Fifteen clubs, eight cities, three countries and two continents in five years: It's been a drunken and chafing five-year journey but I'm finally fucking here: Ripper Mecca. This heathen stripper has made her pilgrimage to LAS FUCKING VEGAS and she's ready to whip that hair and become Nomi Malone c. 1995.
Valerie Stunning - hottest showgirl in town - fetched my jet-lagged ass from the airport and took me to where any great friend takes a new Vegas transplant:
THE POLICE STATION!
My delicate digits were aggressively finger-printed by a mean broad who hated me because I wasn't listening when she called out my number three distinct times (Valerie and I were gossiping and hair twirling with great intensity; you understand).
We get to the club and the manager whistles through his speed-bally lock-jaw YOU CAN'T WORK I'M BUSY COME BACK TOMORROW OR MAYBE NEVER and then another manager says, Sure, baby you're welcome to grind up on these papas let's get you filling out some paperwork.
Yes, that's 'Heather' as in Elizabeth Berkley's stage name when she worked as a ripper at The Cheetah in the Oscar-snubbed 1995 masterpiece, Showgirls.
Valerie and I slip into some slutty duds,
document our asses for posterity,
reload on potassium,
make very little money,
and go home.