This Pole Dancing Championship Post Wrote Itself

Sometimes, it’s tough to be a writer, especially one who has to be funny and biting and still spell everything correctly. Other times, the piece just writes itself. Like this one.

There is a Pole Dancing World Championship. I REALLY wish it had something to do with the national dance of Poland, but no, it has everything to do with being the best in the whole world at working the stripper pole. I do have to fully admit that this year’s competition was both fierce and very artistic in a “this is how Cirque du Soleil would look if it was naked and you could pay them in singles and maybe get a lap dance when it’s over and oh yeah, there’s a drink special tonight” kind of way. I also openly admit that I constantly mock pole dancing because I am insanely jealous that I do not look as good as they do whilst hanging upside down on a ball-bearinged fireman’s pole wearing a bikini. Take fireman’s pole however you wish. I just did, and it made me giggle.

Here is the it’s-easy-to-be-a-writer-today part: I actually found the video of this year’s world champion performance. I love how the video credits take pains to point out that this is the Women’s Pole Dancing Champion…like there’s a Men’s Pole Dancing Champion? But look further down the picture at the other video headlines.

Yes, on the same YouTube page as a gaggle of pole dancers, there is a headline about “Girl Survives with Half a Brain.” What search engine fail made thoroughbred stripper poling go hand in hand with having half a brain, you ask? The one that exists in a state of perfection, I tell ya.

P.S. Because I’m a giver who really knows her readers, here is the video of the world champion stripper pole contest. You’re welcome.

Big Foot Saved Me from Killing People

I have nothing to write about. It’s NaNo time, and all of my free brain cells are taken up with trying to rein myself in on the body count in this book. I have to weigh my options carefully and think to myself, “Does this person really NEED to die?” Sadly, the answer is usually, “Yes. Painfully.”

Having said that, whenever I need a break from killing not-so-innocent bystanders, I come back down to Earth with stupid television. My favorite stupid television right now is that show where the people go out into the woods in the middle of the night with night vision cameras strapped to them that look all Blair Witch Projecty and they hunt for Big Foot. There have been about four seasons of this show and they have never once found Big Foot, but yet, at the end of every episode they a) high five each other and congratulate each other on another successful reconnaissance mission and b) they show teaser clips from next week’s episode. I am horribly confused:

1. I cannot tell what differentiates a successful mission from an unsuccessful mission, other than no one fell over a log in the dark and needed stitches. It sure as hell doesn’t involve actually finding Big Foot.

2. I take serious issue with the fact that these “scientists” apparently were allowed to skip their English credits in college because they keep using the term “Big Foots” as the plural of Big Foot when it should obviously be “Big Feet.”

3. The logo on the show is very disturbing and I’m pretty sure it’s racist against Big Feet. It’s an artist’s rendering of a Big Foot screaming in rage. There has been zero evidence from any of the sightings that Big Foot has either beaten, raped, or killed anyone, but these people are furthering the stereotype that large hairy people who live in secluded sections of the wilderness must be violent. Goofy went camping all the time on the cartoons, and he was a veritable gentle giant.

4. You “researchers” (quotation marks means I think it’s doubtful you are actually researchers) are never going to find Big Foot because you’ve got the cameras turned around to record your own faces. It’s sixty minutes of you opening your eyes in surprise and hissing, “What was that?” and looking like you’re going to poop. Joke’s on you, butt munch, THAT was a mountain lion and you very well might be eaten.

Just once, God, PLEASE just once, let Big Foot come out, do a little Magic Mike strip tease dance, then beat the crap out of these people. Please. I promise to kill fewer people in my book if you can just let that happen on ONE episode. Amen.

UPDATE: I tried to find a great video of Big Foot dancing, but they were all stupid and obviously fake. One guy didn’t even try, it was just him dancing in front of a a tripod camera in a gorilla suit. I DID, however, find out that there’s a strip club devoted to Big Feet. Apparently, the fine folks at got tired of Big Feet being exploited for money on TV and have decided to exploit them for a little bit of money on the pole.

ANOTHER UPDATE: I just clicked on the link and I’m sorry to say, I didn’t see any photos of Big Foot working the pole. They might be misleading us, just like the Big Foot researchers. And the website’s grammar is horrible…they have decided to make a compound word out of Big Foot. You were warned.

Go Ahead. Bet me MONEY This Isn’t Real.

You KNOW I'm gonna wear these to Walmart. And to church. And then probably to Hell.

There is a website called It is an entire piece of the internet, accessed via valuable broadband, that is dedicated to making kitschy crap out of tampons. If I’m lyin’, I’m dyin’.

I want you to picture the scene where I send my child to school with a diorama of the first Thanksgiving made entirely out of tampons standing up in a cardboard shoebox. Or where we patiently arrange the tampons to represent the eight planets in the solar system (yeah, I was totally on board with kicking out Pluto). Or how we make an Inuit igloo out of the cottony middles, cutting off the strings to weave friendship bracelets for Field Day.

Then I want you to envision the school calling Child Welfare on me for using insertable feminine hygiene supplies to help my daughter with her homework.

I will freely admit that my real problem with, besides the obvious shunning of the Instead plastic cup, is that I didn’t think of it first. Go ahead, give me a glue gun, various sequins, and a box of Tampax, and I will prove to you that I could come up with some really cool shit. Only no one’s gonna pay me to blog about it.

But the tampon-slash-doily site isn’t really the only missed opportunity on cyberspace. I really, really, REALLY wish I owned this one website whose URL I came across purely by accident, I swear. This one sticks in my craw so badly that I can’t think about it without wanting to take off my earring and cut someone: Go ahead, click that link and see where it takes you.

Yup, there is a website devoted entirely to the tear-away spandex garments, f***-me pumps, and shiny tension-mounted poles (shut up, that wasn’t a dick joke) that strippers apparently need for their daily 9-to-5 jobs (pm to am, that is). Do you know what kind of money there is to bed made in French maid outfits with Velcro tabs? Or 120mm stiletto pumps that are still safe for walking the stage several times a night?
Instead, I caved to the pressure from my second grade nun and made this site,, a perfectly white-bread kind of website where no one has thong panties that rip off in time to the soundtrack from Boogie Nights. The joke’s on you, Sister Catherine, I fully intend to have my own herd of male prostitutes available for escort duties on my new site, I have to pay for all those tampons and glue sticks somehow.