Happy Repeal of Prohibition Day! So a Dewar’s ad pointed out to me that we should all celebrate the Repeal of Prohibition on December 5. I thought to myself that that was a great idea, but wondered if it would catch on. On December 2nd, Fleshbot did a feature on December holidays which included a New Years photo Forrest Black and I shot of Miss Bunny and which also put “December 5: Repeal Day: The 21st Amendment ends Prohibition” in their sexy calendar.

I got drunk for the first time at the Baptist Mission in Israel. Yes, the Baptists send missionaries to the Holy Land and so does everyone else. And my friend Elisabeth Bjerreaugaard-Pederson (who I would love to find me via Google) and I thought some of the missionaries’ kids were hot and so we drank with them, having no idea what we were doing. I got my real drinking merit badge drinking with Marines in Germany at age sweet sixteen. Blue Blood is sweet sixteen now, but Blue Blood has a curfew. Unlike sixteen-year-old me. To be honest, I’m a fan of water and, although I enjoy going drinking very occasionally, I feel the most important thing about today’s holiday is the celebration of freedom. I just don’t like being told what to do in my personal life and the Repeal of Prohibition was a win for personal liberty.

I thought it would be fun to celebrate the day with (besides drinking of course) some free sexy barroom photos Forrest Black and I shot of Rachel Face. I seem to have spent a lot of time in bars with Rachel, sometimes shooting and other times drinking. One of the things I enjoy about her is that she always comes up with fun bars to shoot in or go to.

Blue Blood has been working with Rachel Face since 2001/2002 or thereabouts, but the most recent sets shot in 2008, were at a Portland gin joint called Plan B. Plan B is pretty much awesome incarnate. It is owned by punk bass player Jeff Truhn of Straitjacket fame and it has the best bacon dogs on the West Coast, maybe the best bacon dogs anywhere. The actual bar in the bar has all sorts of collectible records inset along its glossy surface. Apparently this was the hard lemonade made from a hard lemon of a breakup with the sort of punk rock girl who scratches all your favorite records on her way out the door. With today’s update, there are now 11 sets of Rachel Face available on BlueBlood.com in their entirety.

A bit of history for the history buffs not already viewing Rachel Face in the buff. (Sorry, I loathe puns . . . except for sex puns. We all have our foibles.) On December 5 in 1933, Americans got back the right to legally sell and drink alcohol. During the period from January 16, 1920 to that date, some of the saloon culture, the so-called drys were up in arms about, did decline. Drys was the slang of the time for teetotalers, axe-wielding beer barrel smashers, and other temperance advocates. Strangely there was (and purportedly still is) a Prohibition Party, so the temperance movement could run candidates likely to oppose the sale and consumption of demon rum, alcohol, booze, intoxicants, alky, canned heat, cocktails, drinky-poos, firewater, beer, hard stuff, hootch, moonshine, whiskey, rotgut, sauce, spirits, tipples, tequila, hot juice, that sort of thing.

In all fairness to the drys, there had been more saloons than the population needed and the law of supply and demand forced saloon-keepers to maintain sidelines in girls, gambling, and other mind-altering substances. Not that the more profitable early saloons did not also feature such things, but there was a feeling in America than the problems were getting worse by 1919. At the same time, during Prohibition, more traditional drunkard customs were replaced by the world of the speakeasy. Speakeasies tended to draw previously respectable types into a more criminal and more sexually open environment. And of course Prohibition made a lot of wealth move around, most notably out of the government’s pockets and into a few bootlegging families everlasting fortunes.

So have a drink today to celebrate freedom of vice and pursuing happiness and making money the American way.

You all may have noticed the banners for the movie Devil’s Den in rotation this week. It stars Kelly Hu, Ken Foree and Devon Sawa and is described by Amazon as, “Two small time drug-dealers cross paths with a female-assassin, a monster hunter, a Japanese swordsman and even the Devil himself at a gentlemen’s club housing murderous she-demons.” The slogan for Devil’s Den is “The final battle for the souls of mankind will be fought in a bar full of possessed strippers.” This is not only a deeply awesome slogan, but it reminded me that I had a great article by Sara X to post for your reading pleasure in honor of Devil’s Den. –Amelia G

I’m not a stripper. Really, I’m not. To say that I am a stripper would be to imply that I actually take my clothes off when I dance, which I don’t. In fact, to do so and be caught would result in a ticket for solicitation, a hefty fine, court fees, and a prostitution charge on my permanent record. So why do people, both men and women, pay enough to see me dance that I can live in the lifestyle to which I’ve become accustomed? I’ve spent the past year and a half wondering that myself.

What I do is known around here as “go-go”. When I hear that term I think bouffant hairdos, psychadelic colors, white vinyl knee-high boots and maybe even a little James Bond. In larger cities, go-go dancers are girls who are paid a flat rate to dance in a club, usually on a box, usually scantily clad. From what I’ve heard, the city is so against any sort of gentleman’s club that the clubs were termed “go-go bar” in order to seem more innocuous. The laws here are strict- it’s not just stripping that’s illegal. These laws are enforced by a peculiarly reclusive branch of the Alcoholic Beverage Control that is known simply as “Vice”. The type of bar you work in can be determined by how well they follow these rules. In some ways, it would appear that a go-go bar isn’t so different from any other strip club after all.

If one or two of the laws are strictly adhered to, you work in an okay bar. Someone usually tips off the owners when Vice is coming in. Vice is usually fat, sweaty, covered in bad tattoos, wearing a wrinkled rayon shirt, doesn’t tip, and virtuallly indistinguishable from at least half of the other patrons.

If all of the laws are strictly adhered to, you work in a real dump. The city wants very badly to be rid of the place so that someone else can come along and give them free drugs. Oops I mean adhere to their laws.

If none of the laws are even remotely adhered to, then your boss is filling the nasal cavities of and providing private parties for every branch of government that could possibly find beef with him at any point. Extra points if your boss, his close friends or relatives never go to jail. Even if they’ve probably killed someone. In the parking lot.

I’ve never been able to procure a copy of the actual laws outlining The Do’s and Don’ts of Virginia Go-Go, right now I don’t have to worry about it (I’ve already danced at a retirement party for some city official this year but hey, city officials can’t been seen in that sort of establishment so why not open it just for them for the afternoon and provide dancers free of charge?!). From what I have gathered working in six area bars it’s like this:

1.) Thou shalt not strip. In fact, if thou art seen taking off even a coverup on the stage area, thou shalt be smited with a fine of $500 or more, a date in court, court fees, lawyer fees, and a charge on thy permanent record. If thy club chooses to make thee pay their fees as well, thou art fucked.

2.) Thou shalt not mimic sexual acts while dancing. We recommend polka lessons or that Michael Flatley “Riverdance”.

3.) Thou shalt not touch thy genitalia, breasts, posterior, or any article of clothing while in the stage area. This includes spanking thyself. To do so will result in neverending fees. Nevermind that if thy bottoms are seen riding up thine ass, thou shalt be smited with aforementioned ticket, fees, etc. We call this “damned if you do, damned if you don’t”.

4.) Thou shalt wear a coverup at all times while not on the stage area. Coverups must be opaque and cover from neck to mid-thigh.

5.) Thou shalt wear full tops and full bottoms at all times. We’re not too sure about the guidelines for the top as long as there’s no nipple showing, or the front of thy bottoms as long as there is no vagina showing, but as far as the rear of the bottoms go, thou shalt not intimate that thou hast an asscrack, nor shalt thou show the bottom of thy buttcheeks. This means bootyshorts are illegal. Whoever made up the “must be at least four inches across” rule was lying to thee. Putting a safety pin or a permanent cinch in the back of thy bottoms to prevent “the diaper look” is illegal. Basically We wanteth thou to wear granny panties. In order to be legal, thou must use school glue or two-sided garment tape to make thy bottoms stick to thy butt. No, We are not joking.

6.) Thou shalt not bring props onto the stage. We do not know why. But We shall still fine thee for it.

7.) Thou shalt not dance with another dancer, touch another dancer, share the stage area with another dancer, and ESPECIALLY not imitate sex acts with another dancer. To do so shall result in making an unholy amount of money, instant death, and/or fines that will take all of your money whilst making thee wish thou were dead.

8.) Thou shalt not sit idle on the stage. This is to discourage thee from talking to thy customers. To do so is to solicit prostitution. Somehow. And thou can bet thine ass We shall fine thee mightily for it.

9.) Thou shalt not at any time even when on the floor area touch a customer. To do so is to be giving a lapdance. Fines, fines, more fines. Then We shall shut down thy bar.

Oh. Also, thou shalt not be touched by a customer. It doesn’t matter if thou didn’t solicit his or her touch. We shall still write thee a ticket for solicitation.

10.) Thou shalt always remember the line between the stage and the customers, known as the “tip rail”. Thou shalt not cross this line with any part of thy body, even a foot, at any time. To do so wouldst make thou a prostitute, and We shall mark you as such for the rest of thy born days. Forget ever having a goverment job.

Any time you violate these laws, you are pulled offstage, a Polaroid is taken of you, your offending garment (where applicable) and you are written a citation. That’s not even going into the health code laws. Those begin with “Thou shalt never be barefoot in thy bar”, cover the requisite “Thou shalt not put bodily fluids in anything served in thy bar”, continuing on forever, reiterating some ABC laws, ending with “Thou shalt not bring animals into thy bar”. I was wondering who would even violate the last one, up until management found me guilty of being late to get onstage due to excessive hormones and baby talk directed at someone’s tiny fluffy five-week old kitten in the dressing room.