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Z Bone's Tip Rail For 2000
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Frisky Kitty Slogan Contest

October 7, 2000

Think you belong on Madison Avenue? If you think you've got the right stuff to come up with a catchy slogan for a strip club, this is your opportunity. Come up with a great slogan for the new nude club Frisky Kitty in Tarzana and win a VIP pass!

To enter this contest, simply email your slogan to Frisky Kitty at j777@zbone.com.

First Prize: Frisky Kitty VIP card, good for one year of free admission and free drinks (2). All valid entries will be given a unique ID number, which can be redeemed for 5 free admission passes at Frisky Kitty when they open.

Good luck to all and if your slogan is chosen, perhaps you will see it in one of their ads.

Contest Rules and Fine Print:
Officials at Frisky Kitty, located at 18454 Oxnard St, Tarzana, will be the sole judge of this contest and will choose the winning slogan that they deem to be best for the club. Their decision is final. Submissions are accepted and recorded according to the date and time of the received email by Frisky Kitty. If the same slogan is suggested, the submission with the earlier date and time will be recorded. The winner will be notified by email and the winning slogan will be announced on this website. In order to receive the VIP pass or free passes, each participant must present their unique ID code provided to them to Frisky Kitty. In the event that none of the slogans are acceptable, one winner will be chosen at random by Frisky Kitty. By entering this contest, you agree to the following terms. You hereby unconditionally and irrevocably transfer and assign Frisky Kitty and it's affiliates, subsidiaries, successors and assigns, in perpetuity, the royalty-free right and license to use, modify, adapt, publish, translate, create derivative works from, incorporate into other works, distribute, perform, display and otherwise exploit the slogan you send, in all languages and throughout the universe, in any form, media or technology now known or hereafter devised. You acknowledge and expressly agree that the slogan may be used by Frisky Kitty and its affiliates, subsidiaries, successors and assigns, for any purpose whatsoever, including, without limitation, developing, manufacturing and marketing products using such slogans, and you hereby waive the right to receive any financial or other consideration in connection with such information, including, without limitation, credit. You give Frisky Kitty the right to trademark or servicemark the winning slogan for it's own use. Frisky Kitty also reserved the right not to use the winning slogan. All prizes awarded do not have any cash value and cannot be exchanged for other products or services. Z Bone and zbone.com does not control the contest judging, distribution of prizes or any other aspect of this contest and makes no representations about the suitability or reliability of Frisky Kitty or this contest. In no event shall Z Bone and zbone.com be liable for any special, indirect or consequential damages or any damages whatsoever resulting from this contest.

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If I Were a Stripper...

January 4, 2000

By JULIA RUBINER

My three favorite words in the English language are "girls, girls, girls." I love strippers. And I'm not shy about indulging this passion. I long ago got over being the only chick at the rail or in the booth.

Some of my acquaintances and more than one dancer have asked me if I've "danced," the generally preferred euphemism for "stripped." The answer is no, though a club owner here and there has asked if I'd like to. It's strictly a fantasy career for me, like being a rock singer (my day job, in fact, involves writing about rock singers; similarly, I'm editing a book on dancers).

I could be a dancer - I'm an attractive girl with a good figure and a canny sense of rhythm. As I said, I enjoy the club milieu. I'm also an exhibitionist, I like to flirt and I love money.

Then why not dance? The reasons are many. For starters, I'm 36 - a good ten years older than most dancers. This means I don't look particularly spectacular under black lights and may not have the stamina required of long shifts on eight-inch heels (I've tried some of those moves in my much more modest platforms, resulting in quadricep burn and lower-back tweakage).

Moreover, my body is not perfect. There's nothing I like better than a club that extols all body types. My boyfriend (also a fan of dishabiliment) is often more attracted to the dancers with a bit of meat on their bones than the girls with the pointy tushies. I find myself almost always throwing my cash away on these flawlessly petite specimens. It's not only the complete lack of jiggle that mesmerizes me - it's also the absences of bruises, scars or blemishes of any sort. These girls are living dolls. I wouldn't want to get up onstage as anything less. (Even if I could forge those parts of steel - a big if - I've never shaved my legs without a nick in my entire life.)

Another reason I could not be a dancer: I'm a prima donna. For those of you blissfully ignorant of such outrages, the great majority of dancer dressing rooms are a scandal. They usually amount to little more than the ladies' restroom - no mirrored vanities, no lockers for expensive costumes, no room to change said expensive costumes. Most of the time, in fact, these ladies' restrooms are not even places you (the customer) would like to rest in.

And that's just the facilities - imagine some of the patrons. I've put the whammy on more than one guy who would not be construed as conventionally handsome; but let's face it, if I'm gonna be all over someone like a cheap suit, he must be appealing by some stretch of the imagination. Most strip club clients are not (even in Hollywood). And the first one of them who said, "No, I'm not interested in a lapdance with you, so get your skeevy ass outta here" - or perhaps worse - would send me rushing for the exit, self-esteem beyond repair.

Finally, I don't think I have the nerve to be a dancer. There's a mighty stigma attached to it. It's one I greatly object to but it's there nonetheless and I don't think I'd want to be a crusader to stamp it out. (I do, however, know some courageous dancers who are "out" about their work. They inspire me like few people I've known.)

About now you're wondering, "Why doesn't this bitch get to the point? If she were a dancer what?" Just wanted to put that pesky "Well, why aren't you a dancer?" question to rest first. In other words, keep your pants on - I'm getting to it.

First and foremost, if I were a dancer, I'd dance. I would not swoop and swirl aimlessly about the stage as if in a dream. I'd eschew the techno and metal for defy-you-not-to-shake-your-booty funk and hip-hop. Even if I spent most of my time on the floor giving laps - which is where the money is, of course - I'd kick some serious ass onstage. I'd be Nadia Comaneci on the pole, and I'd work only at clubs with nice, big poles. I'd train for this career as I would any other.

If I were a dancer, I'd pay tribute to my burlesque foremothers. I'd amass a collection of heart-stopping bump 'n' grind music (I have yet to see a dancer assay that classic "The Stripper"). I'd wear wigs and hats. I'd don feather boas and corsets and stockings and garters and gauntlets. I'd dismantle multi-piece getups in tantalizing stages. I'd mix up my personae. Among the likely candidates: Ginger (red wig, skintight evening gown, tasteful pumps); Mary Anne (braids, tied-at-the-waist gingham shirt, tear-away capris); Gilligan (just kidding - though the sailor thing certainly has potential); Morgan (Le Fey, that is - think Elvira with more kink and less camp).

I've seen girls dress up like cowpokes and dance to something country. I've seen girls dress up like cops and dance to something intimidating. I've seen girls dress up like disco dollies and dance to something '70s. I even saw a girl dress up like Scully (complete with badge, flashlight and gun) and dance to the "X-Files" theme. And though she's a much more common sight, my heart always warms to see the Catholic school girl.

On less ambitious days, I'd at least stick with an unusual name. I believe opera heroines are an untapped source of these: Tosca, Violetta, Brunhilde, Cho-Cho, Buttercup (I do know a dynamite Carmen). And where are the girls of myth? Aphrodite (but certainly not Venus), Athena, Daphne, Eurydice, Persephone. Or classic literature? Ophelia, Isolde, Lenore, Francesca, Penelope. Even our favorite TV and film characters have gone largely unexploited: Gidget, Glinda, Ellie Mae, Wednesday, Seven of Nine. I also harbor a fondness for the retro names: Betty, Selma, Hannah, Sadie, Eloise. But I'd absolutely stay away from nouns and place names (Topaz, Sugar, River, Savannah, Dallas, Dakota) unless they were truly off the beaten path (Produce, Effluvia, Corsage, Castaic, Livonia, Tuscany).

If I were a dancer I'd play up to the female customers. If a pretty girl sat at my rail, you better believe I'd give her the full treatment. On occasion, I've noticed a dancer paying more attention to me than to the men present (more frequently, though, the converse is true). To be sure, men like to see two women in a sexually suggestive posture - it's good for business and the savvy gals know this. But I always manage to convince myself "Gosh, she really likes me," which is the essence of a good dance, lap or otherwise. One of the best experiences of my life was when a fabulous dancer yelped with delight to see me approach her stage, then lavished her attention on me. She even insisted on giving me a free lap, silencing my protestations with a steely "I want to get on top of you, so take off your coat and let's go." Now that's entertainment. Needless to say, I'd love to rock some girl's world like she rocked mine.

In fact, it's all about the ability to rock someone's world, whether you're a stripper or a rock star. It's all about the unconditional adoration, however illusory. If I were a stripper, I'd eat up the attention with a knife and fork. But I'd use my powers for good, not evil. If I were a stripper, you'd be one of my regulars - I'd be your girl, girl, girl.



Julia Rubiner is a free-lance writer and editor of the work in progress Taking It Off: 13 Strippers Bare All. Her essay "If I Were a Stripper" originally appeared in the 1999 issue of The Used Bin, a yearly journal of ruminations on popular culture.

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