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In This Issue

• The Spec Almost Led Me Into White Slavery
• Where Have All the Strippers Gone?
• Abused by Geriatrics Without Prozac
• Letters to the Editor(s)
• Marauding Interviewer
• Free to Speak? Shut Up!
• Where It's Safe to Sodomize
• Unionized Columbians Become Denizens of Primal Gangland
• CAVA Shifts Focus from Medicine to Profitability
• Garment Grabber Liberates Clothes From Floor
• Legless Pigeon Recounts Tales of Early Abuse
• Geek has +9 Indifference Cloak Against Discrimination
• Columbia Hits Me Where the Bruises Will Never Show
• We Have a Film Critic?
• The Future Is Now, and It's Pointing and Laughing
• Juice Review - A Mango Juice Odyssey
• Fed Favorites
• I Hate You Damn Happy People
• Your Pets Will Be Waiting for You in Hell
• Fruitloop and Dandy
• Wacky Fun Abuse!
• My AIM is True
• A Word from Our Advertisers
• THEY Watch
• The Staff of 17.7

For my cousin Daniel's Bar Mitzvah at Delilah's Gentlemensch's Club, they thought of everything, from the complimentary Manischewitz, to the stars of David painted on the strippers' nipples. The girls put on an amazing show, which included a foxy-boxing tournament in front of a replicated wall of Jericho. They really earned every nickel and quarter that got stuffed into their g-strings. But nobody forgot that it was Danny's night, and while the band struck up with "Hava Negila" one of the girls gave him a free lap dance that really put the "whore" back in "Hora!" We all cracked up when it was over and he yelled, "Today I am a man!"

We all have memories like these, memories of Christmas parties made merrier, birthdays made happier, Valentine's days made more lovely, and Kwanzaas somehow made more plausible as a legitimate holiday by the simple joys that only a dedicated stripper can provide. Sadly, it seems likely that as unprofessional and unqualified amateurs continue to sully the once proud title of exotic dancer, wonderful experiences like these will continue to become rarer and rarer, until the golden age of stripping is no more than a memory.

Take, for example, the tragic story of Billy Wacheski. On the event of Wacheski's 18th birthday, his friends decided that it was time the birthday boy saw some boobs. When his friends broached the idea to him, Wacheski gave his enthusiastic assent. The chance to examine a woman's exposed nipples in person was an opportunity that the boy (and, if the truth be known, several of the friends planning the event) was not yet to be in a position to take advantage of.

When the day finally came, however, Billy and his friends found themselves in for one of the most severe disappointments of their young lives. Holly, the stripper that Stroker's (a small Waukegan area strip club) had described as "a buxom, sexy, exotic blond" turned out to be an overweight, balding, mustachioed she-male with genital warts in full bloom.

The low standards that are now frequently tolerated in this inestimably important profession are even more saddening when one thinks of the delightful and innocent pleasure one can get from celebrating a special occasion with loved ones at a real classy joint.

The situation may not be hopeless, however. The Internet tells of an establishment known only as "Jack's Nudie Bar," located somewhere in North America (www.amazingsexsites.com/jack). Unfortunately, local laws prevent the revelation of the location and true name of this El Dorado of the Burlesque world, even by the few whose pleasure it has been to lay eyes on the establishment "where the bitches and whores greet you at the doors." The witty rhyme has already been co-opted by Steely Dan for an upcoming release next fall.

For these lucky few who do know how to get to Jack's, the legend promises "the Wednesday SPECIALS are still in effect. (Wink-Wink.)" Perhaps there is still somewhere where the name "stripper" has not yet lost its implied-and-never-really-acted-upon meaning.