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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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