up until meeting me, he'd frequently post pictures of his cats with cute little captions about them. Despite all of these women who he socializes with, he almost never actually does attract a mate to copulate with. He was an incel when we were spending time together, and angrily yelled about the whole situation after I rejected him. He doesn't understand why none of his lady friends want to be his girlfriend, or at least see his genitals. He is aggressively polyamorous by nature. If he could be a player, he would be a player, but no women are interested enough in him to the degree that he can be a player. He is simultaneously searching for a monogamous female, but no monogamous females consider him as a serious partner. It is quite the predicament for him.

Jimmy has a problem where he calls most females he meets “Beautiful,” rather than by our actual names. He thinks this is a nice thing to do, when actually it's depersonalizing, degrading, and upsetting to any one individual who wants to feel secure as a recognized person. He is totally unaware of why this is harmful and hurtful, because he is a raging narcissist and covert misogynist. I badly wanted him to call me by my name-- Brandi-- and he was rather resistant to doing that. He almost exclusively referred to me as Beautiful. I don't think he likes my name or enjoyed saying it aloud. He was raised by his grandmother, who feels sorry for him because of his abusive parents. She has babied him to contrast his trauma. The result is a very stunted adult male who is unable to meet the physical, emotional, or mental needs of anyone. He can't even meet his own hygiene needs to please a potential intimate partner. It is likely a female would catch a UTI from him, or worse. UTIs are not beautiful at all.

Jimmy repeatedly asked me to be his “girlfriend” while we were together. He'll take any Beautiful as a girlfriend. Specifics of a Beautiful aren't important; he hasn't had one in years. When the last one didn't work out, he got a stupid looking tattoo of a heart on the left side of his chest, with the words “No More Pain” on top. It is likely that he caused most of the pain in that relationship, and he is resentful at himself. He expressed a lot of anger about his previous girlfriend from roughly five years ago. I never wanted to be his girlfriend, even if I do have masochistic tendencies and intense feelings for him. I cannot imagine taking someone seriously who follows all of those Instagram accounts, someone who goes to strip clubs for fun, someone who is “close friends” with all of those Fat Horny Single Townie Moms, and someone with such stupid looking tattoos. Never in my life have any of my serious partners possessed those traits or tendencies. I am pretty sure he just wanted me to call myself his “girlfriend” so he could have a trophy, and to change his facebook status to “in a relationship.” Calling me by my name, letting me finish sentences, respecting my physical boundaries, being honest and trustworthy wasn't as important as giving me the “girlfriend” title, which I did not want.

Regardless of my rejecting the “girlfriend” title, I am a naturally monogamous person, so Jimmy was happy to know that I had no close-geographic interest in other mates while we were non-romantically seeing each other. He specifically asked me to be “exclusive” with him, which wasn't a problem for me at all. I am just wired that way. I asked him if he wanted to break things off after the ricotta stuff, and he said he wanted to “continue.” It just strikes me as odd that after those conversations, he would lie about his schedule and then ghost me. I guess technically, trying to ruin someone's life is a way to “continue” things.

It hurts me a lot to think about all of the times that he tried to remove my clothes or get me to touch his rancid genitals when I said no, because he does have his women friends who he hangs out with, and I just kept wondering,

“Why do they get to keep their clothes on and not be treated like shit? Why are you treating me this way?”

Presenting a normal image of himself for his extended family to see on facebook is very important to him. When his grandparents die, there will be assets to divvy up. He has two uncles and three women cousins who probably don't know the half of what he is up to when he's not posting cute photos of eating at restaurants with his mother and grandmother. I do not feel sorry for Jimmy fiscally. He is a white male who works for Dustin Zahn's family's flooring company part-time. He lives in the same town where he grew up, with many social connections and opportunities available to him, by virtue of knowing everybody around him. He doesn't have to pay rent, because he lives in his grandparents' home, which he claims he will be inheriting when they die. Most millennials do not have all of the riches and resources that are readily available to Jimmy. He also has a therapist, and many supporters. He doesn't need more sympathy from unsuspecting women who he takes big stinking trauma-dumps on.

Despite all of Jimmy's lady friends and surface-level feminist sentiments, he has a deep resentment for women. One can scroll through his facebook to find that he occasionally posts things about “toxic femininity” and other anti-feminist things. His closest female associates are women who hate Amber Heard, and who want to “treat Johnny Depp right.” He has had a few head injuries throughout his life, and he exhibits classical traits of a serial killer. Mommy Issues and Head Injuries are two factors that many serial killers have in common. Ed Gein, for example, has many things in common with James Link. I thought maybe I would be his next kill as I was laying there laughing, while his various personalities battled each other. One of his normal personalities is a guy who has been schooled by his third wave feminist SJW friends on matters of consent and boundaries, so it was a bit confusing when he was discussing the importance of consent one moment, asking me if I was ok, then flipped into a psychopathic serial killer sexual predator the next moment. But, since I lived in Portland, Oregon for so long, I do know that many of the leftist SJW types are often full of shit.

Jimmy is a necrophiliac. He told me about how he has consumed Wicky Stix, embalming fluid, and played with dead bodies at a funeral home. He told me that dead bodies excite him, and at one point he wanted to become a mortician. He posted a meme a year or two ago that was a picture of a dead woman's body on a water bed, with the text saying something about how raping a dead body on a moving water bed kind of feels like consent. Necrophiliac serial killer Ted Bundy used to stash victim's bodies in the woods, where he would return to rape the corpses. I can see Jimmy doing something like that. When I was telling a friend about this situation last month, she suggested that Dustin Zahn is in on it somehow, and she suggested the flooring company where they work, Zahn's Floor Covering, is where they get the floorboards to hide the bodies. It was a half-joke on her part, but I wouldn't be surprised if any of that were true. John Wayne Gacy appeared to be a normal, social, quirky suburban fat guy, but he had all kinds of surprises in his floors, as well as accomplices who were never caught.

Jimmy told me that his six cats were adopted as a litter of strays, and I didn't think much of it at the time, besides that it was sweet to take in strays. His kindness towards stray cats was something that originally made me like him and want to spend more time with him. I thought his facebook cat pictures were endearing, and I told him so, every time that he obsessively asked me to describe why I like him. However, a few weeks ago when I was scrolling through his social media, I found some really disturbing posts from a few years back that I hadn't seen before. He found a pregnant stray cat in his yard and lured her into trusting him. She gave birth to the kittens who he took in. He describes her birthing process with him having to reach his hand into her vagina to assist with the birth. When I started to think about that, I seriously questioned this feral cat's need for his help. I am not a feline obstetrics expert, but it struck me as weird. I contacted a friend from the backwoods of Georgia, who has seen animal births, about this situation. We agreed that while it's possible the cat needed help, Jimmy probably just took advantage of a feral cat giving birth, or as the individual I spoke with stated,

“He wanted some pussy, so he put his hand in a pussy's pussy.”

Jimmy posted a photo of the mother cat nursing her kittens, and wrote something about how while he doesn't have kids himself, he was honored to have the mother cat trust him enough to press her paw on him while she was nursing. He was treating the cat like she was his wife giving a home birth that he helped with, and then she cuddled him while breastfeeding.

Jimmy is very interested in birth, and told me very quickly about his desire to be a parent. It is one of his main goals in life. He was excited to learn that I have never taken birth control, as though he was instantly plotting to impregnate me. That is another reason why I avoided contact with his genitals, subconsciously. Jimmy has negative feelings on abortion, and claims to have been a rape baby himself. He also informed me that he impregnated a girl when they were teenagers, but that her parents made her get an abortion. When he angrily relayed this abortion anecdote to me, he was expecting me to feel sad about it, but I don't think that's a sad story at all.

(By the way-- to whoever those parents were who prevented such a demon seed to be born-- props to you. You not only made sure that your daughter was not stuck with an abusive, violent psychopath forever, but you also prevented the propagation of his genetic materials. You did a great thing in sponsoring that abortion, and I salute you.)

Jimmy projects personalities onto his animals, personalities that I do not believe actually exist within the animals. It is similar to the way he finishes sentences for me and replies to his own sentences. He'll create personalities for his animals and then reply to them in great detail. I say this as someone who also knows that non-human animals are sentient, unique individuals. I just don't think his projections are a part of their sentience. They are his delusions, his imaginary friends, his multiple personalities. Jimmy did this projection thing with a plush horse head who he named Pepe, when he was a wrestler going by Jammer in the WCWO. Pepe the plush horse had no actual personality-- it was just one of Jimmy's multiple personalities projecting onto an inanimate object, for his WCWO gimmick.

I obviously have some self-destructive tendencies, hence why I continued with such a person and wanted to spend more time with him. It was self harm on my part, absolutely. I don't always know how to get out of bad situations once I'm in them. I do like criminal psychology and Bailey Sarian podcasts as well, so he is intriguing. I do wish I never would have met him though. Jimmy has a lot of sympathizers in his life who encourage him to take recovery steps or to heal mentally. They feel sorry for him. They don't want to banish him from their degenerate communities, because they either do not care, or they do not understand the degree of how horrifying he truly is. They think he should stick around and be rehabilitated. I don't think he will ever get better.

Anyway ladies, that's just a little bit about James Charles Link, in case you were interested in spending some quality time with him. It's just a little something to chew on. These James-Centered commercial breaks are cathartic and healing. There will be more of them in the future. I was extremely traumatized from spending time with him, and now that I have had time to heal, I do not believe there was any love involved in any of this situation. This is just a James Link primer. He's even more evil, calculating, and manipulative than I have posted on here. Some of it is way too difficult to talk about on here for now. Like the crisis line volunteer stated-- he is poison. He will always be poison, just like most strip club DJs and managers. It is the core of who he is.

I'm always one to deep google my crushes before pursuing them. When I met James, I thought he was a mature, community-oriented man who works full time, selflessly tends to stray cats and dogs in need, hasn't used opiates in ten years, tends to old people and volunteers out of the goodness of his heart. Most of that is horse shit. The internet didn't have all of the important facts readily available for me that I needed to know about James C. Link when I deep googled him. Now it does. You're welcome.

Mouse's Ear Memoirs: Taylor Renae Miller

Taylor Renae Miller is a dancer who I empathize with in certain ways. However, I must still must doxx her. She spread a bunch of fucked up rumors about me that weren't true. She is Alex Cave's friend who was opposed to my resistance. She is much too scabby and destructive to remain anonymous.

Taylor Renae Miller was off my radar for the longest time. Normally when I see short, dumpy, heavily tattooed strippers smoking heavily, spending significant time socializing in the dressing room, always hustling in groups, I dismiss those individuals without thinking twice about them. I didn't think one way or another about Taylor for the longest time. Taylor and I never had a single conversation that I can recall. I avoided her because of her garden variety appearance, garden variety behavior, and because she associated with all of the worst people who I've already posted about on here. I'm not going to share Taylor's stage name on this website. It's a famous band that is close to my history and heart. I don't want to associate such a beautiful entity with a dumpy turd like Taylor.

After Lizzie was fired for putting a hex on me, after I got accused of bugging my locker when I didn't, and after Brandy informed me that Taylor was covertly spreading rumors that I am a witch, I got to thinking. I'd never willingly admit to felonious activities, as mentioned in previous posts. I am just saying-- I got to thinking about what would happen if I actually did bug my locker like I was falsely accused of doing. Taylor's favorite sitting area was right by my locker. She was up there more often than she was hustling on the show floor.

As a bit of background about Taylor, she has a Model Mayhem profile with many typos. She thinks of herself as a successful model, because a few no-name photographers have taken her picture and posted them on the internet. None of her modeling photos resemble how dumpy and nicotine-covered she looks in person. Her face is so-so. Her best strip club sales asset is her round juicy ass, which she is able to move in wonderful artistic ways on stage. Asset aside, her overall look is unimpressive in an emo, chain smoker, tattoo-addict way. Taylor became a mom when she was a teenager. She had two kids early on in life with an abusive narcissistic male who she got stuck with. She has a lot of stretch marks. She was still platonically co-habitating and co-parenting with her inseminator in 2019. When they were still together romantically, he lied to and cheated on her multiple times. One time, she had her friend flirtatiously text him in a set-up while he was using the shitter. He took the bait while on the shitter, texted back flirtatiously, and Taylor caught him. One must ask though-- why did Taylor even need to go through all of that with the set-up to begin with? It's unfortunate that Taylor wasted her precious time on such a disgusting piece of shit. I hate her ex. Taylor's voice was so congested from smoking that she was unable to pronounce N noises in certain words. For example, when discussing hair toner that she applied to herself, she pronounced it “toader,” because of all the mucus. I am very curious to see a picture of her lungs. Taylor worked at Mouse's Ear for about eight years prior to my arrival. On slow nights, she barely had enough gas money for getting home. She was considering switching to a career in daycare. She once stated that she wanted a “make it rain” sort of stripper life when she became a dancer, and then glumly stated, “Instead I got this.” She spent her 2019 birthday at work. Early on in life, Taylor experienced trauma from a mentally ill, abusive mother. Taylor once said about herself “I have paranoid schizophrenia,” and stated that she usually thinks everybody is mad at her. I'm not sure if that statement was hyperbole, but Taylor certainly had a lot of fucked up misconceptions about me that were troublesome to have to parse through.

When Taylor didn't think I was around to hear her, she used to tell dancers that I was “scared to death” of her, and that was why she and I didn't talk. She'd mentor the new dancers and tell them to stay away from me and my witchcraft. Every previous entry in which I mention dressing room hags without naming them, Taylor is included, and usually central to the conversations. She just disgusts me so much that I didn't want to name her before in previous entries, because I have been avoiding thinking about her. When she didn't think I could hear her, Taylor stated that she hopes I die in a car wreck. Taylor used to spread false rumors that I was giving customers discounts. Taylor had a strange fixation with the fact that I am originally from the Chicagoland suburbs. However, she never clarified that I am from the suburbs, or that most of my dancer life has been away from Chicago in other states. She'd spread rumors that I am from Chicago proper, that most of my dancer life has been spent in Chicago, and that the reason why I am a good hustler is from working in Chicago. She would make statements about her desire for me to “go back to Chicago!” and say things such as, “She works like she's still in Chicago!” Taylor regularly expressed a desire for me to go work at The Ball, which was a gross ghetto fast-paced strip club across town where I had no desire to ever be. She thought that's where I belonged instead of Mouse's Ear, and that I needed to slow down my sales while at Mouse's Ear. She didn't like it very much that I sold so many dances in short amounts of time, so she tried to come up with reasons why it was not ok that I was successful. She regularly brought up the fact that she had kids to feed and was struggling to do that-- as though it was my fault that customers didn't want her. At some point, Taylor became at least somewhat aware of my litigious past, and she discussed how she thought the club was worth less than $500,000, and how she didn't think I would have success with a lawsuit. She was wrong, of course. Taylor was interested in MMA in 2019, and stated that she wanted her hands “to become lethal weapons.” She once shoved me when she walked past me. People do that to me from time to time. The reason why I don't react to lowly dumpy squatty chain smoking broads shoving me isn't because I am afraid of them. I do not react, because I have the capacity for great violence and don't want to lose my job or get arrested for putting someone in a coma.

Earlier on in the series, I mentioned that I purchased some rose quartz in Maggie Valley. It was a manual massage tool that I used on my neck and shoulders while meditating at the start of my shift in the dressing room. Meditation rituals are very important to me. Meditation does not make someone a witch. Meditation does not mean someone cannot be an atheist. Sometimes while meditating, it would just be Taylor and I up there at the start of the shift. We'd sit on opposite sides of the narrow attic with our backs facing each other. Sometimes I caught her staring at me through the mirror while I was massaging myself with the rose quartz. I thought it would be funny to ham it up a bit with the meditations after I found out she was spreading the weird witchy rumors about me. It was during these times that I thought of my late great ancestor, Rebecca Steele. Most of the people arrested for witchcraft just denied it, but Becky did the opposite. She confessed to the authorities that Satan appeared to her in the form of a faun, and that he knew her carnally. Becky told the court that she associated with foxes, crows, and cats in the woods. Historians and us descendants still don't know why she did that. It was as though she was intentionally hamming it up for entertainment, even if it ultimately lead to her execution. So, I thought of Rebecca Steele a lot when stupid ass Taylor Renae Miller was weirded out by my rose quartz massage rituals and spreading those witchy rumors about me. It gave me lulz.

Taylor briefly quit Mouse's Ear in November, in a dramatic walkout. I don't know the details of that situation, but she returned to work a few days later as normal. More recently, she was working at The Ball, where she wanted me to go in 2019. I thought that was hilarious when I saw it on facebook, and even more hilarious was when I read last week that The Ball was shut down because of it's association with local homicides. I don't know where Taylor is now.

Taylor isn't much younger than me, but one thing about me that really irked her was my advanced age in relative to the other Mouse's Ear dancers. While I was much more attractive than most of the Mouse's Ear dancers, and while customers certainly wanted me more than most of the dancers, my age bothered Taylor a great deal. She regularly expressed her discontent about my age, likely because she needed more reasons and fodder to slander me in her attempt to get me out of there. Perhaps she had been eating a lot of Ramen from being so poor, and she was HANGRY. As mentioned in previous entries, a lot of clubs have older dancers working in them just fine, but Mouse's Ear mostly did not. In our next entry on Mouse's Ear Memoirs, we will examine Taylor's close workplace associate Ashley Eldridge, and we will continue to explore Taylor's fixation with age-shaming me for my excellent hustling ability, thirty-something beauty and showmanship.

COMMERCIAL BREAK

I have a couple more requests with accompanying descriptions:

#1: I need information about Amber Loewenstein in her relation to Coyote in Crawfordsville. She is friends with drug-dealer-scab-stripper, Alonna Falcona Hunt. She is also married to the piece of shit manager who illegally fired me, Jeremy Loewenstein. She is also friends with and works at other clubs that violate labor rights. Please send the info through the contact tab at the top.

#2: Please send me information about the effectiveness of Recovery Rec Center in Crawfordsville, Indiana. That is where James Charles Link was “volunteering” and had me hang out with him. I’m pretty sure he had to do community service there as part of a DUI, and just lied to me about a desire to help the community. There is a distinct “Hillbilly Elegy,” libertarian, victim-blaming, Christian feel to the place. I do not believe this place is effective, and I am suspicious of the obese broad who runs the facility. Coincidentally, she started making strange posts around the same time that this James stuff started happening. My advice to anyone struggling with addiction, is to always be suspicious of small town Midwestern plebs who accuse you of being “too negative,” dismiss or gaslight your gothic thoughts, have no critique of capitalism, tell you to “be humble,” or otherwise exhibit an elementary analysis of the world. These people are sick and so is this facility.

Finally, I’d like to remind all dancers that you don’t have to be an activist to sue your club. Your money is stolen from you, your rights are violated, and it is not selfish at all to simply sue clubs to get your money back. Only a fucking idiot would call you selfish for getting money back that was stolen from you; only a fucking idiot would side with a strip club on that matter. There are a lot of fucking idiots out there, but try not to listen to them. I support all strippers who sue clubs, regardless of their motivation. So does Strippers United, and a whole host of other activists and organizations on our side. Stomp out the plebs and keep fighting for all that you are entitled to— your lost wages, your house fees, your physical boundaries, your right not to be harassed, your right to unionize, and your right to keep your job.

COMMERCIAL BREAK

I have an estranged, exceedingly unattractive and mentally ill cousin. He is a middle aged man who lives in his parent’s attic. He beats off for internet porn websites, in hopes of becoming a successful porn star. He is confused as to why he isn’t successful. I’ll make it real simple: Because nobody wants to see that shit. NOBODY. WANTS. TO. SEE. THAT. SHIT. His sister is a mentally ill woman who desperately wants to be famous, and her shining achievement in life is going on CNN as a member of AntiFa.

I bring this up, because during Mouse’s Ear Memoirs, I have accumulated an ever growing collection of losers who want me to change in some way, as though I am not already awesome. Sometimes they collect, communicate, collaborate— scabs, strip club owners, estranged relatives, underachievers, Recovery Center Fat Ladies who run ineffective programs. These people want me to grovel if make mistakes, as though they have one over on me. I’m not without my regrets. Here are some of them:

I regret not contacting Child Protective Services as a girl and becoming legally emancipated early on in life.

I regret not suing more strip clubs.

I regret not audio recording more exploitative owners, managers, scab coworkers, and their dealers.

I regret not doing more.

My advice to anybody else doing labor activism or any other kind of activism, is to know that your haters will collect in globs, gather with pitchforks, and that just comes with the territory. It means you are winning, so keep going. You’re awesome.

COMMERCIAL BREAK

Normally people don’t volunteer to be my witnesses, but every once in a while I get an amazing email, text, or phone call from someone willing to do so. So, I am making a witness request. Please contact me through the tab at the top of the page if you have information that I am looking for, or any other information that you think I would be interested in.

#1: If you have ever worked at Kappa Men’s Club in Kappa, IL, Schoolhouse Bikini Bar in Neoga, IL, or Club Coyote in Crawfordsville, IN— Do you know of any social networks among the managers that discuss me or this website? Do you know of anybody who has been illegally terminated from any of these clubs for not engaging in prostitution, for not letting customers touch them all the time, or otherwise asserting boundaries? Do you know of any previous labor violations and the psychological warfare campaigns against them? Please contact me if you have any of this information.

#2: Please contact me if you have any incriminating or damning information about Jeremy Loewenstein, manager of Club Coyote Crawfordsville.

#3: Unrelated to labor rights, James Charles Link stated plainly that he murdered seven people in Blood gang related activities. When I asked him what he did with the bodies, he began to tell me about himself and an accomplice, but stopped himself. I am curious to know if this is true. If you have information regarding Blood-related murders, or what James Charles Link did with the bodies, please contact me.

#4: I’d like to know where James Charles Link is obtaining his opiates in Crawfordsville, Indiana. I generally don’t like opiate dealers. I’d like to know who these dealers are. James Charles Link informed me that Alonna Falcona Hunt was his cannabis dealer, but that he no longer purchases from her because her product is not good. Does Alonna Falcona Hunt also sell him his opiates? She is a scab dancer who is friends with my fucked up bosses at the last club that fired me. I suspected she was a Pretendian, and when I brought up the issue with James Charles Link, he said he didn’t think she was a Native American either, and said, “I don’t know why she does that”— referring to her Native American costume.

COMMERCIAL BREAK

Dear Amy Shelton,

Your husband Dustin Zahn has been cheating on you for some time at a strip club in town, where he goes to spend time with whores in private rooms. I have never serviced Dustin Zahn, but would frequently see him in my workplace waiting on dates, early in the evening. One day I sat with him because I noticed he was wearing a Wolf sanctuary hoodie, and I began talking to him about wolf populations. He stated that he had a friend I would like a lot, who is also an animal lover. He introduced his friend James Charles Link to me soon after. After Jimmy and I started hanging out, he insisted that I pretend like he didn’t tell me that Dustin had a wife. Pretending like you don’t exist was very important to Jimmy. I thought that was all weird since you all have facebooks, but anyway, clearly there is some infidelity going on in your marriage if Jimmy made such a big deal out of keeping everything a secret from you. I see you hang out with your husband and Jimmy a lot. I don’t like it when friends keep important secrets from me. I don’t think Jimmy Link is a very good friend to be doing that to you. I don’t think you should be married to Dustin Zahn if he’s going to be cheating on you with prostitutes at the local dive bar all the time. I’m not sure how either of these yokels expected me to keep quiet about such a thing and simultaneously try to destroy me. That’s silly. I really need to get back to my wonderful doxxing series, Mouse’s Ear Memoirs, and all this nonsense is keeping me from doing that. It is likely my email address and google searches have been hacked in some way, not that I’m too bothered by any of that. Everyone has inconsistent and embarrassing things about themselves. Anyway, Amy Shelton, I just thought you should know. Have a nice day.

COMMERCIAL BREAK

Hi everyone,

I need to take a break from Mouse’s Ear Memoirs to inform you that this past Spring, I accidentally fell desperately in love with a horrible human being named James Charles Link. He was a customer of mine who I looked up outside of work, called outside of work, visited outside of work, and asked not to visit me at work, after we began a relationship. He promised he wouldn’t tell my enemies about us, and he swiftly broke that promise. In a short period of time, I caught James in a number of pathological lies and called him out on them. Additionally, I refused to have sexual intercourse with him until he took a shower and washed his filthy rancid genitals that were covered in baking soda and rash. That experience never came, because he was never able to resolve his hygiene issues. I very much wanted that experience to happen, but he was embarrassed and confused about how to perform basic hygiene. He was very triggered by basic requests for him to shower, he became extremely hostile, and tried to fight me the last time we were together in person. He referred to his angry personality in the 3rd person as “him,” considered raping me, and repeatedly threatened to kill himself. He told me about how he joined the Bloods as a white person and murdered seven people. I still accepted him after all of those things though. He also admitted to being a covert opiate addict who is still currently using, when he initially lied about that to me too. The shit gets crazier down the rabbit hole. He ghosted me almost two months ago now, and I’m not sure why. Jimmy is now trying to ruin my life in any way he possibly can by colluding with my enemies, and I’m not sure why. Perhaps it is pent up sexual frustration at having never been able to close the deal with me. He used to angrily rant about all of the previous women who never fucked him. He told me that he wants his mother to die, though you’d never know it from his facebook posts. I am pretty sure he is living off of social security checks and eagerly awaiting the deaths of his grandfather and mother so he can cash in. I think he may think I hacked his devices, which I absolutely did not, nor do I know of anybody else who has. Some people are calling me a hypocrite for making this horrifying mistake, but I am not. Some people are calling me a hypocrite because I purchased a tin of legal cannabis gummies from a dispensary in my home state of Illinois, but I am not. James was just a mistake that should’ve been aborted from the beginning. A podcast episode about this whole debacle is in the works, many people in my life hate him already, my lawyers know about him, I am dealing with it legally, and I am not going to let some disgusting dirty dick piece of shit scab carpenter opiate addict, Decatur Blood murderer attempt to ruin my life any longer without my two cents! I just thought I’d nip this in the bud before proceeding with Mouse’s Ear Memoirs. I am not ashamed of loving him at all. My emotions are very intense, and shit happens. He has many redeeming qualities that I was initially attracted to. Yes, he is genetically less-than-ideal and aesthetically weird looking, but the heart wants what it wants. Cupid’s arrow strikes in the grossest of places sometimes. My lustful longing and adoration for James Charles Link is a sickness I bear now, a nauseating weight on every fibre of my being, imprinted on my heart for eternity like a hideous scar. Many more details about him will come after I finish this series, most likely. It’s been one of the worst Springs of my entire life. It’s been soul rape. He is assisting an assortment of scabs, predators, traffickers, and strip clubs to harm me. He is an extremely abusive, violent person. I can’t wait to tell you all about it. I would have already, but I am in the middle of a series. During my last phone conversation with James Charles Link, he was upset that he “leaked” his true self to me, and explained that most people don’t know the things about him that I know. Perhaps that is why he is upset with me. I hope no woman ever makes the same mistake. And, I do emphasize that other women must be cautious, because he has a lot of female supporters and enablers, and these townie women have a problem with the sentiments expressed on this website as well as my instagram regarding things like worker rights. One of my perverted creepy dude cousins is even involved somehow in the larger issue. They are all plebs though, and with time they will roll away like the turds that they are, back to their video games, excessive tattoos, opiates, televisions, mountain dew beverages, strip clubs, obesity, minimum wage jobs, anti-union sentiments, and memes.

Have a great day, avoid toxic humble culture, no gods, no masters, no wedding rings, fire the boss, fuck Alex Cave, and KEEP FIGHTING.

Mouse's Ear Memoirs: Brandy

I certainly can't be doxxing Brandy, even though I have all of her information. I told Brandy in November of 2019 that I wouldn't doxx her. However, Brandy needs her own post. I have so many unanswered questions. For example, just how much of a snake is Brandy, really? If anyone knows how much of a snake Brandy is, please email me. She is facebook friends with most of the people who she privately talked shit about with me, and she interacts with them on facebook regularly. A wise meme once said: A person who doesn't defend you while another person slanders you is your enemy too.

Some time after Lizzie was fired, I can't remember when, Brandy started working at Mouse's Ear. She is short, slightly hourglass shaped, with large doe eyes and dyed blonde hair. She has the look of a typical Appalachian white female. She was/is in her twenties. She was wearing a black and white striped carnivalesque leotard that I complimented her on when she scurried up to me and said,

“Show me your ways!”

I thought Brandy was very creepy and weird when we met. Her shifty dark eyes zoomed about, going this way and that. I didn't want to show Brandy my ways. I was not obligated to show everybody my ways. I wanted to enjoy my solitude and merrily go about my work shift selling songs. Brandy wouldn't let me do that. She followed me around, assuming I was OK with her being there to hustle with me. A lot of dancers like to hustle together, and they will be mean to people who prefer to be alone. Brandy informed me that she worked at Mouse's Ear prior to my arrival, had to stop when she had a baby, healed, and returned. It was her second baby. She was very insecure about her stretch marked belly. She usually wore fishnet tights or corsets to conceal her postpartum abdomen that sagged like a spayed cat's. Brandy was a lot more beautiful than she thought herself to be, despite these features. It's unfortunate when insecurities get in the way of workplace confidence. She is very elegant like a 1950s Parissienne. She is not a 1950s Parisienne though. She is an Eastern Kentucky/Florida hick.

The night that Brandy started following me around, I mostly ignored her. She and I sat with some bearded rednecks for a short time, before I took one away and sold seven songs to him. I ignored any attempts she made to leach off of my energy. After I sold seven songs and tried to avoid her, she became visibly infuriated and scurried over to the Brownings to taddle on me. The Brownings were not upset with me at all that I just made them seven songs worth of profits. When taddling to the Brownings didn't work, Brandy ran over to an extremely unattractive dressing room hag named Taylor. Taylor instructed Brandy to not talk to me. Taylor told Brandy that the reason why I was able to sell a block of seven songs to a customer, was because I put a spell on him and that I am a dangerous witch. Brandy believed Taylor wholeheartedly. I know all of this, because Brandy told me about the entire event some weeks later.

After Taylor told Brandy that I am a dangerous witch that evening, Brandy didn't stop following me around for a time, though she did stop trying to converse with me. There was another incident in which she sat down with a customer and I, wouldn't acknowledge me, but whispered to the customer not to make eye contact with me. She told him that I am a witch who casts my spells through eye contact, and that he can avoid having a spell put on him by not looking directly at me. Her behavior most certainly interfered with my money.

I'm not sure what the psychological diagnosis is for Brandy, but several weeks after all of the above paragraphs occurred, she randomly tried to befriend me again. She approached me where I was sitting by myself, apologized for her previous behavior, and told me that she really admired my sales skills. She told me all of the conversations that occurred with Taylor and others describing me as a dangerous witch. She stated that she wishes for me to instruct her on sales. I think Brandy is probably just a little sociopath with poor impulse control, but I'm glad she let the secrets out, because I did have a lot of unanswered questions that she helped answering. Brandy aggressively asked me for my phone number after that, so I gave it to her. She started texting me with regularity, and asking me for advice on things-- everything from information about cleaning our shoes with peroxide, to talking to customers. I must emphasize that she was the one who initiated and pursued these communications, and I reciprocated. I did enjoy talking to her, because she is politically left enough to be a Bernie Sanders supporter, and she has a delightful kind of kooky Appalachian merriment that I also exhibit and feel comfortable around. After Brandy built a rapport with me in terms of phone calls, text messages, apologies, and information about what our coworkers were saying about me, I would occasionally approach her at work to comfortably chat when it was slow. That is what people do when they are friendly and enjoy talking to one another in a mutually reciprocating manner.

One day on the phone, after Brandy and I became friends, LingLing informed me that she had to “warn” me about Brandy. She informed me that when I wasn't around, Brandy was going up to her, as well as speaking with other dancers, saying things about me such as,

“I don't know WHY she is talking to me! We're not friends!”

I was disappointed to be informed of these comments, so I called Brandy up while my audio recorder was on, to confront her on the situation. It was the first time I recorded our conversations. Normally I don't like to be a creepy friend who records people, but I wanted to make sure I had evidence of Brandy being a snake. She completely denied making the statements that LingLing accused her of, but it sounded like she was lying. She insisted that she was not ashamed to be talking to me at work, and that she never said those things to LingLing. I still have the recording if anyone wants to listen to it. My theory about what happened, is that the other dancers were giving Brandy shit for being nice to me, such as pill-chasing Aspen who didn't want people to talk to me, so Brandy couldn't handle the social pressure and wanted to “play both sides.”

Sometimes if I was selling an excessive amount of dances, even after Brandy befriended me, she'd ignore me or have seething flashes of anger bubbling beneath her cordial persona. Most Appalachians have a deep dark shadow self beneath our jovial exterior of customer service polite society presence. I always knew Brandy was leaky in terms of our conversations. There would be times when I said something only to her, and later everyone would know what was discussed. Sometimes I said things only to her just to test the situation. If I confronted her about relaying our conversations with other people, she'd just deny it. She was a bad alcoholic who occasionally passed out in the dressing room, before waking up and driving home, but that's no excuse for being leaky. She is quite the wild card.

Brandy stated that she just tried to “spread love” by being nice to everybody in the workplace. One dancer who Brandy had intense anger for was Heidi. I have no idea why, because Heidi was nice to almost everybody, and exceedingly more attractive that most of us, including Brandy. Brandy's fixation with Heidi was always peculiar to me. She used to ask me for advice on “dealing with” Heidi, which also made me uncomfortable. When Brandy didn't think I was around to hear her, she would comfort Brazil when Brazil made comments about wanting to punch and kill me for selling songs to customers she believed belonged to her. Brandy has been mentioned in a number of posts already, such as the one about Selexa getting fired. Throughout this series, I have intentionally included excerpts of things Brandy has said, in order to give examples of what a snake she is. One time when Brandy was having a disagreement with LaNae, she shouted something along the lines of,

“At least my teeth aren't all rotten in my mouth!”

She later apologized profusely to poor LaNae for bringing up dentistry, but continued to laugh about LaNae's rotten teeth with Bunny and I privately. Bunny was Brandy's closet workplace ally. In previous posts, I have discussed both of these individuals positively, but when it comes down to it, they are not reliable or trustworthy. They are both facebook friends with many horrible people, such as Aspen. Brandy is facebook friends with the Brownings. Brandy and Bunny did not give a shit enough to do anything about worker rights.

Like many Appalachians and many strippers, Brandy is a Pretendian who prominently claims to be a Native American. Besides Elizabeth Warren's social media accounts, the two places where I've found the highest concentration of Pretendians are strip clubs, and in the hills of Appalachia. I believe this is from a combination of family lore, a narcissistic desire to co-opt a deluded noble savage identity, and a sick idea that indigenous people are Earthy and sexy. When I pressed Brandy on her alleged indigenous ancestry, she defensively started screaming,

“I don't know because my ancestors are ALL DEAD, ALL INDIANS ARE DEAD. I DON'T KNOW WHO THEY ARE!”

I think what she actually meant to say was that she is a white person with a vague family legend of having Native American admixture, but she is so out of touch with history that she is unable to answer any questions about it without becoming angrily defensive and lying, because she has no tribal connections whatsoever. Pathological liars who have an attachment to Native American Ancestry legends are in almost every strip club that I have ever worked at across America, especially in small towns. They are wearing “Indigenous Resistance” earrings, black lipstick, winged eyeliner, peddling low-grade cannabis, jamming out to Snotty Nose Rez Kids, thinking they are original or special in some way, desperately clinging to an identity that is not theirs, because they believe it will make them more cool.

Brandy had a bias against high earners who didn't have children, and once stated that I have no responsibilities because I have no children. I didn't reply to her, because she is so stupid that I didn't feel like bothering. I actually do have lots of responsibilities and Brandy is a dumbass for making that remark. One responsibility I've excelled at, which Brandy has not, is avoiding impregnation from scummy men who are hell bent on breeding me. Brandy was very unhappy with her intimate relationship at the time of our working together. Over the past three years, she has left her first two kids' dad, and found a new guy. The new one is a financially stable union tradesman. She managed to get impregnated by him, gave birth to her third child, and takes photos of her stable nuclear family for facebook. I think it's odd how it all happened so quickly. They engage in performative PDA for social media. I question the authenticity of it. I've never been married, but I can't help to wonder how often these types of relationships involve low-key marital rape and sexual coercion. I'd guess a lot. I'd guess the loser male is desperate for love and will give it to whatever financially desperate single mother clings to him. I wish Brandy could be financially independent and leave her latest inseminator. I don't believe a lot of these women are actually in love with their men, so much as they depend on them financially and find convenience in having a relationship with them. I'd hate to deal with all of those late night boners and farts in my bedroom every single night for eternity. I think these women are lying to themselves. Brandy's just been slithering through life down South-- in Kentucky, in Florida, in Tennessee with her shifty eyes. We're all just trying to survive. There is a vulnerable, artsy, waifish quality to her in this capitalist patriarchy-- but only a fool would truly trust her. She ghosted me when I needed her to be my NLRB witness-- not that I didn't already meticulously collect ample evidence as it was. I am responsible, after all.

Mouse's Ear Memoirs: Renata Rangel

Brazil's teeth look great. Her real name is Renata Rangel. It's hard to find an unaltered photo of her, but I will include the few I found throughout this post. She is a horrible coworker who deserves to get doxxed. She started at Mouse's Ear in the Summer of 2019, and was recently still working there. I don't know if she is currently still working there. Brazil is a Crybully scab who wrangled management sympathy for her benefit, and intentionally tried to sabotage the working experiences of other dancers.

I have a soft spot for Brazil, and do not hate her as I hate the likes of Selexa, Aspen, or Ivywood. Beneath all of Brazil's workplace toxicity, she is a nerdy academic who brazenly immigrated to a whole new continent for a better life. Let us first acknowledge the vulnerable parts of her, followed by some positive traits, before delving into the problems.

Brazil's dad in Brazil was battling cancer while she was working at Mouse's Ear. Her family in Brazil did not have good healthcare. She was sending money back home. She was a single mother with three children. Being an ESL teacher doesn't pay as much as it should. She started dancing because many jobs in academia do not financially support hard working women. She is an extremely hard worker who wanted to take care of both her family in Brazil and her babies in the USA. She has clear porcelain skin and silky thick black hair, a beautiful contrast which hearkens ancient memories of Celtiberians and Galecia. She has a charming Brazilian accent, combined with a Tennessee twang. Brazilians who live in other parts of the United States do not sound the same as Brazil does with her Tennessee twang. It is extremely enjoyable and interesting to listen to her pronounce words while both of her accents weave together like poetry. She is wickedly well spoken, verbally skilled, with a classical European bravado that just melts on the ears as each syllable bursts into existence like little nebulas. Her voice is sensually raspy, as many Spanish and Portuguese voices tend to be. Her sultry accented voice was always her greatest sales asset.

Brazil seemed relatively opposed to the idea that we should “tip” Alexandra Cave. She verbally expressed a desire to keep her money for her babies instead of giving it away to that stupid cunt. Brazil gave Alex the bare minimum of socially acceptable tips that would continue to let her coast by at work without the type of harassment that I experienced.

I was very nice to Brazil when she started at Mouse's Ear. She sat next to me and told me her life story within minutes of meeting me, like Codi did. I felt the need to be extra nice to her in the beginning, because she was an outsider compared to our coworkers, like me. Like Codi, she was a single mother who got a bunch of tattoos that helped liberate herself from her former husband. She was nice to me for about a week, before becoming upset at the amount of dances I sold, getting propagandized by our coworkers, and angry when we both sat in a large group of customers, where I sold some dances to people who asked me for them after they got dances from her. After about a week, she decided to be unjustly horrible to me, a decision which was fully supported by the Brownings, Conner, and most other dancers.

Brazil immigrated to the USA around the age of eighteen. Her three children are from two different guys. She fought for their custody and regularly complained about her exes at work. She is attracted to toxic abusive men. She married a freckled, red haired Tennessean misogynist named Russel Goble, and bore two of his children. This secured her green card. They divorced, she had a third baby with some other guy, and she got a bunch of tattoos to liberate herself. Her ex husband got paid under the table, didn't pay his taxes, and therefore didn't pay her a lot of child support. She hates him, but also talked about him at work all the time. He had a girlfriend in 2019 who Brazil seemed jealous of. She discussed her disdain for his girlfriend at work with regularity. Brazil was unwilling to hire a babysitter for her three young children while she was working nights at Mouse's Ear, and also unwilling to give more visitation time to their dads who wanted to take care of them. Her solution was to have her eight year old daughter and similarly aged son babysit her toddler daughter. She instructed her old man neighbor to occasionally check up on the house while the eight year old was babysitting. On around October 18th of 2019, the toddler's dad got a temporary emergency custody order served to Brazil at Mouse's Ear during working hours. She left work early that shift, to tend to the custody issues. CPS had an unpleasant presence in Brazil's life.

Brazil obtained an older boyfriend while working at Mouse's Ear. He was from New Jersey and became obsessed with her. He stayed with her and the kids, and planned to move to Tennessee to be with her permanently. He stated that he wanted to get married and settle down with her. When Brazil had to fill out her Mouse's Ear “Leave of Absence” form to visit him in New Jersey, she described her leave of absence reason as “hopping on a dick.” That made Ralph Browning chuckle, as Ralph liked Brazil a whole lot and enjoyed reading about her “hopping on a dick.” Most of the men who Brazil let into her personal life were conservative Trump supporters. She is a Trump supporter. She and Khaleesi are friends, and on facebook they discuss their enthusiastic support for the 45th president.

Brazil advertised herself online, in search of various forms of male financial support. I don't know if she did actual escorting, but she regularly gave out her phone number to customers at work, kept in contact with them outside of work, and harvested an online presence as an adult entertainer with links to her real name. She made “friends” with lots of men in a way that is dangerous and beyond what regular strippers do.

Renata Rangel body shamed me at work a lot, both in front of me and during times when she didn't think I could hear her. The main thing about my body that bothered her was my female genital hairs. Renata Rangel was always bothered that I don't have bald genitals. Perhaps her bias against female genital hairs is influenced by the country she is from, home of the Brazilian wax. Brazil also disliked my height, and body shamed me about that sometimes too. She is short, with tiny matchstick legs, very limited curves, and bald genitalia. One time, Brazil was making fun of my body along with a mentally ill dressing room tourist named Roxy. They were both standing by my locker when they didn't think I could hear them. Brazil and Roxy were body shaming me, by discussing a desire to cast a spell on me that would make all of my female genital hairs fall out. Brazil and Roxy were upset and confused as to how I was able to sell so many dances even though I don't shave. Roxy has been discussed in a previous post for having similar conversations with dancer Cali. Brazil and Roxy were bothered that I don't have bald genitals, and they spent a lot of time thinking about my genitals, talking about my genitals. Roxy suggested that they NOT do the spell to make my genital hairs fall out. Roxy stated that if I had bald genitals like her, I'd only sell more dances, because Roxy believed customers would find me even more attractive with bald genitals. Roxy sold almost no dances, as mentioned in previous entries. As mentioned, Brazil's associate Roxy was a hypocritical SJW dressing room hag who body shamed me a lot. Brazil often stared at me while I was naked on stage, making fun of me. She'd later deny making fun of me if I confronted her about it in a cordial manner. She'd say things such as,

“I DON'T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT YOU OR LOOK AT THAT SHIT!”

She totally looked at “that shit” though, and talked about my body all the time. In my head, I referred to Brazil's obsessive monitoring of my female genital hairs as “Bush Watch.” Sometimes I trimmed more than usual, and she'd nod her head in approval. Sometimes, I'd grow my hair out in a more bushy way, and it incited anger for Brazil. Her preoccupation with being disgusted by my female genital hairs was very creepy and weird, all the more because she always denied her frequent and loud comments. Sometimes if Brazil and I were sitting in the vicinity of one another, she'd loudly start talking about shaving, or getting Brazilian genital waxes. In the shithole country of Brazil, women are told they are not beautiful unless they use many grooming products and get plastic surgery, such as butt lifts. Perhaps immigrating to the USA and becoming a stripper, only to see a tall furry Valkyrie make so much money, fucked with her head too much for her to handle. Perhaps growing up around South American Scalpel Sluts who engage in performative, surgically altered displays of femininity was Brazil's only idea of female attractiveness. Brazil regularly referred to me by using “Bitch” as a pronoun, although she also does that on social media to random people in her posts too. “Bitch” is one of her favorite pronouns to use.

Conner regularly supported Brazil's harassment of me, would never help me if I complained about her harassment, and he reacted as though he thought Brazil needed to be protected in some way. Brazil always knew that Conner was on her “side.” She also keenly understood that Ralph Browning did not like me, so she continued to harass me throughout the entire time that we worked together. I ignored her as much as possible, while she whined to Ralph and Conner that I was harming her in some way. Crybullies are dangerous, because while they victimize themselves by pretending to be vulnerable, they are actually predatory harassers. Brazil used to cuddle with Disgusting Ralph Browning on the show floor, in a way similar to Michelle's cuddling. It was especially gross if I accidentally glanced over at them, because Brazil would make sure to make eye contact with me, smirk and glare in a sinister manner.

Brazil was under the impression that I was bragging to people about using magick to sell dances, even though I wasn't. Therefore, Brazil occasionally came up to me to dramatically cast spells in a mocking tone. At the time, she expressed that she thought magick isn't real. Recently, I noticed Brazil got a pentagram tattoo on her hand and is into pagan stuff now. Perhaps dancing in Tennessee for several years has had a positive effect on her feelings toward heathenism.

Brazil used to approach customers who were sitting at my stage specifically, to ask them if they wanted to buy dances. As mentioned in Raven's post, this was an abnormality specific to Mouse's Ear. However, Brazil often did it specific to when I was on stage. If I did the same thing to her afterwards, Idiot Conner would become upset with me. Brazil had a very peculiar double standard position of privilege at Mouse's Ear. I believe she was able to maintain her position of privilege by complaining to lots of people about being a single immigrant mother with limited child support funds. One time, I got sexually assaulted by a customer who happened to be someone Brazil was hanging out with. I told Conner, who was initially apprehensive about it because he thought I was just trying to harm Brazil, but he removed the customer from the club anyway. Brazil then yelled “BITCH” at me, without any risk of punishment from management. It's always very triggering and traumatic to get sexually assaulted, only to experience further harassment from women who are mad at me for standing up for myself. If I was to reply to Brazil in any way, I'd always get reprimanded, so I almost never said a word to her. She regularly complained about me to Conner and Ralph, as though she was aggressively trying to get me fired. Sometimes, Brazil would do things like walk past me and aggressively brush her tiny body up against me, or if I stood waiting to use the long mirror and she was standing there, she'd stand in front of it for an excessive amount of time, doing nothing except not letting me use it. I ignored all of these behaviors. She is such a disgusting human being in terms of catty petty workplace behavior. While I am much larger than Brazil and could easily beat the fuck out of her until she is a soupy pulp, I always knew there was the double standard, that Conner was in favor of my termination, and that I was always at risk of losing my job for who I am, while Brazil was always garnering sympathy from Conner, The Brownings, and her close ally Raven. One reason I really hate Raven is because of her sympathy for manipulative, abusive Crybullies like Renata. I couldn't do anything about that hostile working environment that Brazil solely created. I don't think Brazil knew the specifics of my history suing clubs or anything like that, but she could smell my blood in the water, and that was enough for her to continue being awful.

Initially, many dancers had a fondness for Brazil because she was a single mother struggling to survive. They understood her struggle, and despite her being an immigrant from Latin America, her story resonated with many of their own problems. So, initially, Brazil's aggressive harassment of me was supported and encouraged by all. After a while though, many dancers came to understand that Brazil is a toxic Crybully. I wasn't the only dancer who Brazil was aggressively horrible to. She expressed a seething dislike for Tall Beautiful Zoey, perhaps due to issues of jealousy. Brazil spread rumors to customers that Zoey was pregnant. Brazil regularly discussed the personal lives of dancers, such as LaNae's personal life, with customers in the workplace.

An ugly guy in his 50s named Ted used to come into Mouse's Ear. He used to be a union millwright before starting his own business. Before Brazil started working there, I enjoyed talking to Ugly Ted about all things trades. His wife had some kind of health problem that prevented her from being “intimate” with him, and he seemed to be looking for someone to help him with his “needs.” I never helped him with such needs, because I am not a whore. I simply sold table dances to him on occasion. But, when Brazil started working at Mouse's Ear, they exchanged phone numbers and become “closer.” I didn't realize that happened until one day when I sat next to him as usual to talk about welding and sell him a dance. He was sitting there texting with Brazil, who was cooking chicken in her home and telling him she was on her way. As anyone would do, I curiously inquired as to why she was texting him details about her life outside of work. He stated they had become “friends.” I thought that was weird, but I still intended to get some money out of him by selling him a song or two, so he bought one or two songs from me. This upset Brazil later on when she found out. She accused me of stealing her customer, even though I met Ugly Ted prior to her working there, and despite the fact that she was not there when I sold the songs. After she was on the show floor that evening and had spoken with Ted, she began angrily accusing me of asking him about her personal life. She began telling other dancers that I was prying into her personal life, when actually it was just a casual conversation with him after he brought her up. For the remainder of my time working at Mouse's Ear, Brazil frequently brought up that day with Ted, as though I had some kind of emotional attachment to the situation. Whorish Brazil successfully had Ted discontinue all conversation with me from then on. Ted wasn't the only customer who Brazil harvested outside-of-work relationships with though. Her various twitter accounts, “sponsor” seeking platforms and non-stripper activities were ever present in her work life. After Brazil become comfortable with harassing me, she'd do weird things like stare at customers I was sitting with from across the room, trying to manifest them over to her. This almost never worked. She'd sit at my stage and begin yelling at me if I spoke to a customer who was also sitting at my stage who she was sitting with. She stated that she was going to kill me in the dressing room when she didn't think I could hear her, and threaten to “punch” me.

Brazil did territorial weird things with chairs, such as place a bandanna on specific chairs she thought belonged to her, and expect me not to sit in the spots where I almost always sat. My solution one day was to just move the entire chair and replace it with a new chair. She became upset with this behavior and expected her allies to support her, by attempting to rally them on the matter.

In terms of aesthetics, Brazil's face is boring-to-unattractive. Most of her online photos are digitally altered in such a way that one might mistake her for someone else. Perhaps she wants plastic surgery, but cannot afford it. Dancer Brandy once stated that Brazil resembles a strange bird. Brazil is not a very good dancer, or in touch with the rhythm of the music. Even though she's not curvy, most of her dancing was butt-oriented. She'd often vibrate it awkwardly for customers, and complain about Conner not playing enough of her kind of music, which was basically just typical crappy strip club music. As previously mentioned, I don't think she'd do so well as a dancer, were it not for the voice and accent. Brazil was in the running for Mouse's Ear's “Entertainer of The Year” earlier this year, but something weird happened at Mouse's Ear recently that I am unaware the details of, and I'm not sure if she still works there. Brazil has dabbled in other career paths, like trying to run her own Knoxville fat removal machine center, where rich fat ladies go when they don't want to exercise. She also bartends and instructs exercise classes. Over all, she has a sad stressful life of courting abusive douche bags, taking care of family through gig work, body shaming smoking hot Valkyries with gorgeous bushes, being obsessed with nasty ass misogynist Brazilian beauty ideals, and supporting jingoist Trump stuff. I’d hate to be her, and sometimes wonder what her blood pressure is like.

I knew a dancer from Brazil who was very similar to Renata, years back. I was shocked to see this other Brazilian in a zoom call mediation hearing with me last year, negotiating a multi-million dollar class action settlement with the rest of us dancer plaintiffs. This other Brazilian had joined the class action I was a part of, along with some 30+ others. I strongly disliked this young lady who had courted management sympathy, but I was also happy to have her in on the call, putting our differences aside, to shake down our former employers for all the money they stole from us. It wouldn't surprise me at all if Renata is smart enough to do something similar. I hope she does. Her family's bank accounts deserve nothing less.

Mouse's Ear Memoirs: Ivywood

The first question Ivywood ever asked me in May of 2019 was what my zodiac sign is. That's when I knew she is a fucking idiot who categorizes people based on false bullshit, and I should stay away from her. Ivywood was apprehensive about me when I replied Taurus. I think she said she's a Virgo, not that it matters. Astrology isn't real. The only cool thing about astrology is when rich people hilariously spend lots of money on the materials to enrich pauper charlatan saleswomen.

The 2019 Mouse's Ear crew might be surprised to know that I fucking loathed Ivywood. I kept my hatred for Ivywood shrouded in secrecy at Mouse's Ear until the very end, when I spoke with LingLing on the phone about it. LingLing spilled the beans. I think I might've told Brandy and Bunny about my secret hatred for Ivywood near the end, after LingLing spilled the beans. To everyone else, I pretended like LingLing was full of shit. She wasn't full of shit. I really do hate Ivywood. The only reason why I'm not doxxing Ivywood now is because she is extremely secretive about her identity. I was unable to gather a shred of information about her that would lead me to her legal name. She keeps a Kaczynski-level low profile. With all this doxxing on Mouse's Ear Memoirs, perhaps she is happy about those security culture choices right about now. She lives somewhere secluded in rural Appalachia, up a long gravel road, so she says. That doesn't explain why I hate her though. Let's back up.

Ivywood didn't come into Mouse's Ear too often, but she had a regular presence during my first few weeks. She'd cycle through coming in, off and on, throughout my six months. Ivywood usually carried an animal fur with her, and placed it on chairs before sitting down. It looked like a North American Cottontail rabbit, but I could be wrong. Ivywood initially told me that she came to Appalachia from Iowa, but later revealed that she is from somewhere near the Quad Cities, Illinois. I've camped near Quad Cities many times. It is a conservative area, and nothing like Chicagoland despite being in the same state. Whatever Upper Midwestern town Ivywood was from, she had distinctly nasally points to her hidden accent, which she intentionally made sound more Southern. Whatever Upper Midwestern town Ivywood was from, she was a carpetbagger with no ancestral ties to Tennessee that I was aware of. She told me that she likes “hillbillies” and living in Appalachia seemed “right.” Most of our Southern coworkers accepted her as one of their own. Ivywood told me that she worked at Mouse's Ear for about four years. During our first conversation, she said that she didn't talk to any of the other dancers during her first year at Mouse's Ear. She informed me that they were abnormally mean to her, and that Mouse's Ear dancers were abnormally mean in comparison to other clubs she has worked. Ivywood didn't have a good short term memory, so she repeated this “I didn't talk to coworkers my first year” anecdote to me several times during my six months at Mouse's Ear. This doesn't explain why I hate her though.

Ivywood was around her mid-twenties, mid-height for an adult white female, with long light brown hair and an average-looking nondescript feminine face of perhaps French or German origins. She was pretty, but also unremarkable. Her legs were long in ratio to her body, with an hourglass lower half of flared out hips that many people found aesthetically pleasing, a smaller chest, and a very tidy put-together natural appearance of a middle-class Midwestern person-- turned Appalachian hippie. Ivywood didn't hack off all of her female genital hairs like most of the other Mouse's Ear hags, but her hair is also light brown. Her overall appearance is not as dramatic or offensive as mine, but we both share a certain Earthy aesthetic. Her skin is not as porcelain fair as mine, he hair not nearly as dark to contrast the skin, and she's not as tall and lanky as me. She's more socially acceptable in a non-threatening feminine way. Ivywood usually applied some kind of piney fragrance or essential oil to her person, and burned sage at her locker during times of tension. Most of the dancers were impressed by her performative new age pseudo-scientific coolness. I was never impressed. I dislike pseudo-science, sage burning, North American Cottontail death-fashion, astrology, and many other things about Ivywood. I hate toxic positivity. I hate apathy. I hate poseurs. I hate complicit ignorance. I haven't even gotten to the sexual harassment yet.

Ivywood had a non-legal “spiritual marriage” with a man she called her husband. She stated that she didn't need a piece of paper to be married. Ivywood regularly talked about doing lots of drugs in rural Appalachia, but didn't specify what kinds. If I had to guess, I'd say natural psychedelics. She once stated that she gets paranoid when the mailman comes to her house, and she has to hide her drugs when she hears him coming up the gravel road. Ivywood drove a practically brand new black truck. She often discussed the large property that she lived on, and the animals she collected. These animals included baby goats and black dogs. She did not rescue these animals from bad situations; she purchased them from capitalist exploitative breeders. She once stated that she was trying to manifest a certain color pet cat, but manifested it incorrectly, and her dog killed a stray cat of the same color she was trying to manifest. Ivywood's non-legal husband had some kind of medical problem which caused his intestines to break apart. Ivywood might've had babies who she didn't want to talk about at work. Ivywood might've worked at some kind of a new age spiritual center with her husband. Ivywood was strongly opposed to using microwaves, because she believed they destroyed vitamins and minerals from the food. Ivywood was absolutely not a vegan, quite the opposite-- she was very pro-meat. One fast food restaurant she ate from was Culver's. I feel sorry for the chicken who was murdered so some meat loving hippie bitch could eat Culver's before work. I still haven't gotten to the sexual harassment.

Ivywood-- literary ethereal antiquity lover that she is-- thought Madison Rae Gladstone's svelte ginger phenotype was extraordinarily beautiful, and commented on it with regularity if they were both working. However, Ivywood had hesitations about interacting with Natalie, due to Natalie's high-strung meanness. Natalie had a tendency to call weak men she disliked “cucks,” in a very 4Chan manner. Ivywood didn't like that, because she and her non-legal husband were into three-ways, and Ivywood was offended with Natalie's derogatory use of the term “cuck.” Lilith was very fond of Ivywood, for her tidy au naturale ways, her sage burning, her useful seamstress skills and hair cutting skills in the dressing room. Lilith repeatedly described Ivywood as “a good woman.” “A Good Woman” is a term that conservatives and assorted Southerners use to describe an adult human female who engages in traditionally feminine activities, and who is perceived to be of honest and upstanding traditional character-- unlike a Nasty Woman. By all definitions, Ivywood was the ultimate Good Woman.

Ivywood was often in the room when, or in close proximity of, people like Rhed or Khaleesi when they were saying horrifyingly terrible things about me, expressing desires to fatally harm me. Ivywood never uttered a word in my defense that I'm aware of. Ivywood was friends with Selexa, and they discussed attending a music festival together where they can walk around naked and do drugs. Doing those things with Selexa sounds like a horrible hell to me, but Ivywood was into the idea. Ivywood expressed amusement when Selexa started following me around, bothering me in the workplace. I haven't even mentioned Ivywood's sexual harassment yet though.

Ivywood thinks of herself as anti-authoritarian or subversive in some way, but I saw her as more of a beta follower. It didn't take long for the comments and opinions about me from people like Khaleesi, Lilith, and Raven to effect Ivywood. Ivywood and I stopped talking at a certain point. More specifically-- Ivywood stopped approaching me to talk. I never initiated contact with her. I did not miss smelling her, or hearing her astrology bullshit, when she stopped talking to me. One time when Khaleesi was berating and threatening me in the dressing room about not letting Alex Cave extort me for “tips,” I stood up for myself by discussing how we shouldn't feel obligated to give away our money to staff. Ivywood started burning sage, not talking to me, not doing anything except engaging in conversation with Khaleesi about clothes or whatever. I hate cowards. They are dangerous. Toxic positivity and sage burning in times of labor conflicts is dangerous. Since Ivywood has a poor memory, she'd come back to work after a few weeks to a month of being gone, and not really recall what had happened the previous times that we worked together. Sometimes she was nice to me, sometimes not. Sometimes she'd come back after being gone for a spell, and randomly try to talk to me or “include” me in conversations with the dressing room hags who she was friends with. Sometimes she complimented me on things like my accessories or clothing items in front of other people, to show her solidarity and willingness to be friendly with me. It was random and dandy, but I preferred strength and consistency. I never needed Ivywood. Ivywood was mean to Bunny when Bunny first started, because everyone else was mean to Bunny. Ivywood would eavesdrop on me sitting with Bunny as we were having an unremarkable conversation at the mirror, putting on cosmetics. Ivywood's behavior wasn't much different than any other territorial cunt with social clout who worked there. I'll get to her sexual harassment, eventually.

In Raven's doxx, I mentioned that she was the only one with sales tallies that regularly kept up with mine. Raven was at work regularly, so that's why I said she was the only one. Ivywood wasn't at work regularly, but when she was, her sales tallies sometimes exceeded mine. Most of the time, Ivywood's tallies were slightly behind mine. There was some subtle unspoken competition between me and Ivywood. I never felt threatened by Plastic Raven, but with Ivywood and I having so much in common physically, and both being from Illinois with nasally accents, mine more prominent because I don't hide it, there was a bit of a rivalry in sales. Sometimes Ivywood would slyly smirk if a customer chose her instead of me and she took them away to do a dance. Sometimes Ivywood would subtly glare at me if I did the same to her. Ivywood heard the false rumors about me being cheap, so she went out of her way to stare at the amounts of money customers were giving me, as though she was trying to determine if the rumors were true. They were not true; only the dressing room hags made those statements as a cope. One time when it was slow and Ivywood was in the mood to be nice to me, she sat down with me on the show floor. She started talking to me about The Secret and “the law of attraction.” She assumed that I believed in such things and that I used neural-linguistic programming as my main method of hustling. She assumed wrong, but I didn't correct her. It was later on in my employment that she started with “the law of attraction” conversation. I already hated her by that point, and I didn't think it would benefit me in any way to disprove “the law of attraction” by explaining the scientific method to some stupid disgusting sexually predatory cunt with her ass on a dead North American Cottontail. Ivywood always assumed that she and I agreed on more things than we did. I fucking hate The Secret. Sing it loud, sing it proud! Ivywood is a pseudoscience loving shitlib from the Midwest, with the opinion that privilege and good things happen to certain people because they think hard enough about it. That's what “the law of attraction” is all about.

Contrary to Lilith’s observations, I occasionally purchased some CBD cigarettes from the store across the road from Mouse's Ear, and occasionally drank one beer per night at work. One day, I lit a CBD cigarette in the dressing room at the start of our shift. Ivywood became upset, along with her friend Raven, and angrily stated that she smells “The Devil's Lettuce.” It was pretty fucking weird that they became so angry about me lighting a CBD cigarette, accusing me of having “The Devil's Lettuce,” when we were otherwise surrounded by illegal narcotics and cannabis vape on a near constant basis.

One time, a friend of mine from outside of work came in because he wanted to say hi. That was not allowed at Mouse's Ear, but I neglected to notify him of the rules. He thought it would be nice to support the dancers by going to the ATM machine after Ivywood introduced herself and requested monies. I intervened while he was at the ATM machine, chatted with him for a while, and instructed him to leave the club. This sent Ivywood into an angry rage. She approached me, having to look up due to our height difference, and accused me of “cut throating.” Even after I explained the confusion to her, she was still angry with me and stated that anyone who walks into a strip club is fair game. It's certainly true that anybody who walks into a strip club is fair game, but it is also true that a friend from the outside world really wasn't supposed to be in there and needed to leave ASAP. Lilith was aware of the incident and made sure to inform the Brownings about it, because they had been known to fire dancers in the past who had friends come in as customers. There was a certain degree of plausible deniability on my part, so Buddy simply gave me a firm expression during a subsequent shift. Ivywood later thanked me for explaining the situation to her, and expressed some sympathy. That still doesn't explain why I hate her though. I really need to get to the sexual harassment.

Ivywood sexually assaulted me on the 13th of October, 2019. I was coming up the stairs and she asked to see my hair. I thought she meant head hair. She proceeded to pull down my underwear and pull up my dress. It was a really creepy and horrible sexual assault that took several days to recover from. She wanted to converse about genital hair and thought it appropriate to casually, rapidly remove my clothing when I came up the stairs. Ivywood used to brag about sexually assaulting her husband while he was sleeping. Ivywood used to pat Bunny's chest, as though she was playing the drums, without Bunny's consent or initiation of any kind. When I discussed these matters with LingLing on the phone, LingLing informed me that Ivywood used to put her hands on her sometimes without consent, but LingLing did not specify how. One time when Ivywood and I were sitting with a customer who sexually assaulted me, I got upset. Ivywood put her hand on my arm and told me to “let it go,” because she thought the best way to deal with such a customer was to walk away from and ignore him. Ivywood and Aspen were quite chummy at work, to the extent that Ivywood considered having Aspen do her taxes. After Ivywood sexually assaulted me at the top of the stairs aggressively, rapidly, and without provocation, Aspen thought my reserved reaction was very strange, and suspiciously asked me if I had ever worked at a fully nude club before. Aspen was confused as to why I had no interest in looking at my coworker's genitals or discussing my genitals with my coworkers. In fact, I have worked at many fully nude clubs, ones in which dancers do not harass one another in a physical manner, or spend extensive amounts of time in the dressing room socializing together, clubs in which dancers do not sexually assault one another. Mouse's Ear is disgusting in a variety of ways, as discussed in many previous entries. As mentioned, LingLing spilled the beans that I fucking hate Ivywood, and she included my complaints of Ivywood's sexual assault and sexual harassment. After LingLing told, Ivywood approached me unprovoked, tapped a one dollar bill against my nipple, and asked,

“Is that ok?”

She asked it in a calm manner, as though she thought she was respecting consent, being sensual, or otherwise doing something that was appropriate in the workplace or elsewhere. It never fucking was appropriate in the workplace or elsewhere. She is loathsome and disgusting. I hope the bitch dies. The only reason why I didn't vocalize my hatred for Ivywood openly was because she was friendly with the Brownings, great friends with Raven, respected by almost all coworkers, and called A Good Woman by coworkers. She is loathsome and gross. Hatred is good and hatred is right. I want my readers to always understand that hatred for people like Ivywood is appropriate and acceptable, and that toxic positivity is perpetuated by disgusting pieces of shit. Let your hate burn, burn, burn like a sage bundle to cleanse your soul of agony and trauma. If anyone tells you differently, burn them too. Perhaps anti-vaxx Ivywood gets COVID and her lungs burn until she dies.

Mouse's Ear Memoirs: Justine Marie Cox

It's time to doxx Cox. I meant to do this one weeks ago, but every time I sit down and think about her, I get writer's block. Thinking about Cox is traumatizing. Cox was one of my least favorite coworkers. Pardon the delay. I fucking loathe her. Most dancers did. My remaining posts on Mouse's Ear Memoirs might be more spaced out. I'm getting into the more traumatizing coworkers who I don't want to think about. I don't want to spend the emotional energy on processing them, but they must be processed. The show must go on.

Justine Marie Cox danced at Mouse's Ear under the stage name Aspen. She started working there a little over a year before I did. Aspen has been mentioned in a number of posts already. She goes by Aspen Holiday on StripperWeb. Cox grew up in Apex, North Carolina. She claimed to be from a multi-generational wealthy family who owns a lot of properties throughout the Carolinas. She claimed to have an uncle who is a republican senator in North Carolina, but did not specify who he is. If any of my readers know who Cox's republican uncle senator of North Carolina is, please contact me. Justine Marie Cox shares many values of republicans, and supported a lot of Trump's policies. Cox was only in her early twenties during her time at Mouse's Ear, but most people thought she was much older. Her older boyfriend is named Tim Chrome James. Tim Chrome James became a parent young, and he already had grandkids, so Aspen called herself a grandmother. She was much more articulate than most of the dancers at Mouse's Ear. She expressed opposition to most social services, government assistance, public healthcare, student debt relief, and anything related to making life easier for poor people. If she was dumb and quiet, she'd be easy to dismiss. She was intelligent, evil, and gregarious. Aspen has many redeeming qualities, which made people listen to what she had to say. At times I enjoyed her company. Aspen's social skills made working with her all the more dangerous for my continued employment.

Cox's mother is a Chicagoland Sicilian. Her mother is also therapist. Cox strongly resembles the many fat Sicilian girls I had the misfortune of growing up attending school with. She is short, with a Venus of Willendorf body type, clear olive skin and long dark hair. She has sunken in eyes, a bubble nose, and a face typically found among the many Sicilians of Chicagoland. She sold a fair number of dances, and usually did well for herself. Politics aside, I thought it was cool that a Venus of Willendorf confidently did so well. Humankind has a diversity of preferences for body types, including preferences for fat chicks. A certain sector of customers will pay for fat chicks. Of course, looking at her made me think of Slimer from Ghostbusters oozing around, but I never said that out loud. She doesn't have kids, but Aspen has cellulite and stretch marks. Her ass is quite large, but not in a rap music video way; it's more of a Myrtle Beach poolside 65+ retirement community way.

Cox's house is in the Waynesville, North Carolina area. She has horses in Western North Carolina. She and her boyfriend would drive from Waynesville to Knoxville, and stay in a weekly suite together while she worked nights. She was very open about her lifestyle with coworkers. Aspen told me that sometimes she met with customers outside the club for “private dances,” with her boyfriend as the security guard. Normally dancers get shunned in our industry for admitting to such activities, but for some reason, Aspen got away with it. She also somehow got away with not having to accept drinks from the waitresses, while I had to sip pineapple juice.

On one of my first shifts at Mouse's Ear, Cox said to me at my locker with a smile,

“You're probably used to bigger clubs, you don't want to stay HEEERE!”

I actually did want to stay at Mouse's Ear. I don't like bigger clubs. She made that statement because it's the kind of territorial slight that fat little piggies make when they don't want to deal with competition. Cox shamelessly tried to discourage most new dancers from working at Mouse's Ear, and she would scold our coworkers who were nice to the newest ones by saying,

“Don't be nice to the new girls!”

Cox really didn't want new dancers to enjoy working at Mouse's Ear, unless they were fat or gave her drugs, then she was a bit nicer to them. Otherwise, she intentionally orchestrated discomfort for newcomers. She often made comments about my manner of fluttering around selling dances, stating that it was the result of working at larger clubs. She was wrong; most clubs around the country have dancers who operate the way I do. I prefer small-to-medium sized places to work. Aspen would do little territorial bitch things like pick up my shoes or underwear sitting on a chair and drop them on the floor. She always smiled when interacting with me, speaking in pleasant tones while saying and doing mean things. She often interrupted me with customers during one-on-one conversations, attempting to re-focus the conversation on her. That is a very abnormal thing to do in a strip club, but she did it with regularity to me and multiple dancers. Many of our coworkers disliked her for this, but they were simultaneously nice to her because she is engaging to talk to. She was disarming, in a weird mindfucking way that made a lot of people uncomfortable and confused. Eventually I decided that the best way to deter her from interrupting my customer conversations was to follow her around and sit down at tables where she was sitting with customers one-on-one. I don't normally do that, but for Aspen I made an exception. She strongly disliked that. My deterrent tactics often worked. Sometimes she'd initiate conversations with my customers DURING table dances I was giving, which was very bizarre, but again, not unheard of at Mouse's Ear. Sometimes she'd just sit and stare at me dancing for customers. Again, the only way I was able to get her to stop doing that was by doing the same things to her.

One time, Conner called Aspen “Ass Bomb” over the microphone. It upset her, so he stopped. I never insulted Aspen's body in the workplace. However, sometimes when Aspen interrupted one-on-one conversations between customers and dancers I disliked, I would sit there and think to myself, HAHAHA, YOU'RE GETTING ASS BOMBED! Aspen would just smile pleasantly and passive-aggressively, while whatever sad soul looked helpless about her sale being interrupted. Getting Ass Bombed sucks, but it was also funny to watch from afar. If I stood my ground and kept eye contact with a customer after getting Ass Bombed, completely ignoring her, the customer would almost always still get a dance from me and also ignore her. It was ridiculous that she did those things at all, but Ass Bombing was her modus operandi for some sick reason.

Aspen can be very personable and fun to speak with sometimes. If I was being especially harassed by the other dancers for making lots of money, Aspen would kindly tell me that she had a lot of the same problems. Some of the dancers with kids were hard on the high earners like Aspen and I, who didn't have kids to support. Some of them believed that us dancers without babies should've stopped making as much money, to step aside for the ones who didn't use contraceptives properly. Some of them believed that since they chose to have kids, they deserved top access to the cash flow. So, I did feel a bit of yuppie solidarity with Aspen. We both enjoyed spending our child-free time and money on things like vacationing, eating lots of food, taking care of animals, and making fun of dumb Tennesseans who believe in witchcraft. At the end of the day though, I didn't Ass Bomb my coworkers. I approached customers who were sitting by themselves. There was nothing wrong with my workplace etiquette. At the end of the day, I hated Ass Bomb for orchestrating shunning campaigns against the new dancers including me. At the end of the day, the financial situations outside of work were stark between Ass Bomb and I. I have very little in common with millionaire republicans from North Carolina who inherited homes and horses in their early 20s. At the end of the day, I’ll campaign for Bernie Sanders over forming any fucking alliance with Ass Bomb.

Becoming a stripper for Cox was more or less a touristy fun detour in her Carolina bourgeoisie life with horses and vacation homes. She grew up with her fat ass riding horses, training them, tending to them, exploiting them, and playing in stables. She became a drug addict in early adulthood and got arrested for whatever associated activities. She often discussed her arrests at work with amusement, and claimed to have pending charges which she was awaiting trial for. Discussing her charges usually made her giggle. Cox was often on the prowl for drugs at work. She evenly divided her time between being an aggressive hustler on the show floor, and being a dressing room hag. She and the other pill poppers often sat in their little nook area of the dressing room up some steps and away from the cameras, doing whatever it was that they did up there. I was never a part of these gatherings, except when I went to that area for microwaving my vegan entrees. The microwave was in the center of their nook, and I'd have to sit there for five minutes or so waiting for my food to finish warming up. With Cox's intelligence, engaging conversation and domineering nature, she was usually able to control other dancers enough to tell them to keep quiet while I was up there, because she didn't want me to know about what organized crime was going on. But, her friends were leaky, and sometimes I just quietly walked past her before she realized I was there.

Justine Marie Cox's opposition to worker rights was no good for me. She often encouraged our coworkers to “tip” the staff, contradicting my own values opposed to the extortion. She was aware of my lawsuits earlier than most people, but I don't know how she knew exactly. I know Alex Cave found my facebook and called me Brandi, and I know Lilith knew about some stuff. My blog was on private for a lot of my time at Mouse's Ear, so I don't know how much they read. My paperwork with photocopied ID was in the office, and I thought only the Brownings had access to it. I know there are people around the country who make phone calls nationwide to clubs to warn them about me, but I'm not sure how deep it goes. Aspen tried harder than she normally would to try to get me to leave, all with a smile on her face. She reported many of our conversations to Conner and the Brownings. She'd repeatedly complain about my hustling tactics to management. She seemed to enjoy engaging in pleasant conversation with me from time to time, then abruptly switching it up by shunning me, intentionally not talking to me, and instructing her drug friends, of which there were many, to also shun me. She informed me that she is “sweet” outside of work, and only behaves that way at Mouse's Ear to protect her profits. I think she's probably a low key sociopath who enjoys messing with people's heads, and has some skills doing that gleaned from her therapist mother.

Aspen and Lilith were very close at work, due to their shared interest in drugs, controlling social situations, and triangulating. Lilith told me that she used to be two-hundred pounds before going on a diet and becoming fit, so they had a fat girl bond when they first met. Aspen is a frenemy though, so she sometimes made Lilith cry by taunting her with classist remarks about being an inbred Harlan hick. They'd go through bouts of not speaking. Aspen and Raven were quite chummy at work. They sometimes discussed their mutual love of horse riding, horse breeds, and tending to horses. I was disgusted to hear about exploiting horses, although I have noticed that the kinds of people who are into horse exploitation are shitty humans in general.

After I was nice to Bunny at work, Aspen would encourage people to bully Bunny. After they were done bullying Bunny, Aspen and Lilith would do things like invite Bunny to after-work breakfast, stare at me, not say anything, and not invite me. It was just bizarre bitchy psychological warfare in pathetic catty ways. I befriended a dancer named Brandy at work, who Aspen would track down and tell to not speak with me. Brandy was a recovering addict who had access to prescription pills, and Aspen badgered her for them. Aspen, like Lilith, would try to prevent interactions I had with coworkers. I was never able to discern if their main motivations had to do with my potential lawsuit, their desire to protect workplace profits, workplace organized crime, or simply to shun someone who did not obey their weird controlling bullshit.

Normally I collect money before a dance begins, because that is the only guarantee I have to prevent a customer from ripping me off. It's an important practice to prevent sexual assault, as customers who wait to pay after a dance are more likely to hold payment hostage. Aspen noticed that I require payment up front, and criticized me for it, calling me “too abrasive” with customers. She noticed that I wouldn't put up with verbal or attempted physical assault from customers, by backing away from them or asserting myself. She'd go out of her way to slander me for setting good boundaries to protect myself. Her physical boundaries were not as strict as mine. She would be nice to the most grotesque, harassing, Bourbon swilling, wealthy, drunken Southern republicans available, who'd attempt to paw at dancers in disgusting ways. She'd criticize me for fighting back if a customer behaved in such ways.

What I disliked most about Aspen is that she knew better than a lot of dancers regarding things like science, witchcraft, marketing, and social interactions related to power. She'd mock the dancers who said I am a witch. She very astutely pointed out that a lot of the dancers accusing me of being a witch were also “witches” themselves who were interested in spells. She suggested that I was simply a more powerful witch than them-- all in a jesting tone because she did not believe in any such things. But, she also understood that ostracizing me would be a great way to protect her profits. Rather than kindly protect me, she protected the Brownings, her access to drugs, her access to customers, and her social position. She and the Brownings laughed and joked together with regularity. One time Ralph playfully put his lighter up to her butt like he was going to set her on fire, she giggled and swatted him away. Normally when strip clubs are sued for misclassification, they will find a few dancers to lie in testimony for them if a case goes to trial or arbitration. I often worried that Aspen would be one to testify on behalf of Mouse's Ear.

Dancers were not as mean to Aspen as they were to me, even though Aspen actually did “cut throat” them all the time by interrupting their one-on-one conversations. Many dancers stated that they “hate” Aspen, but she was gregarious enough to get them to be friendly with her anyway. She also created alliances with dancers who were previously mean to her, such as Selexa. Dancer Brandy suggested to me that our coworkers were not as harsh with Aspen because she is a fat chick who is “not pretty,” and so they were not threatened by her. Brandy's double-standard theory may be true. I don't know. One time I walked upstairs and overheard Aspen saying that she dislikes Heidi. When Aspen noticed I heard her, she exclaimed, “OH SHIT.” I didn't tell Heidi, but I did think it was interesting that Aspen made such a statement, when Heidi was always willing to lend a helping hand to Aspen in a Christ-like manner. Aspen expressed discontent for a lot of our coworkers while simultaneously spending time with them. It was very annoying and confusing to be around all of that. All of this probably sounds like very trite workplace minutiae, but these are the kinds of things that were a constant background noise in the workplace when not hearing the music.

Aspen had knee problems throughout the entire time that I worked at Mouse's Ear. I think she went to have surgery at some point. She also complained about having dental problems and having to pay for her dentist visit. I am curious to know what her financial situation was in relation to her wealthy immediate and extended family. She made many references to wealth reserves of unimaginable proportions. She also said something about being temporarily cut off from inherited assets after her criminal charges, and having to pay for her own medical expenses out of pocket. If anyone knows the details, please email me. Whatever the case may be, Justine Marie Cox's fat ass needs to be roasted on a platter and fed to the omnivorous proletariat. Eat the rich. Fuck this bitch and the horse she rode in on.

Mouse's Ear Memoirs: LaNae

I appreciated LaNae because she was the opposite of a creepy hobbyist SJW freak calling herself a “sex worker” for sick clownish masturbatory purposes on social media. LaNae wasn't any kind of a hobbyist poseur. LaNae hated having to work and she hated having to put on makeup for work. LaNae was a hard working real woman who tried not to waste time. She was also spiteful, spread misinformation about me, fucked with my money, and harassed Bunny. I still adored her. She quit after standing up to Buddy, then re-hired by Ralph. She will remain anonymous in name, but her Mouse's Ear advertisement photo will be used for reference.

Like many of us from Mouse's Ear, she is tall, toned, feminine, and svelte. She is tan. Her face does not fit mainstream beauty standards, nor did her mouth full of rotting teeth. She did well anyway, most of the time. She has a soft angelic voice. She stated that she came from New Jersey to visit her rich aunt in Gatlinburg, but I am unsure of her origins. LaNae worked at Mouse's Ear prior to my arrival, stopped to tend to her babies, and then returned after I started working there. LaNae had three babies close in age. She often blamed herself for being “too fertile.” I never heard LaNae blame her inseminator. LaNae has internalized misogyny and servitude issues that negatively effected both her income and her relations with coworkers.

Mouse's Ear had a customer who occasionally came in, who was a member of an organization called MUFON. MUFON stands for Mutual UFO Network. I referred to him as The UFO Man or The UFO Guy. I cannot remember his name. He looked like the late Ted Kennedy, had a lot of money in his bank account, was somewhat senile, and was very generous with many of the dancers. His favorite subject to talk about was all the UFOs he saw. He was very generous with me. Because he was not monogamous with sharing his wealth, several of the other dancers would sit with him from time to time, attempting to get his money. He liked me, so I sat with the group if they were by him. Some of my coworkers didn't like it very much when I sat with him, even though many people sat with him. While I normally required a customer to pay me ahead of a dance, I trusted the UFO guy enough to go to the ATM machine afterwards. One day, his senility prevented him from remembering his PIN number on multiple cards, and he was unable to reach his bank on the phone to request a new PIN. He left that day owing me lots of money. But, the UFO guy kept his word and returned with my money a few days later. He also offered to compensate me for my stress, by visiting the ATM with his new PIN and giving me emotional damage compensation. LaNae was in loser denial about it. She wanted the UFO man's money that day, so she spent time with two other sore losers in the dressing room by my locker, spreading rumors that I was taking advantage of a helpless disabled man's debit card. They were saying I shouldn't have brought him to the ATM because he has dementia. Mind you, LaNae desperately tried to hustle him and failed. Mind you, he gave them money prior to that day. Mind you, it is a goddamned strip club with an ATM machine sitting at the front for the very reason I used it. LaNae hanging out with the dumpy dressing room hags to slander talented hustlers was a self-destructive choice on her part. Criticizing assertive women in strip clubs who convince customers to go to the ATM machine is bad for feminism, but that's what just what sore losers do. If the UFO man was cognizant enough to get up, go to a strip club, get a new debit card PIN, sit down, and stare at naked women, then he was certainly fair game to be escorted over to the ATM machine by a broad in a Cracker Barrel shawl, to extract a big ass pile of twenty dollar bills and hand them over.

LaNae is a very two-faced person who regularly slandered all of her coworkers when they weren't around. This often occurred near my locker, so I knew about many of her comments which she thought were clandestine. LaNae didn't spend too much time around Lilith, abuse narcotics, or get involved in petty crap unrelated to financially supporting her babies. If nobody else was around and she felt safe enough to ask me for hustling advice, she would ask. I instructed her on how to “talk dirty” to customers and be assertive about taking them to the ATM. I informed her that I had to get special clearance from Buddy to stand-up hug customers after a dance, and that I usually charged extra for hugs. I informed her that I had to get special clearance from Buddy to put my hands on customer scalps and faces and charge extra for that. Physical contact wasn't allowed at the tables, but Buddy gave me some leeway in specific instances, and LaNae deserved to know that. I wanted LaNae to succeed. Later on when she didn't think I could hear her, she would criticize me for my hustling in a shaming way. It was very peculiar to be aware of LaNae's slander, while also regularly have LaNae privately ask me about hustling when her dumpy dumb friends weren't around. With her broken rotten teeth, she couldn't pronounce S sounds clearly, so it sounded like,

“How do you SCHell SCHo many danSCHes?”

My workplace friend Bunny has been mentioned in previous posts. LaNae was very disappointed when Bunny started working at Mouse's Ear and did significantly better that many other people despite her lack of experience. LaNae began threatening Bunny with harm, and accusing her of “cut throating.” Bunny was never “cut throating.” She is just prettier and nicer than most people, that's all. She's a lot prettier and nicer than LaNae. All Bunny had to do was sit next to LaNae, customers would look at them both, then reject LaNae, especially when LaNae smiled to reveal a mouth full of rotting teeth. It was a very simple choice, that's all. One time when Bunny was using the toilet upstairs in the dressing room, LaNae was upset about losing a sale to her, so she began attacking Bunny on the toilet. I went and told the Brownings about that. Dancers such as Lilith and Aspen shunned me after I told the Brownings about LaNae attacking Bunny on the toilet. I'm not sure why they were upset that I told the Brownings about something happening when they both regularly taddled to the Brownings. Likely it was because Lilith and Aspen are both control freaks who liked to triangulate, and applied double-standards to every situation which didn't involve them.

The Brownings made a new rule while I was working there, that if dancers didn't pay their house fee at the beginning of the night, there would be an extra $10 added onto it at the end of the night. One night in early October 2019, LaNae only had $26 dollars in her sweet hand while we were closing up. Asshole Buddy wouldn't give her a break, wanted her to give away her $26 even though her house fee was about $40, and LaNae told him that he wasn't going to take everything she made all night. So, Buddy reached out and grabbed it out of her hand. She quit and left penniless that night. She had her friend Trinity retrieve her security blanket out of her locker in a subsequent shift. Ralph had a soft spot for LaNae, so he let her come back. LaNae was very appreciative of good cop Ralph.

LaNae got married recently. Her teeth look all fixed and pretty in her wedding pictures. I don't think she works at Mouse's Ear any more. I don't know if she still dances. Strippers usually don't advertise the fact that they're adult entertainers in their facebook bios. People who call themselves sex workers in their facebook bios are usually just batshit insane guys who put up a few videos of themselves on pornhub for non-profitable narcissistic self-aggrandizing costuming. It's a topsy turvy world in terms of facebook occupation descriptions. I hope LaNae's husband is good to her. She deserves all the best in life despite being mean to her coworkers. Most dancers still adored gentle LaNae in all her darkest moments.

Mouse's Ear Memoirs: Codi

The name Codi is derived from Gaelic. It means “Helpful.”

Codi is not getting doxxed, even though she was drunk on her last night working with me, got angry that I was selling a bunch of dances when she wasn't, and stated that my shawl looked like her mawmaw's table cloth. She's not getting doxxed, even though she laughed aloud when Natalie said I look like I “ride the short bus” in my shawl. I liked that shawl. I got it at a Cracker Barrel gift shop and wore it on the day I testified at the 2019 NLRB hearing against Centerfold Columbus. It gives me lulz to do things like wear Cracker Barrel gift shop shawls and still eclipse everyone else in sales. I want you to draw me like one of your French Girls wearing this Cracker Barrel gift shop shawl-- wearing ONLY this Cracker Barrel gift shop shawl.

This post is a Codi portrait and description of my interactions with her, not a doxx. She did not do excessively scabby things while we were coworkers. She only tipped Alex Cave because she needed the job. She verbally, socially, and openly supported my active resistance to Alex Cave. Prior to her last night working with me, she was relatively supportive of my social sovereignty. I just want to acknowledge that she existed, celebrate her, critique her, and analyze her workplace behavior. She was fired for excessive drunkenness and physical contact with customers, according to Natalie. She had a tendency to talk back to Buddy and not take his shit, so I suspect that had something to do with her termination as well. Natalie was Codi's workplace bestie until Codi was fired. After Codi was fired, Natalie said many unpleasant things about her. I quite enjoyed when Codi talked back to Buddy. I quite enjoyed when she regulated workplace social interactions. I quite enjoyed when she pissed off managers and rallied other dancers to agree with her. There is much to adore about Anonymous Codi; there is much to abhor about Anonymous Codi. Let's explore Anonymous Codi.

Codi was around 39 years old in 2019, which some dancers made fun of, due to their internalized misogyny. Many successful clubs have older women working in them, but Mouse's Ear mostly did not. Codi was at least my height, possibly taller, in better shape, with curvy hips, modest bosom, no stretch marks or cellulite, shiny clear skin, and non-obtrusive tattoos. One would never guess how many babies she had by looking at her, or that she was already a mawmaw. Her skin glowed, including her sweet Southern face. Codi has clear blue ocean colored eyes. Unfortunately for her bank account, she shaved her hair into a crew cut, which greatly reduced the amount of customers interested in her. Codi bleached her crew cut. People said she reminded them of Amber Rose.

Codi introduced herself to me on my very first night working in 2019. It was relaxing to sit and chat with her for several hours that first night, when not on stage or selling songs. She was a bit drunk, with liquor on her breath, but still charming and interesting. She has a cool accent that seems more deeply Southern, kind of an Alabama or Mississippi one. It has more of a rhythmic swing to it. She opened up and told me her life story within minutes of meeting me. She has five children, the first one born when she was around the age of sixteen, and the subsequent three born about a year apart after the first. She married a half black man who did not believe in birth control and thought he owned her body. She secretly obtained some birth control after her first baby or two, but he found it, punished her for it, and threw it out so she could not get to it. Having all those babies with their limited resources, her husband provided for the family by being a drug dealer. Unfortunately for him, he made a bad deal, and was shot by “Mexicans” (Codi's term) in some drug dealer warfare. She was left as a young widow and single mother to provide for herself. At some point, she met another black guy to be her boyfriend and help take care of her and the kids. She had her fifth baby with him. She and her fifth baby's dad were no longer together in 2019. She started at Mouse's Ear a week or two before I did. Her youngest was around thirteen years old at the time of our conversation. Family photos of Codi with her adult children and grandbabies look like a cool human rainbow of phenotypes.

Codi still loved and missed her dead husband. She said that she still kept his hat hanging up in her home. She spent money on a psychic, to reach her husband beyond the grave. She believes the psychic had the ability to reach him, because the psychic asked her about a hat, and told her to hang onto that hat. In the Richard Dawkins special “Enemies of Reason,” there is a specific scene that shows psychic cold-readers prodding around for information by mentioning a hat. The hat thing is just something that cold-readers bring up sometimes, because hats are a common item that a lot of people can relate to or draw connections to, especially when they're grieving and desperately grasping for traces of beyond-the-grave communication. I didn't mention being a Richard Dawkins fetishist to Codi, or mention buzzkill ideas like reasoning. I just nodded and listened. I was perplexed as to how she could stay with a man who destroyed her birth control and forced her to produce baby after baby after baby after baby. I was just sitting there thinking about how him getting killed was probably the most pragmatic thing that could've happened for Codi's freedom. She had her tubes tied after her fifth baby. Part of the reason her head was shaved was that her previous partners wanted her to have long hair, and she wanted to do something different for herself. Her tattoos were something that her husband didn't allow either. She owns her body, it is her canvas, she is an artist, and she can do whatever the hell she wants with her canvas during her precious time on Earth. I thought it was magnificent that Codi knew she owned herself after going through all that crap with her husband. As much as I dislike her personal style, I also thought her tattoos and haircut were beautiful because they were an expression of her sovereignty.

Codi stated that she was a former cocaine addict with no sense of smell, because her sinuses were so destroyed from all that sniffing. While not overtly political, she expressed favorable feelings for socialism, proudly declaring that she relied on food stamps to raise her offspring. Codi lived in a trailer with some of her kids, and she babysat her grandbabies. She made faint references to sporadically working at other less appealing clubs around town, like Emerald and MTM's, but did not elaborate on what she did for work over the past couple of decades. She had much less experience in strip clubs than me, and kind of seemed like a newbie.

Codi used to purchase narcotics off a drug dealer from Rockford, Illinois. He would come in sometimes to sit in the back and sell her something. At first I thought he was a customer, a very Eminem-seeming wigger type of a guy who I enjoyed chatting with. He and I discussed how Southerners just pretend to be nice most of the time but are actually usually evil. I enjoyed sitting with him for free sometimes, before Codi rushed over to him, shewed me away, gave him money for whatever it was he was selling to her, and did not dance for him. But, I also thought about how bothersome it was to have that type of crap in my place of employment, and how if there was proper security and management, troublesome crap like that would not be happening.

Codi noticed that I sell a lot of dances, and she noticed that it bothered a lot of our coworkers who didn't sell as many. She referred to her social interactions with our coworkers as them “correlating,” and informed me that some of them dislike me because I don't “correlate” with them. Instead of being mean to me about it, she called me over to where she and a couple of our coworkers were sitting, to simply ask me how I was able to sell so many songs. I looked her in the eyes and tried to focus on her, in the intense way that I focus on customers, to provide an example of the intensity. I explained to her that I can relate to customers by discussing similar interests, that customers don't necessarily want to hear about her personal life, and it's really about agreeing with the customer, making them comfortable, creating a persona they will like, while also being cognizant of time, of closing the deal, of not getting deflected with frivolous conversation unrelated to closing the deal, and being firm. I'm not sure she completely followed what I was saying, as her pretty blue eyes were struggling to keep focus and not roll around in different directions. I was having unfriendly thoughts when she asked me for my emotional labor. If I am going to be perfectly honest on this site-- and why not-- here is what I was actually thinking when Codi asked me for sales advice:

“Codi, you will never, ever sell as many dances as I do, for a number of reasons. You are unable to hold deep, intimate eye contact for any length of time or repeatedly crack open an anonymous customer's shell in a way that would manipulate them into spending money on you. You are unable to assert boundaries with regards to not letting customers waste your time, just like you were unable to assert boundaries with your loser husband when he got you pregnant even though you didn't want more babies. You are a giver, but in doing so, people take from you, steal from you, and waste your time. You are not viscous enough to hustle in the capacity that I do-- and being viscous is not a bad trait to have when living in a world of people like your deceased husband and our customers. You feel guilt when you should feel entitlement. You hesitate when you should seize. Furthermore, you talk to customers about things such as your kids, your grandkids, your cosmetology schooling, your everyday struggles. You have alcohol on your breath when you do so. I talk to them about things that interest them, first by prodding around getting to know them as individuals, then by reciprocating their interests with conversation on whatever topic that works, all within the course of a few minutes. I read the encyclopedia almost daily, and have a variety of topics that I can talk about, morphing into whatever a customer needs me to be. If a customer is a Trump supporter, I'll pretend to be a Trump supporter. If a customer is a hunter, I don't talk about being a vegan until after they've already paid me. You don't have to like these customers or have them care about your life-- most don't care about your life-- you just have to fake it long enough to get them to hand over the cash. Lastly, when all else fails, I say very, very, VERY filthy things to them in creative ways, with poetic language that is flowery yet medical, anatomical yet romantic. Having a strong command of the English language's vulgarities and being able to switch around styles helps a lot. I do not believe you will ever have the capacity to come up with some of the shit that I say to these freaks. I do not think you understand these freaks or care to understand these freaks. You bore them. Don't bother trying to like them. I hate almost all of them. Don't quit your day job. This work isn't for everybody. It isn't for you. Thank you for being a good sport about these things. Thank you for not insulting my art, my science, my hustle, like all of your friends do when they judge me for something that they only wish they could do as well. Much appreciated. Now stop wasting my time. I didn't come here to sit with you. I came here to maximize my income, spend as little time as possible around people like you, so I can maximize my freedom outside of these grotesque establishments called strip clubs.”

I couldn't say any of stuff though. I didn't want to get my ass beat, and Codi is so sweet. The DJ played “Heart-Shaped Box” by Nirvana after my advice session with Codi. Codi spent the majority of her work time hanging out with our coworkers who were young enough to be her daughters, like her workplace bestie Natalie. She hung out with Khaleesi, but also informed me that she dislikes Khaleesi. I only learned within the past couple of years that less than 50% of the population has an internal dialogue, and I do wonder what Codi's is like. Regardless of the differences between Codi and I, she went out of her way to tell her young brat friends to leave me alone, to explain to them that I was just doing my job, to remind them that I wasn't doing anything to bother them. They somewhat obeyed her soft Alpha advice for a while, which was wonderful. In all of my communicating with customers, I struggled to communicate to our coworkers and convey to them what Codi was able to do very easily. I was so thankful that Codi regulated and mediated things for me. The DJs played “Regulator” by Warren G every night for her. Alex Cave didn't seem to like Codi very much.

Mouse's Ear had a dancer named Lola who initially called me “catty” for not letting Alex Cave extort me at the end of each night. Alex Cave encouraged Lola to harass me. Lola has a Fetal Alcohol Syndrome face, similar to Greta Thunberg's, only with more melanin. I detested Lola in the beginning, because of her snide little pleb remarks defending Alex's extortion. But, Lola was a workplace friend of Codi's, who she respected and listened to like a matriarch. Codi went out of her way to instruct Lola to be nice to me, to tell people that they shouldn't bother me about not “tipping” Alex Cave. Codi's presence was such a balm for these Alex Cave problems, and I was so very thankful that she was there to shut people down as they echoed vestiges of YESSAH MASSAH BROWNING, YESSAH MISS CAVE.

Some time around late June, there was a slight financial lag at Mouse's Ear. Codi and a couple of her work friends decided to try The Ball for a few days. They were not successful at The Ball, and returned to work at Mouse's Ear. Codi began to exhibit more severe mood swings after her return from The Ball, as though she was deeply frustrated with her inability to be a financially successful stripper. I don't think her age had anything to do with her lack of success, because most experienced dancers in their 30s make more money than dancers in their 20s. After her return from The Ball, Codi wasn't as friendly with me. I was sad when that happened. She started to interrupt my table dances while I was in the middle of dancing, to say hello to customers who had no interest in spending money on her. If I chatted with Codi at the beginning of the night when she was sober, she was exceptionally grumpy and irritable with me. She was probably under a lot of financial stress. As much as I tried to conceal my judgment of Codi for her lifestyle, she was probably able to detect that I had snotty reservations about her. Around that time, one customer from Mouse's Ear informed me that he paid Codi for a sexual encounter outside of work, when her car insurance bill was late and she didn't make enough money dancing.

Codi completed cosmetology school some time prior to working at Mouse's Ear. She expressed regular anxiety about taking a cosmetology test to become certified or whatever. Her deadline to take the test was approaching, and she wasn't sure if she was going to make it. With Codi struggling to survive her whole life, resorting to prostitution and hoping to one day become cosmetologist, all I could think about was how sad it is that this country doesn't encourage more trades programs for women, as alternatives to academia. Codi is tall, tough, able-bodied, and resilient. She would be well suited for any number of trade careers such as welding. She is sociable and well-liked by her peers, compassionate with her coworkers, and supportive of those of us who resist predatory illegal labor violations. If Codi had an opportunity to join the trades, I'm sure she would make an excellent steward, kindly hearing grievances and standing up to the boss. With her artistic ability to cut hair, I'm sure she would make an excellent craftswoman. She'd also get paid better and have better benefits than working in feminized industries where misogynist-capitalists don't compensate women as much as they deserve. At least one of Codi's beautiful adult sons is in the military, possibly more. I hope she never has to bury him because of some stupid war. Codi and her progeny deserve so much more than this country has given to them, especially when her military family is giving so much to the country.

I checked Codi's facebook when starting this series, to see that she is now a licensed stylist at a chain hair cutting place. I have legitimately cried several times since then because I am so happy and proud of her for taking that test. She was so worried about it, stressing out in the Summer of 2019, slaving away at Mouse's Ear. She has been through so much, and had a difficult start. Triumphs rippling outward, achievements of mind and body, are so wonderful when one can become sovereign, and she's doing it. She-- Helpful, hair stylist, mawmaw, independent woman, survivor, warrior, angel-- Codi.

Mouse's Ear Memoirs: Madison Rae Gladstone

Madison Gladstone is from Knoxville. Like many people I met from Knoxville, she does not have a distinctly Southern accent. She was somewhere around twenty when we became coworkers in May of 2019. She was hired within a day or two of me being hired. While she never danced at a strip club before, she has extensive training in ballet and dance. Her stage name was Natalie.

Natalie had great stage presence and movement. She had long red hair, a svelte toned dancer body, and a butter face made pretty through the use of cosmetics. Ralph didn't allow her to bring her butter face on the show floor without makeup on, because it naturally looked like a washed out, freckled orange lizard. Her overall appearance made me think of a Viking shield-maiden on the dawn of invading some helpless coastal Irish village. She had the fierce recklessness and sadism of an ancient bloodthirsty warrior. Natalie and I are the exact same height, but her torso is much longer than mine, while my legs are longer with a shorter torso. Her face is long, lacking a certain cheeky quality. As a compliment when we first met, I told her she reminded me of Mary, Queen of Scots. She got a lot of attention from Renaissance Faire lovers, Tudor romantics, and Norse-Anglo-Celtic fetishists, because of her undiluted phenotype which hearkens back to bygone eras of literature and lore. She's cool looking. Most people think so, and she knew it. She bragged about it from time to time, while simultaneously criticizing the appearances of other people.

Natalie has a voice like Kermit the Frog, which prevented some customers from finding her attractive enough to spend money on. She had a variety of mental health issues that prevented her from being an effective hustler. She had substance abuse issues. She lacked compassion for other people, which prevented her from having soulful connections with customers in a way that would motivate them to give her more money. She had interpersonal problems with multiple coworkers who were also her “friends.” She spent excessive amounts of time hanging out in the dressing room tending to her social life, rather than hustling. She is bold and intelligent, with liberal feminist leanings. She has a lot of potential to do great things. I disliked being around her, due to her behavior.

In the beginning of our time at Mouse's Ear, she told me that my “work” is the best. I'm not sure if she was referring to my hustling or stage presence. Whatever it was that she was referring to, her sentiments toward me rapidly declined after she was influenced by our coworkers. Khaleesi, for example, went out of her way to slander me and wrangle dancers against me, including Natalie. Alex Cave and Natalie hit it off, so when Alex Cave harassed me about not “tipping,” Natalie laughed aloud and verbally encouraged it. Natalie began thinking that I was engaged in prostitution somehow, even though I never did anything at Mouse's Ear remotely related to prostitution. If I was sitting close to a customer without making physical contact, she would slyly point at me, watch me with other dancers, and suggest that I was soliciting. She expressed disgust if I was giggling with, flirting with, or sweet talking customers. Those things are methods to convince customers to spend money, but Natalie was disturbed when I did normal things. She briefly went to work at another club in town called The Ball, where there was more physical contact. She stated that she did fully nude “grinding” lap dances there, and it messed up her “PH balance.” She did not like The Ball, understandably, but it was very odd when she returned and stated that I would like working there, because that's how I work. She inferred that I grind in dances and I wouldn't mind messing up my “PH balance.” I do not expose my skin to customers in a way that would infect or disease me, so Natalie's delusions were very insulting, degrading, and weird. One time, Natalie was called to the stage, and the customer who she was previously sitting with summoned me over to talk to him. Of course I went over there, because that is what any normal stripper would do if a customer sitting by himself summoned her over. I briefly asked him if he wanted a dance, he said no, and I left. If Natalie was an emotionally stable person with any semblance of thick skin, she wouldn't have minded or taken that personally. Instead, she took it as an act of betrayal, proceeded to slander and complain about me, and expressed a desire to “check” me later, by talking to a customer who I had previously sat with. It didn't bother me if a coworker spoke with a customer who I previously sat with, because those kinds of things roll off the backs of most people. Natalie has a very thin skin, which was not fun to be around. She used all kinds of terms like “check,” which are derived from urban vernacular, but it mostly sounded silly when coming from her. Conner used to allow Natalie to stand at his DJ booth to complain about my sales, comfort her, then later he'd tell me that dancers just needed to leave me alone about my sales if they couldn't keep up. He “played both sides” in a very obvious and destructive way. One time, a customer came in who I sat with. Natalie and her friend Codi both came down the stairs to interrupt me talking to him, copied my every gesture, such as sitting with my legs crossed and hands folded, and they brought up subjects such as gardening and ecology, because those are subjects that I talked about with previous customers who they eavesdropped on. They sounded stupid though, because Codi and Natalie don't know much about gardening or ecology. They were just fumbling around with nature language, but without making coherent statements. I later learned that particular customer wasn't a “cold call” for them; Codi and Natalie went to the movies with him previously, which really grossed me out. When a dancer named Roxy started working at Mouse's Ear, Natalie sat with her and yelled while looking at me,

“You need to get hard, because the bitches around here will push you around!”

It's unfortunate that Natalie was so out of touch with reality, to such a degree that she thought she was being pushed around by her coworkers when they sold dances to customers who just weren't interested in her. Being an unsuccessful salesperson is not equal to being pushed around. Natalie was never pushed around, she was just a sore loser and a bad sport. The job isn't for everyone. Natalie bullied her friend Roxy. She regularly talked badly about her work friends when they weren't around, and engaged in other kinds of mean girl behaviors that I didn't really keep up with listening to, because it was so abundant. Mouse's Ear dancers were mean to me as an outsider, but many of them were also very mean to one another, even though they hung out together. It was a toxic stew of losers who I tried not to be contaminated by. One time, Natalie pressured me to buy a five dollar velveteen top from her. A few days later, she forgot that she sold it to me and wondered why I was wearing it.

Natalie's dad died when she was young. She is an only daughter raised by a Narcissistic Mother. Her mother used her in an emotionally incestuous way, by telling her about the intimacies of her abusive boyfriend, telling her about experimenting with bisexuality, treating her daughter as a relationship therapist and life coach. Natalie was emotionally smothered and stunted by her mother, who had bad boundaries and never allowed her daughter to psychologically grow as she should have. Natalie took anti-anxiety medication, drank regularly, and sometimes seemed groggy as though she was on opiates. Lilith told me she consumed illegal pills, but I have no evidence of that. After working at Mouse's Ear for a few months, Natalie had enough money saved for a vacation to Myrtle Beach. She was crying about it, because she was worried about going out of town for a few days. She had not been on a vacation in eight years, and was going to miss her mother who she also lived with. She considered not going, because she wasn't sure if she could emotionally handle a few days away from her mom.

Natalie expressed a desire to start a stripper podcast, to discuss her experiences at Mouse's Ear. Natalie started growing out her female genital hairs after noticing that I and another dancer named Ivywood didn't shave and still made more money than a lot of other people. I'm glad we could provide a positive example for Natalie. Natalie expressed a desire to stop dancing, go off grid, and live in the woods.

Natalie burned through various besties in the workplace during the six months that we were coworkers. It was rumored that she and her bestie Codi stole $40 out of somebody's locker. Codi was fired for unrelated issues, and Natalie had to find new people to cling to. There was a nook part of the dressing room that the security cameras couldn't clearly see, where she and other pill poppers hung out a lot. She seemed to have insider knowledge about the security camera capabilities that I wasn't privy to. One time, Chanel left her purse up there and $200 became missing. I reviewed my sources and found that Natalie was upstairs during the time frame in question, but I did not get involved whatsoever. Eventually everyone confirmed that it was Natalie, who coincidentally was in need of $200 to purchase an unnamed item from another dancer while sitting in that nook. However, because of her gregariousness, she didn't get as shunned for it as someone else might've been for stealing $200 out of a coworker's purse. Khaleesi and Natalie had some kind of a falling out after Chanel's $200 was stolen, but I wasn't really interested in investigating all of those details or finding out the minutiae. One can only fast forward through audio recordings for so long before getting bored. One of her most recent besties was a drug addict named Aspen. Those two used to shame me for my rapid hustling and solitary method of operating, which I thought was odd, what with Natalie still living with her mother and Aspen having mountains of resources from a wealthy land hoarding multi-generational Republican political family in North Carolina. It's not like they knew shit about my life or were willing to add anything positive to it, so who were they to judge what I did? A part of me just hoped they'd both accidentally buy some fentanyl and eat it, for an ecologically pragmatic exit.

I don't really want Natalie to die though. Like Khaleesi, Natalie has wonderful values and so much potential. I hope she finds her way out of the dark tunnel and manifests her inner Valkyrie. I hope she takes those trips to Myrtle Beach and elsewhere, explores the woods when she wants to, makes that podcast, conquers her anxiety, sets boundaries with her creepy narcissistic mother, cuts ties with creepy toxic relatives, and pursues her best life. The possibilities are endless if Natalie gets sober, gets active, and gets militant. The stripper labor movement would be so enriched with Madison Rae Gladstone joining the fight.

Mouse's Ear Memoirs: Chanel

Chanel was a Mouse's Ear dancer who suffered from what seemed to be Tourette's Syndrome, a neurological disorder that she was born with. She isn't getting doxxed, just acknowledged. Chanel grunted and eeped with tics during polite conversation. She told me that she was born with a “neurological disorder,” but did not specify what kind of a neurological disorder. I didn't ask if it was Tourette's Syndrome, but from the sound of those eeps, I'm pretty sure it was. Her voice was grizzled from prolonged cigarette smoke inhalation. Her hairs were thin blonde strings barely covering her scalp. Her skeletal body looked like it was dying. I don't know what all her medical conditions were. One could see most of her vertebrae while she was on stage. I thought she was older than me by her appearance, but she was actually a few years younger.

Chanel commuted an hour and a half to work, from her home town of Johnson City. She used to work at the Johnson City Mouse's Ear. She was one of the dancers who informed me that the Brownings intentionally burned down the Johnson City Mouse's Ear for insurance money. She didn't like having to commute to Knoxville after the fire. She worked for the Brownings close to a decade. They were fond of her because she is sweet, scabby, and submissive. Sometimes she'd get a hotel after work because she was too tired to drive back at night, but she never stayed at the ones I stayed at. She is a multi-generational Appalachian like me, but she doesn't resemble the ones I've described in previous posts. She has sky blue eyes and a pointy, bird-like face, with a large nose. She has long limbs like Zoey and I. She had a lot of regulars who adored her sweetness and long slender legs, so even though she had her eeping tics and looked skeletal, she did pretty damned well for herself most of the time. After I was fired and some dancers were bashing me in the dressing room, Chanel expressed mild disappointment that I was fired, and referred to me as “that girl who makes all that money.” Chanel wasn't always so nice to me though.

On one of my first shifts when I was in the dressing room, Chanel approached me, having never met me before, and said with no context, faintly rolling her neck,

“We don't put up with no STEALIN' around here!”

Sometimes other dancers do steal from each other, and newcomers are treated with suspicion, especially if those newcomers are quiet and mysterious. I just figured Chanel was your average retarded, paranoid, long-time strip club fixture accusing me of false things before getting to know me. I've worked with a dozen or so Chanels over the past sixteen years, and they never cease to be some of the dumbest. I wonder what Coco Chanel would think about them using her name, or if any of the Chanels can tell me about the controversial biography of Coco Chanel. One time, the Mouse's Ear Chanel misplaced an ugly green satin robe she had, panicked while searching for it, said it was stolen, and repeatedly glanced at me with suspicion. A dancer named Codi told her to check her bag, which she did, and the robe was in there.

Chanel used to “cut throat” me if I was sitting with a customer who she previously danced for over the years. It is a disrespectful thing to do, regardless of how long someone has worked at a strip club. That doesn't usually happen at normal places, but as mentioned, it did happen at Mouse's Ear. One of my customers bought a dance from Chanel, and later informed me that she was nodding off with her eyes closed during the dance. He suspected she was on some kind of opiates. I had wondered myself if Chanel used opiates, even though she eeped and jerked with her neurological tics. Coco Chanel sure liked her morphine.

Chanel believed that her mother's house was haunted by unfriendly ghosts, and she was anxious to get them out of there. She talked about it from time to time, and discussed the hundreds of dollars she paid a professional medium, who said she could convince the ghosts to go away. I think the Native American aspect of the medium's lineage had a positive impression on Chanel's faith in her ability to remove the ghosts. Apparently the first session of removal did not work completely, so Chanel had to pay her a few hundred more dollars for a second round. It's a good thing Chanel had her regulars to take care of paying for that ghost infestation. Those ghosts can be worse than cockroaches.

Chanel was in a terrible car accident a year or two ago. Her car flipped twice, and she had to be cut out of the car. Alex Cave made a GoFundMe for her after the accident, and stated that Chanel had a “guardian angel” watching out for her. By that logic, I wonder if Alex Cave thinks innocent people who die in car accidents don't have angels caring for them, and that's why they died. Maybe that's why the dumb bitch was always complicit about so many dancers driving home drunk after work. Hey man, if anyone gets killed by a drunk driver-- IT'S KARMA AND ANGELS HATE YOU. Alex's GoFundMe for Chanel was meant to cover Chanel's medical expenses and time off of work. I wonder if it ever occurred inside of Alex's midwit brain that if there were appropriate socialist systems in place to take care of medical emergencies, many GoFundMe drives wouldn't need to happen.

I was really surprised to learn that Chanel had a baby during the pandemic. Physiologically, I didn't think her body could nourish a fetus to full term, but she did it, and her baby looks healthy. Chanel also looks like she gained fifty pounds during the pandemic, and the weight looks good on her. I'm happy for her.

Chanel never needed to be worried about me stealin' from her, because that's just not something I'd do to her. There was another dancer who started at Mouse’s Ear the same time I did, but who was much more gregarious and social. Simpleton Chanel assumed I'd be stealin' because I'm quiet and solitary, but she probably should've watched her belongings around her gregarious friends more than me. She was also incorrect in stating that she didn't “put up” with stealin'. In fact, a dancer stole $200 from Chanel one night while I was working, and Chanel did put up with it. That dancer went by Natalie, but her real name is Madison Rae Gladstone. Please stay tuned for the next post, as we explore the psyche of Madison Rae Gladstone, in all her stripper-purse-picking complexities.

Mouse's Ear Memoirs: Victoria Loposser

Swearingen and Loposser are two somewhat common Tennessee surnames. There are Swearingens buried in rural West Tennessee, in the same cemeteries where many of my direct ancestors are buried. One can find centuries old Swearingen headstones all over Tennessee. I never heard of either surname until meeting Victoria, and was enchanted by the phonetics of both surnames.

Victoria Swearingen married Dustin Loposser to become Victoria Loposser. She was hired at Mouse's Ear roughly four years prior to my 2019 arrival. She danced in Tampa in between that time. Living in Florida, she was happier to be closer to one of her favorite places on Earth, Disney World. She already had one baby with Mr. Loposser when we were coworkers in Knoxville. The Lopossers had recently moved back to Knoxville from Florida when I was hired. Recent voter registration has Mr. and Mrs. Loposser listed as a Democrats in North Carolina. They've since had a second baby. Mr. Loposser owned businesses such as toy stores. Mrs. Loposser openly discussed in the workplace how she expects her husband to provide her with lots of money for things such as Victoria's Secret lingerie, Disney World trips, and Disney merchandise. She gave him these Disney budget specifications prior to marriage. Mr. Loposser is a very large man who is balding. Mrs. Loposser is quite slender and stereotypically beautiful, but she is very open about being a chubby chaser with a sexual preference for big fat guys. Good for her. Good for them both, truly. Mr. Loposser has an older son who is autistic, from a previous relationship. Mr. Loposser is a few years older than me, while Mrs. Loposser is ten years younger than me. From what I gather, Mrs. Loposser does not use drugs and is a very attentive mommy.

Victoria has long limbs, shapely hips, small chest, dark hair, olive skin, classical Tennessee face previously discussed on this series, and sparkling sapphire eyes. Her teeth aren't perfect, but who cares when you're as aesthetically gifted as she. Photos do not do justice to how uniquely lovely Mrs. Loposser looks in person. Her otherworldly beauty cannot be captured, only seen in person. While Alex Cave's online photos conceal her hideousness through the use of filters and misleading angles, Victoria Loposser's online photos do the opposite, in that they would never be able to display her in-person sparkle.

Victoria introduced herself to me as Zoey, her stage name. In the beginning, she approached me and informed me that she knew I was being bullied by a voluminous amount of our coworkers. She stated that it was because I was making so much money. She stated that she had very similar problems when she started working at Mouse's Ear four years ago, prior to moving to Florida, and occasionally still did have those problems. She stated that I wasn't doing anything wrong or out of line in terms of hustling etiquette, it was just that Mouse's Ear is a particularly difficult place in terms of how the dancers treated one another. Zoey extended an olive branch to me socially, sat with me, protected me, and attempted to chat with me over the course of the next couple of weeks. I was so thankful for all of that, but unfortunately I did not provide Zoey with sufficient amounts of social reciprocation that she expected. I blew it! I tried; I tried.

Sometimes I quietly sit while not speaking, if there is nothing interesting to talk about and I am among people who are not stimulating. Sometimes I get up and walk away from people who are sitting with me, because their general presence gives me anxiety and drains me of energy. I have been accused of being “on the spectrum” by various people in my life, but I do not appreciate the labels. With Zoey's neurodivergent step son, I would think she'd have more of an understanding and not hate me for not providing her with sufficient social companionship. I struggled to find things to talk about with Zoey during the times that she went out of her way to sit with me. I wanted to be entertaining for Zoey, because I was gracious about her willingness to be my ally, her willingness to acknowledge that I did not deserve to be bullied for selling lots of songs. She only discussed boring subjects though, such as Disney World and stripper clothes, rather than subjects such as science, global politics, economics, or liberation of any flavor. I like Disney World too, but she did not want to analyze the architecture, the anti-feminist princess culture, the global politics of World Showcase, or the conspiracy theories of the park when I brought those subjects up. I didn't mean Zoey any harm, I just found her to be very boring, and didn't know what to do about it besides space out or awkwardly walk away, saying things like, “Oh, I'm going to go talk to that customer over there!” When customers come in, a switch flips in my brain and I become a focused salesperson. I obsessively glance over at the door, waiting for them to come in, and then I take care of business as quickly as possible. I greatly appreciated the fact that Zoey was protecting me from the wrath of our coworkers in the beginning, but I really preferred to sit by myself when not hustling. I like to daydream and to have my mind wander, to reminisce, to strategize about my various projects outside of work, to re-charge from sensory overload, to analyze the musical notes and lyrics in a methodical way inside my own head. Talking to Zoey just made me want to cry! Oh my god it was horrible! She was so nice, yet so vapid. I thanked her many times, but it wasn't enough!

Another reason I avoided Zoey is because she hung out with Selexa so often. I thought it was strange that Zoey would be sitting there explaining to me how I didn't deserve to be harassed by the other dancers for making money, and then an hour later, she would be hanging out with Selexa, enabling her to do horrible things, being complicit by proxy. Zoey and Selexa were coworkers for years and occasionally socialized outside of work. I cannot cluster together with, and be complicit with, the likes of Leah Ewing.

I hope I have sufficiently explained why I struggled to comfortably sit with and “hang out” with Zoey in the workplace. I never hated her or had malicious intent in avoiding her. Unfortunately for me, Zoey was sensitive and reactionary to how I am. Because I did not provide her with satisfying social company when she sat with me, she eventually stopped sitting with me. She didn't leave peacefully though. She retaliated. She said that she “fucking hates” me in the dressing room when she didn't think I'd hear her. She began interrupting my one-on-one conversations with customers. Her hustle-trolling didn't effect my income much, because we had really different customer bases. If there was an open chair where I wanted to sit, she would extend her leg up on the chair so I had nowhere to go, then give me a sinister expression. Zoey didn't like when I was laying down on a bench upstairs in the dressing room, and verbally expressed her disdain. When my car was in the shop because it has almost 300,000 miles on it, while I was openly discussing it with coworkers, Zoey started loudly bragging about how her big fat businessman husband bought her a brand new car, then sneered at me.

Zoey had a secret dismay for some of Conner’s behavior. I caught her and some of the other dancers talking about him one day when I quietly went up the stairs. I suspect Conner was secretly mean to a lot more dancers than I know about, all with the guise of being a nice guy “feminist.” Zoey didn't want me to hear her complaining about Conner, and her code word for when I was around was “Ears,” because she knew I listened to things. It's unfortunate so many people were secretive about his abuse, rather than bombastically complaining about him, secretly audio recording him, and/or filing lawsuits against the Brownings for allowing him to be that way.

Zoey and Alex Cave were on great terms. Eventually Zoey learnt that I was actively resisting Alex's extortion called “tips.” Zoey began occasionally freaking out in the dressing room about the matter. It is unfortunate that Scab Alex Cave was unwilling to demand a living wage from the Brownings, but always made sure to get as many dancers against me as she possibly could. Zoey never expressed interest in dancer rights, and even if she heard about my litigious history, I doubt she'd think about it too deeply. It is very depressing that Zoey thought Alex Cave was entitled to a single cent of my money, and then decided to bother me about it.

When Heidi started working at Mouse's Ear, she noticed how pretty Zoey is, excitedly commented about it, and pursued a friendship with her. Heidi isn't a lesbian; she had a sexual fetish for black men and a black boyfriend at the time. I think Heidi was just interested in pursuing Zoey because they are both these ultrafeminine, normal people who liked “being girls” together. That's not really something I can relate to. Heidi was able to surpass a lot of the high sales newcomer stigma by befriending Zoey, and because she is very gregarious. Zoey reciprocated Heidi's pursuits, by becoming her bestie right away, like platonic life partner love at first sight. It was kind of weird how quickly those two committed to each other as besties. That tends to happen in strip clubs though, and then the besties will break up after like a year or two. After Zoey and Heidi became besties, Zoey actively prevented Heidi from talking to me, as though we were twelve year olds. Zoey would do things like physically put her body in between Heidi and I if we were speaking, so I couldn't see Heidi's face, and then glare at me, like a jealous girlfriend. Very gay. It was both comedic and insane, but Zoey was very serious about it, while ditsy drunk Heidi didn't openly react to it. I suspect Heidi had hidden thoughts about it, but she never let me know about them because she was such a polite coworker. Zoey did not want me to express concern about Heidi's drunk driving, and would get pissed off if I did so. Zoey and Heidi went on vacations together with Zoey's son and step son. Zoey and Heidi went to get their clitoral hoods pierced together, which creeped me the fuck out when they were showing them off in the dressing room. Zoey very much bonded with other “girl's girls” in the dressing room, who were also interested in concrete things that I can't really relate to and don't care to bond over. Often times, women enjoy each other in a platonic intimate way that I could care less about participating in.

Victoria Loposser's facebook used to contain lots of photos of her husband as well as Heidi, but now all of those are gone. At work, she discussed her difficult marriage and the passion that was gone from her relationship. I'm not sure if she has moved on from both her husband and Heidi, but she still works at Mouse's Ear from time to time.

I once read a prison survival guide written by a political prisoner, who emphasized how necessary it is to spend at least fifteen minutes per day in the entertainment room, socializing with the other inmates, no matter how unsavory they are to be around. He explained that if someone does not do that in prison, then one will be shunned and treated poorly by the other inmates who are tribal. Strip clubs and other workplaces are similar. At Mouse's Ear, I just didn't do that enough. There were other dancers who didn't take razor blades to their genitals, but I was the only one to be called “Chewbacca bitch” about it. There were other dancers who sold many songs, but not everyone was called “cut throat” about it. Young Lilith understood this dynamic very well, and explained it to me in a way that I have already described-- that I was so vulnerable because I preferred to be alone most of the time when not hustling. It is unfortunate that I wasn't just allowed to sit, meditate, sell dances, and not be bothered by anybody. I could've avoided a lot of the unpleasantness by entertaining more concrete conversation with Zoey, thus insulating myself. Instead, my mind wandered, the thin-skinned fuckin bitch turned on me, and I became even more marginalized than before. I sure hope Victoria Swearingen Loposser is more accepting of her step son than she is to socially awkward coworkers. I didn’t deserve any of that shit.

If any of my readers know the status of her marriage, please contact me. One of the last times I saw Heidi, I was driving to Waffle House after work. Her SUV was ahead of me, swerving in the lanes.

Mouse's Ear Memoirs: Heidi

Heidi isn't getting doxxed; this is another celebration post and an analysis of the downward spiral.

Heidi was the stage name of a dancer who started at Mouse's Ear a couple of months after me. She had never danced before, was in her mid-to-late twenties, and had a beautiful late 90s Kate Winslet look to her. She was equally as shining on the inside as she was on the outside. Her soulful inner light inspired many customers to give her lots of money, even though she was new to the industry. She never expressed an iota of jealousy or hatred toward me, which was quite a relief. I prefer to have coworkers who are more attractive and better at sales than me for this very reason.

I neglected to replace my old alternator in late Summer 2019, and had to walk to work from Motel 6 one day when my car was in the shop. Creepy DJ Rob saw me walking to work and insisted that I allow him to drive me home later that night. I planned on taking a cab at night, but Rob insisted that I save money by letting him give me a lift. I was quite grossed out at the prospect of getting into Gross Rob's blue Ford Mustang with him and having him find out that I was staying at Motel 6. Fortunately, Heidi understood my worries and said she'd drive me “home.” She was one of the few people who I'd trust with the secret that I was staying at Motel 6, and I knew I'd have to explain it to her at the end of the night. I did so in her SUV, during the short drive around the corner between work and my room. Heidi is from Georgia, and of a liberal Christian upbringing that both worships Christ and celebrates strip clubs. She was very accepting of me despite the Motel 6 situation, and promised she wouldn't tell anybody about it. If she did tell anyone, I never found out, so good on anyone who knew without shaming me for it.

A few shifts after driving me to Motel 6, Heidi began hearing rumors that I am a witch. It made me very sad that she believed it and had some reservations about interacting with me because of it. She was still nice to me for the most part though, if not a bit standoffish.

After a couple of months at Mouse's Ear, Heidi's drinking habits from BYOB customers increased. She regularly slurred her words, stumbled, and then got into her vehicle to leave at night. What sickened me is that I verbally expressed concern at the end of the night whenever I saw her like that, asked her if she needed me to drive her or take her keys, and then I was ostracized for doing that by people who were Heidi's “friends.” A dancer named Zoey, who Heidi became very close with, was angry with me for caring. It was a very weird and sickening situation to see Heidi at the end of the night and know that I would be shunned for asking if she was ok. Zoey did not want Heidi to be nice to me, so she withdrew even further than she did about the witch thing.

Heidi usually “tipped” staff above and beyond what they expected, worked another job, and did not always depend on Mouse's Ear or the strip club industry. She was nice to everyone besides LingLing, in a seemingly genuine way, but I do wonder if she had any secret opinions on matters concerning litigation. If anyone knows, please contact me. This Heidi post is a precursor to a tandem one about Zoey, aka Victoria Swearingen Loposser.