It’s the last day before my SIX DAY VACATION.

I’m beyond thrilled.

Christmas time is the busiest time of year for strippers. All of the suits come out to play, Benjamins bring my wallet to burst at the seams and cocaine falls from the sky.

Oh, wait, it’s not the eighties anymore.

The next Depression is imminent. Strippers will be the first to tell you. My suits, that is, my ‘finance guy’ clients who contribute to more that 85% of my income, are fucking depressed. They’re hardly spending and their brows are furrowed more than usual. They fucked up big time and they’re having a hard time celebrating their idiocy by stimulating my economy.

The Fantastic News is that I’m only one shift away from slipping on some Real Girl underwear (!!!) and hopping on a flight to Palm Springs, where I will have a six hour massage to regain feeling in my legs and feet while eating macaroons. I think I’ve forgotten what my face looks like under all this make-up.

HAPPY FUCKING FRIDAY, EVERYONE!