One-Percenter Problems

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What exactly do I do?!
photo by Michael Maze

When people ask me what I do for a living, I never really know what to tell them. My accountant lists me as an entertainer, and my wealth-management adviser lists me as a tour guide (!!)…but when asked “What do you do?” I usually just say “Oh…this, that and the other. Emphasis on the other!” Wink, wink! Always good to keep ‘em guessing…and titillated! I’m sure when people hear that, they assume I’m a prostitute…but I mean really; I’m a nude model, a fetish model, a trade show model, a writer, a prank actress, a paid companion and have even done data entry for pay. How to encapsulate all that in one word?! Impossible!

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enjoying the broke life!

Living as I do, by my wits and my tits (and I don’t even have tits), requires some very strict budgeting, as I never know when my gig will come. So I allocate myself a mere $40/day for living expenses, and that includes everything: electric, internet, water, trash, sewer, homeowner’s insurance, home warranty, self-employment taxes, makeup, toiletries, clothing, booze and food (my house is paid off, so I have no mortgage/rent).

Of the $40, I allocate $10/day to food. Now, many people in the world live on $10/month, so that shouldn’t be such a big deal…but here in the First World, it can be tough! Especially because I’m no ramen & tuna fish girl — I like foodie food!

Thankfully, I am well-connected and have a wide variety of friends who take me out to nice places, so I usually end up eating quite well. Like, a couple of weeks back I went out to this gourmet place on the Strip called Sage, which according to its website is “Artisanal American” cuisine “with global influences in a sophisticated, yet comfortable atmosphere.” I was invited by a friend from Yelp, who comes to town occasionally with his girlfriend — a super-nice couple from back East, who were generous enough to pay my WhatsYourPrice rate for my time at dinner. So, not only did I get a bad-ass meal…I also got paid to go! Thank you, Mr. Black!!

Then the following week, another friend from Yelp (gawd I love Yelp) invited me to accompany him on a fabulous gourmet tasting excursion that took us to many of the Strip’s top restaurants! He was writing a piece for one of the airlines’ First Class section in-flight mag, so they sent him out to experience the “rich man’s Vegas,” and write about it. Man, I thought was cool for making a few bucks to go to Sage — this fucker was paid $2000 to be pampered for the entire weekend!! Luckily, he invited me along as his date…and holy wow!

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photo by my friend, SW Images

The evening began with cocktails in his magnificent Sky Villa suite at the Aria, looking out over the neon peons rushing to and fro on the Vegas Strip. Then we headed downstairs to a pretentious sushi joint called Bar Masa for sake and caviar atop a bed of delectable, melt-in-your-mouth toro tuna, plus a few pieces of toro tuna roll made specially by the chef. From there, we were escorted to the valet area (where a few short weeks ago I nearly got kicked out for faking a screaming orgasm in that cheesy golf tournament contest) and were driven across the street to the Bellagio, where we enjoyed more caviar at Michael Mina, accompanied by flutes of champagne and elegant shooters of chilled Belvedere, followed by a big fat slab of foie gras on these amazing little crumpet-like cakes, with some kind of genteel white wine. I don’t even like foie gras (I hate fat, and I hate liver)…but guess who lapped it all up like Eliza Doolittle on Henry Higgins’s balls???! Anything tastes good when accompanied by good champagne, LOL.

From there, we were next escorted across the casino to Prime steakhouse, where we enjoyed sampler platters of Wagyu beef, accompanied by veggies and some kind of baked-cheesy potato or macaroni side dish — I don’t remember exactly what it was, since they also gave us red wine and possibly more champagne. FUCK A DUCK!

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At the MGM’s Mansion with this amazing security guard, Warren, who is the only person I’ve ever met with bigger hair than mine

I was stuffed by this point — my belly distended to the point where it was stretching out my $7 Fallas Paredes dress (entire cost of my outfit, shoes and hair accessories included: >$40). But they made us get back in the limo and head over to the MGM Grand, which we entered via the private Mansion gates (the Mansion is like their high-roller enclave, separate from the rest of the MGM hoi polloi) and were escorted into Joël Robuchon for dessert — and not the bullshit Atelier, either; the real Joël Robuchon! There, were treated to dessert wine and a delicious assortment of pastries, sweets and truffles, followed by coffee. YUM!



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With The Empress (holding the squirt gun) at Daylight pool club

The next day, I was afflicted with a miserable case of indigestion and a wretched champagne hangover — forget “First World Problems;” I had a bad case of “One-Percenter Problems.” I don’t know how these rich fuckers do it!! Nevertheless, I sacked up and went to a pool party with this amazing milliner/party girl/model/Vegas scenester who goes by the name The Empress. Don’t ask me how my abs look so flat after all that foie gras and Wagyu beef — ugh!!

But anyhoo, like I said…I certainly can’t afford to eat like that every night, since my daily food allowance is a mere $10. But fortunately, a friend and I devised a plan to eat like kings for free!!! 

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a typical hotel EDR

As you may know, all the Vegas hotels have staff cafeterias in their basements to feed the thousands of worker-drones who toil away their lives making beds, dealing cards and mopping up party-girl piss. The Culinary Union (which most hotel employees are members of) contract demands a free meal each shift, so all the hotels in town have employee dining rooms (EDRs) where staff can enjoy free slop on their lunch break. During my 12-year-plus career as a souvenir photographer, I ate at many of these grease joints — most of them shitty, but hey…it was free!

Well, I told my friend Fabian about it, and he was intrigued. Being a man of means, he has no need to go schlepping around sneaking into places for free food…but it was the challenge that piqued his interest. So one evening, we set out on an EDR infiltrating mission.

We put on all-black outfits — button-down shirts, slacks — to appear as if we were some sort of blend-into-the-background hotel employees, and then plotted our course. I thought it would be funny if we did it like a gourmet, multi-course meal — not unlike my One-Percenter excursion! So we decided to have salad and appetizers at one hotel, then main course at another, and desert at a third.  For starters, I chose a hotel whose EDR I was familiar with — I worked there back in the day for about 3 years, and knew exactly where it was, and that the salad bar could be accessed easily without an employee ID card (some tight-fisted places have a turnstile that requires you to swipe an ID card to get in).

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perusing the options

Now, this wasn’t even one of the better EDRs in town, but Fabian was completely gob-smacked! He said it was one of the most exciting things he’d done in Vegas — and this is someone who really gets around!! We loaded up our trays with salad, and washed it all down with Kangen alkalized water, which this particular EDR had on tap (!!). All around us, various hotel employees sat glumly munching their lunches and dinners — no one paid us any mind. Our carefully planned all-black outfits made no difference, either — there was such a variety of staff down there, some in casino uniforms, some in lifeguard attire, and some in freaky Cirque du Soleil makeup (the show performers eat down there, too), that you could basically just walk in there wearing anything and no one would notice.

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I had a photo shoot the next day, or I would have eaten more

Next, we moved on for the main course. I had chosen this one hotel that has an amazing EDR — I’d only eaten there once, when I was stuck working this miserable fucking show they used to have, but I was pretty sure I remembered how to get there, and it had no turnstile or anything so we could access the hot food as well as the salad bar (the first hotel had their hot food locked up, but the turnstile had been jammed open by a thoughtful employee). We headed over there, found the employee doors near the parking garage, and followed a stream of employees down into the bowels of the hotel, right to the food. It was delicious! And the ambiance wasn’t bad, either. I had Thai stir-fry and hummus and greens and all kinda fabulous healthy foodie-food — that place is great!!!

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getting creative with limited dessert options

For dessert, we decided to up our game and try a hotel that was completely unfamiliar to me. I’d never worked at this particular upscale hipster joint, so had no idea where the EDR was…but it was pretty easy to find, simply by walking around the casino and looking for a doorway with employees streaming in and out. We followed the stream down into the basement, salivating at the prospect of what must surely be in store from such a fabulous hotel — and when we got there, it was like El Dorado! TONS of delicious foodie-food! We grabbed trays and began to load up…but then noticed that there were prices on the displays, and a cashier at the end!!! WTF!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I guess that tight-fisted non-Union joint issues scrip or something to their staff, to be used to purchase meals. Bogussssss!!! We bailed on that shit in a hot minute, and headed over to a different place I’d been to that had a slightly dumpier, but free, selection of desserts.

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the best restaurant in town…no reservations required

The next day, we did it again — first, we hit up a place I’d long heard touted as the be-all and end-all of Strip EDRs…but it was said to be locked down by a dreaded turnstile. I’d never been there, but we found it quickly by the usual means (it’s astonishingly simple to sneak into these places…there is no security whatsoever). And guess what?! There was no turnstile or anything — and it was fantastic!!! We gorged on veggie burgers, hummus, soup, greens, edamame and just about everything else under the sun. By the time we rolled out of there I was stuffed… and it’s a good thing, since the second two EDRs we tried that night sucked ass. They were both non-Union hotels, so maybe that’s why — either way, they were awful and I had to settle for cheesecake-flavored soft-serve topped with Oreo crumbles, Butterfinger crumbles, hot fudge and Cap’n Crunch.

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Well, after all that piggery, Fabian decided to go on a juice cleanse. He spent about $500 at Whole Foods, bought a top-of-the-line commercial-grade juicer, and invited me over one night for juice. I helped him cut up veggies and stuff, which he fed into the maw of the juicer, grinding it up into a paste which was then crushed flat to extract every last drop of juice. We threw the leftover dry veggie paste into the sink, but it ended up hopelessly clogging up his garbage disposal!! I tried to unclog it, but only succeeded in making a geyser of green puke-like liquid erupt from his drain, splattering all over his walls and cabinets!!!! His entire kitchen was a fucking disaster – and as a result, his roommate asked him to move out at the end of his lease, haha. Ironically, I think his roommate is a chef at one of the swanky restaurants I went to recently.

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trying to unclog the drain

We didn’t have time to worry about it, though, because we were late for a meeting with a nude magician!!! While at the Burlesque Hall of Fame Expo the other weekend, Fabian had met this amazing woman named Dusty Summers — the world’s only nude magician. She had invited him to this weekly magicians’ gathering over at a dive bar off the freeway, so that he might meet more interesting characters and magicians to use in pranks for his pranking company. I had long heard of this weekly gathering, and had always meant to go check it out, so I went with him. O…M…G!!!

We were about 15 minutes late, and Dusty and her daughter were sitting at the bar looking pretty peeved. You don’t keep a nude lady magician waiting!!! It was hip-hop night in the bar — a dingy, depressing wood-paneled affair cowering in the shadow of the Palace Station — so the front room was full of about 3 wannabe gangstas thuggin’ around drinking Henny. But Dusty led us through these double doors into the BACK room….and that’s where the magic began!!! This supposedly legendary, exceptionally vulgar, one-legged old coot we’ll call “Barry Garwin” was sitting in a wheelchair at a Formica table, holding court over a roomful of about 5 sad-sack old magicians and magic aficionados. Dusty took us aside and instructed us, sotto voce, that when we were ready to leave, we should get him talking to one of the other guys…or he would never let us go.  Then she introduced us to Barry, and beat a hasty retreat. Thanks, toots!!

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happier times

Barry spent the next hour gas-bagging to his rapt audience of four: me, Fabian, and two old dudes, one of whom spent half his time bragging about all the stars he had photos with from his days in the Catskills, and the other half trying to peddle some weird pain-management technique he’d perfected, and wanted to try out on any local magicians he could get his hands on. It was pure comedy gold! Despite his lofty reputation, Barry wasn’t so much interested in talking about magic as he was about all the black women he’d fucked — he really liked black women, he told us repeatedly. “You wanna see a photo of my last girlfriend?” He pulled out a photo from his wallet, obviously cut from a magazine, of a ginormous-titted naked black woman spreading her vagina apart with elaborately manicured fingers. “That’s my last girlfriend.”

To his credit, Barry did pause briefly now and then in his vulgar joke-telling and dirty talk to demonstrate a few magic techniques, which were actually pretty damn amazing! The guy was really good…but it was far more entertaining to listen to to his dirty talk. The best part was, little flecks of spittle flew from his mouth with every foul word — he was one of those “wet” talkers, so at least the filth spewing from his bearded lips was diluted somewhat. He had some pretty good one-liners, too, which he had compiled into a little chapbook that he was selling — come to find out, that’s what all these magicians do there: try and sell crap. The table in front of Barry was stacked high with wacky gags, magic props and books, all of which this poor man was trying to make a buck off of, presumably so he could pay his medical bills (his one-leggedness was due to diabetes).

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the ol’ needle-thru-the-arm gag…get’s ‘em every time!

After an hour or so, we got him talking to one of the other dudes and then beat a hasty retreat to one of the other two “booths” in the room (really they’re just Formica tables piled with crap, but they treat it like a magicians’ swap meet or something). The poor obese man at this table was sweating profusely as he demonstrated all the gags and DVDs he had on offer, and Fabian finally decided to purchase a sort of knitting-needle gag kit, with which one can amaze and astound one’s friends by appearing to poke a long metal needle through one’s arm, without leaving a trace! He asked the man to demonstrate it, so he opened the kit, which he was selling for $20, and all it was, was a needle and a little bottle of rubber cement. I guess the idea was that you spread rubber cement on the inside of your elbow, and somehow it

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you can’t see it in this pic, but the man was really sweating profusely

makes your skin stick together in such a way as to make it look like the needle is going through it. Problem was, the rubber cement was around 500 years old, and totally dried up!!! But that nervously sweating fucker still sold it to Fabian — at full price!! Fabian tried to get a discount on account of the rubber cement being dried out, but the guy was like, “Eh, you just need some new rubber cement…it’s only $3, you can get it anywhere!!”

So Fabian forked over the $20 and then went back to Barry Garwin’s table to buy a couple of his gags, too — and then we got the hell out of there!! That place reeked of sad desperation — it was simply astonishing!!! How have I never been there before?!?

Now speaking of the pranking company, things are proceeding apace and they are expected to have their official launch in September! I can’t wait…I’ll be up to my neck in pranking gigs icon smile One Percenter Problems Meanwhile, a nationally-known reality show producer showed some interest in possibly creating a show around the company, so Fabian and his business partner arranged a lunch meeting with the guy, to discuss possible scenarios. And they thought it would be a fun idea to prank the guy while they were having the meeting!

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With the good Doctor Jon

The meeting was held at one of my all-time favorite spots, the Heart Attack Grill. The good doctor who runs the place was all for it, and even the waitresses got in on the prank. They had six planted actors seated at different places around where the meeting was going down, and then towards the end of the meeting, Fabian dropped his water bottle on the floor to signal the start of the prank. This cued one actor, who was playing a creepy perv, to start pumping his hot dog in and out of the bun in a very sexual fashion, which creeped out the waitress so that she threw a fit and kicked him out. That prompted my partner to get down on one knee and propose marriage to me, at which I started ranting and screaming about what a DICK he was to propose to me HERE, after what he did last night…which prompted another actress to butt in and tell me to stop being a bitch, at which I threw a French fry at her, instigating an entire crazy food fight among all six actors, with the reality TV guy in the middle!!!

Then I stormed out of the restaurant in a “huff…” only to sneak back in a few minutes later to kibbitz with my amazingly awesome friend Dr. Jon, the owner of the Heart Attack Grill, who is without a doubt one of the smartest, coolest people I know. The hardest part of the prank was pretending not to know him when he came up to our table…he’s such a cool guy, and I hadn’t seen him in awhile. But every time I’m in the area and think of dropping in, the place is so jam-packed with anti-nanny-state lard-asses packing their greasy maws with LDL cholesterol that I don’t want to bother him! Seriously…that place does amazing business!

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the Raintree

Now after all that craziness in the city, you can see why I’d want to escape up to the mountains for a little fresh air and nature. My friend Trixxie has recently gotten the hiking bug, so we headed up to the Spring Mountains about 30 min northwest of Vegas for a 6-mile roundtrip hike up to the Raintree, a 4,000-year-old bristlecone pine said to be the oldest living thing in the state of Nevada. Those bristlecone pines are amazingly beautiful — photographers, sample images of the trees are sprinkled throughout the rest of this blog, and imagine how fabulous they would look with a nude model draped over them (AHEM!!!). The best part is, even when it’s 150 degrees in Vegas, it’s always at least 30 degrees cooler up there. Be advised, however…it’s about an hour’s hike up a decent grade to get to the trees, so

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a plateau fit for a drum circle!

you’d have to be in at least marginally good shape to do it. A little further on there’s also an AMAZING plateau, with views of the entire Vegas valley, that would make an amazing spot for an overnight campout/drum circle. AHEM!!!!!

Speaking of drum circles, that same night they were having a big one out on one of the dry lake beds in the area. I drove down from the mountain, stopped at home to grab my drum and some wine,

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view from the plateau

and then headed down south toward the Hoover Dam. By the time I got there, everyone was already in full beast-mode: drummers drumming, bonfire blazing, half-naked hippie chicks swaying and thrashing in the firelight. A friend who has an art car designed to look like a magic carpet was cruising around the desert with his disco ball flashing and chicks hanging from the rafters, so I jumped on that and rode around awhile, swigging wine from a genteel little sippy-cup and chatting with the others onboard. After awhile of that, I disembarked and joined the drummers for a mad, beatnik-style drum-boree that wrapped up with some crazy Asian guy on guitar playing Nelly’s “Hot in Herre.” I’m telling you…you haven’t lived until you’ve drummed along to that!!!!

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another gnarly bristlecone

I wanted nothing more than to stay out in the desert all night, eating mushrooms and drinking wine, but I had this damn photo shoot the next day, so I left around midnight. The shoot was at this house up near Summerlin — this crazy German fetish producer by the name of Goebbels who runs a site devoted to fully-clothed chicks jumping in swimming pools and splashing water all over their clothes. !!! It was around 500 degrees outside that day, and they had me put on a full black-leather ensemble, complete with leather jacket, and I was really sweating….until I jumped in the pool!! It was so weird…I basically got paid to swim around all seductive and soggy. Good times! After they shot 30min of that, I had to get out, dry my hair, and put on a whole new outfit and do it all again! Fun!!!!

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more bristley-ness

The best part was, the Germans had just moved to Vegas, so hopefully I can work with them again sometime. They used to do all their work in Germany and the Czech Republic, and interestingly, they said Czech girls are the most reliable on the planet! They were in for a rude surprise here in Vegas, though…the model who was supposed to shoot right before me was a no-show! And that’s pretty much how it goes here.

Now interestingly, they were just renting the pool from the guy who owns the house, and he came up to me on my way out to introduce himself. He has a company called AnnieCreamcheese that sells vintage designer clothing, and they used to have a shop at the Palazzo until the rent got too high. Now they just

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the pic in question…by Michael “Badass” Maze

sell stuff online, and when I got home I checked out the site — and saw MY photo on it!! LOL!!! Somehow he had gotten ahold of this wacky pic me and Michael Maze took back in the day, and was using it to pimp his goods. When I alerted him to the fact that he was using our photo, he was super cool, and gave us all online giftcards for merchandise in return for using it. What a smaaaaalllll world…….

Now speaking of photo shoots, I also did a shoot last week with one of my all-time favorite photographer/artists…the one and only Barfing Rainbows!!! This is the guy who has me wear a melting-face latex mask in all my pics, so I really like shooting with him cuz I don’t have to worry about doing my hair and makeup. This time, he had blown up a kiddie pool in a trash-strewn empty lot just off the Strip, and had filled it with candy. My job was to get in and pretend to strangle this other model, a guy in stained Jockey shorts and a weird sort of Mardi Gras mask, while Barfing Rainbows’s long-suffering wife threw more candy, and Indian colored dye powder, all over us. It was fun, but I was a real fucking MESS by the end of that shoot! To make matters worse, I stepped on an ants’ nest while eating candy out of the pool after the shoot, and got ant bites all over my ankles. Those poor little fuckers were allllll kinds of riled up by all the sugar around them, and they really went to town on me!

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another tree

Then another day, I did a gig as a background extra in this movie that was filming out here. I guess Nevada finally started offering up some tax incentives, so more Hollywood productions are filming out here these days. Whatever — I fucking hate being an extra, but I had nothing else going on that day and it did happen to pay marginally more than the usual minimum wage, so I agreed to do it. The scene was supposed to take place around Christmas time, so despite the fact that it was literally about 110 degrees outside, we had to wear boots, scarves, sweaters, etc. UGH!! Worse, our holding area was this bullshit parking lot behind the Planet Hollywood hotel, where they had trailers set up with totally sub-par air conditioning. Like there aren’t enough fucking conference rooms inside Planet Hollywood that they could have given us one or two to use?!? I mean, come on!

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Infestation! by Chuck Berg

This is what I hate about Hollywood productions: calltime was 2pm, out in the baking heat of the parking lot. It took them about an hour to sign everyone in, then an hour for everyone’s wardrobe to be approved, and then — WHOOPS! UNION MEAL BREAK! Now we all have to sit outside in the blazing, mind-searing heat and eat hamburgers and pasta and shit for 30 minutes. Then it took another hour to get everyone loaded into vans, and bused over to the hotel entrance, where we were led to another holding area, and then another hour in holding, and then about four hours at a blackjack table, pretending to gamble while home half-rate British banty-rooster action star did his 30 sec. of dialog. Then another hour to bus everyone back out to the parking lot, at which time it was WHOOPS! UNION MEAL BREAK! again, and we all sweated our balls off eating steak and chicken and salad and whatnot for 30minutes. Then another hour to bus everyone over to Caesars Palace for the next shot, another hour in another holding room, but there were no chairs in that holding room, so Caesars staff had to bring in chairs and tables and kept making us get up when all we were trying to do was catch a few fucking minutes’ sleep, for Chrissake! Some of us had to be at a gig at 7am, and the way this was going, I’d be lucky to get there in time!!

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What’s going on HERE?! pic by a photographer that wanted to remain anonymous, I think

Then, whooooops, that holding room wasn’t big enough, so they had to transfer us all to the poker room. Now, if you’ve never been in a Strip casino poker room at 3am, you haven’t lived. Those people are weird!! I spent about 4 hours in the poker room holding area, trying to fall asleep and catch a few winks, but this guy was trying to hit on me and I finally just gave up and went looking for some coffee. Due to conflicting unions, the production staff, which belongs to one union, was unable to bring coffee onto Caesars property, which is strictly Culinary Union. So I ended up just going down to the EDR and grabbing some fucking coffee myself!!!! The P.A. in charge of the extras was all, “Where did you get that?!” and I was like, “I bought it.” Fuck it — it was like 4am by this point, and I was exhausted!!!!

Finally they let us out of the holding area and into the hotel lobby, where we walked back and forth in the background while the aforementioned banty-rooster recited another 20sec. of dialog, which only took an hour to complete….and then finally we were done!! Another hour to be bused back over to the empty lot behind Planet Hollywood, and around 5:30am I finally signed out. Is it any fucking wonder it costs so much to make a movie?! I was onset for 15½ hours, all so they could film 5 minutes of footage. GET A GRIP!!!!

Now I only had an hour or so to get to my 7am gig, which was a scavenger hunt, so I went home, freshened up, and put on my executive spy lady costume, then hit up a Starbucks. Thankfully, the scavenger hunt was super easy — all these super-enthusiastic Singaporeans running around getting clues and doing stunts — so in a few short hours’ time I was able to go home, collapse into bed, and sleep all day icon smile One Percenter Problems Whew!!!!

Now, you might think I’m nuts — my friend Joe is even nuttier! This is the guy I mentioned a couple blogs ago who is a sort of amateur porn producer — he discovers talent out here in Vegas, then drives them to L.A. to perform in lesbo DVDs, and he gets a cut. Mid-50s, ex-lounge singer, all-around nutjob. Well at one of his shoots in L.A. the producers saw his penis (don’t ask me what was going on at THAT shoot!), and were like, “Hey, man, you have a really interesting, silky-looking dick! You should take some photos of that…we could find a market for you and your Silk Dick with the gays!”

So for the past couple months, he’s been on my nuts wanting me to take some photos of his penis. He also wants me to photograph some of his ladies — especially this new chick he just discovered, a Latina spinner who looks about 16 but is really 28. I was all for it, but my schedule has been so busy lately it was hard to figure out a time we could all get together. Well, we finally all agreed to meet up Monday morning at 10am (who the hell shoots porn that early?!) at Joe’s house, so I dragged my ass out of bed and went over there with my camera and stuff.

But come to find out, the very evening before, Joe had gotten a call from a guy in L.A. who needed a last-minute fill-in for this Latina Incest DVD he was filming, so Joe and his protégé had to fly out there, shoot all night long, then get the morning flight back to Vegas. This was the girl’s first-ever shoot — she had to play the shy niece who gets molested by her hot Auntie — so she was passed out asleep, at home. But Joe had stayed up all night, drank about 50 cups of coffee, and was rarin’ to go. He had promised to pay me for 4 hours’ work, and by golly he intended to give me 4 hours of work!!!

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watching fetish porn at Joe’s ex-girlfriend’s house

The first hour or two, I sat around with him watching this weird fetish DVD all about this Belgian dominatrix who was beating up a guy in a tiger-skin Xentai suit — you know, one of those full-body suits that covers the face and everything? Only this one was customized with ears and a tail, and these little zippers by his dick and nipples, so she could reach in and pinch his nips and slap his dick with her riding crop and whatnot. CRAZY!!!

Well, after the DVD was over, Joe was all riled up — he had just only discovered the world of fetish and BDSM, and come to find out it really turns him on. Whatever, I’m just there to get paid — let’s take some photos! So he pulls out these bags of stuff he’d bought at Savers — he’d gone thrift shopping in search of anything studded/black leather he could find, and what a haul! He had these two pairs of leather pants he’d cut the asscheeks out of, like poor man’s chaps, so I photographed him in those while he was bent over a black metal quilt rack (we were shooting all this at his ex-girlfriend’s house, so he had to make do with her womanly furnishings, LOL).

The only bummer was, he wanted his dick to look its most impressive, but he was having a hard time getting a boner — so kept trying to peek up my shorts, and asking me if he could photograph me naked!! For once in my sorry life I stood up for myself and was like, “NO!!! I’m not here to be photographed! Back off!” He even offered to pay my nude modeling rate, which is considerably more than my photographer rate, but I demurred.

04 Wife Beater and Jeans 283C 300x199 One Percenter Problems

shoulda showed Joe THIS pic — he’d have a boner in no time! photo by Randy Fosth/Shutterbug Studio

So finally he went into his Savers bags and pulled out a bunch of studded leather women’s belts — you know, the kinda shit you buy at Hot Topic — and sort of fashioned them into various harness-type things around his asscheeks, dick and balls. And that did it for him! He got wood in no time, wrapping the belt around his balls and slapping his thigh with the end of it. Man, it was too early in the morning to be looking at this kinda of stuff!!!!

Finally his amateur fetish fumblings did the trick, and he jizzed all over his ex-girlfriend’s bathroom countertop – grosssssssss!!! I snapped some pics of glistening jizz dribbling down his wrinkly ballsac, and it was pretty artsy, if I do say so myself. I’m not sure it was what he was looking for — I don’t think he cared much for artistry; I kept trying to get him to open the windows so we could use natural light, but he wanted me to just use the flash. But whatever the case, he was happy with the results and he paid me AND gave me an extra bonus for harassing me. UGH!!! He’s already on my nuts about shooting again, but I’m not sure I can stomach it. I’m kinda curious to meet his stable of porn chicks, though…so I’ll go if I can film them all together or something. I can’t help it; I’m curious….

Anyway, after that I had to go straight to the dentist…and I’m not sure which was more unpleasant — the morning, or the afternoon! Either way, it was just another crazy day in the life of W O N D E R H U S S Y…….








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About wonderhussy

I am a foul-mouthed, flat-chested bon vivant and adventuress who likes to curse, drink, smoke and run around nude, and I refuse to kow-tow to the bourgeois moral code of the day. I’ve lived in Vegas over ten years, and have a few stories to tell. I roll around town in a truck stocked with a Breathalyzer and a swizzle stick, a spare pair of panties and two stun guns. Don’t fuck with me!
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2 Responses to One-Percenter Problems

  1. Tatiana says:

    WTF! Interesting days for sure…..! LOL
    Incest DVD? Ok…..whatever floats some people’s boat I guess.
    About foie gras, I had it once at Picasso in Vegas. Never again. Then I found out how the ducks are treated and it is absolutely very cruel and for what? Human consumption. It is gross. I encourage everybody to be more mindful about the food they eat, both from the animals standpoint and also their own, GMO versus organic etc.
    Anyhow… you have any helpful information about attending Burning Man for the first time? Like, is it crazy to get into the area, like lines? How do you decide on where to set up camp? Do you recommend having a bike? Stuff you absolutely need to bring?

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