A Porn Superstar’s Dating Tips for Men
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Interesting, never heard of Heartiste.
On the other hand both these guys RooshV & Roissy seem to be certified nutcases. Like seriously off - I read their blogs more out of morbid curiosity than taking anything they say seriously. I mean like, the Taliban would find these guys extremists in their view of the Women and the World
They viewed the dating world from the POV of the extreme Red Pill philosophy that they largely pioneered or at least popularized in the 2005-2012 era.
At the core Roosh & Roissy were Pick Up Artists and so their goal was to score one hottie after another. Over time Roosh stayed in that venue but Roissy (renamed to Heartiste around 2010) definitely drifted towards white nationalism & Alt Right philosophy. By 2015 Heartiste was pretty much a go to Alt Right blog with less emphasis on PUA. These guys all loved and backed Trump to the hilt.
The holy trinity of Red Pill philosophy came primarily from Roosh, Roissy & Rollo Tomassi (The Rational Male blog). The height of it was when The Game came out written by a NYT journalist who called himself Style. It was primarily about the den of PUAs lead by a guy who called himself Mystery -- magician turned PUA who had his own VH1 TV show about PUAs.
The Black Pill is the philosophy adopted by people who basically failed PUA under the guise of Red Pill. Their belief is based on Lookism -- the only change that matters is bodybuilding via steroid usage and plastic surgery to fix any flaws. The Black Pill is pretty extreme and I would say it is still adopted by a lot of the spree shooters since the infamous Elliot Rodgers shooting spree in San Diego. I think that's why a lot of people associate Black Pill with the group of people called Incels.
Easier for a hooker to get thru the eye of a needle than a camel.Sex worker's story held until now by Western Australian state library details life in red light districts like Roe Street
ABC Radio Perth / By Emma Wynne and Dustin Skipworth Posted 2 hours ago
https://www.abc.net.au/news/2022-05...ow-little-known-life-of-sex-workers/101058118
Red light area, Roe Street, Perth, just before the brothels closed, August 17, 1958(Supplied: State Library of WA)
In 1988, Joan St Louis gave an oral history recording to the State Library of WA detailing her life as a sex worker from the 1930s to '50s on one condition — that it not be released until after her death.
She died six years later, and the library has now decided to share her story online.
Joan was born in 1912 in Tasmania and moved to Melbourne in her teens, marrying at 17 and initially working as a waitress before taking up sex work.
She told the interviewer she couldn't remember quite why she became a sex worker, saying simply "it was just one of those things".
Joan moved to Kalgoorlie in 1941 where she worked in the mining town's famous Hay Street red light district while her husband worked as a barman.
Jules Kim, the chief executive of sex workers association Scarlet Alliance, said the recording was a fascinating insight into a little-documented experience and revealed similarities with the profession today, including workers being married.
"I think people have a misconception that sex workers don't have partners or aren't married, but it's not that unusual," Ms Kim told Christine Layton on ABC Radio Perth.
Sex workers outside Kalgoorlie's Club 181 brothel in 1990.(Supplied: National Library/Trish Ainslie & Roger Garwood)
Joan told the interviewer she was extremely busy in Kalgoorlie — sometimes seeing 20 clients a night at weekends — and that conditions were good.
"... very nice, very comfortable, carpets, comfortable beds, very clean. There was a housemaid. You visited the doctor.
"There was everything that was needed, just like an ordinary home, a comfortable home."
Barred from polite society
But while the brothels of Hay Street were famous in Kalgoorlie, the women who worked in them found themselves cut off from society, Joan recalled.
"We couldn't go anywhere. It was just all work and no play.
"You weren't allowed in the hotels, you weren't allowed to go to the movies.
"You weren't allowed to go out in public, except shopping. The only pleasure was to read."
The Questa Casa is the last of the original brothels still operating on Hay Street.(ABC Goldfields: Sam Tomlin)
Ms Kim said people might be surprised to learn the same laws that barred the women from pubs in the 1940s were still on the books today.
"We still have laws in place in WA, the Liquor Control Act, that state that it's an offence to permit a reputed prostitute to remain on a licensed premises, and you can be fined up to $10,000," she said.
"Now, there's no record of these laws being used since 2000, but they're still on the books and they still can be used."
Money matters still the same
Ms Kim said it was noteworthy the payment arrangements almost 100 years ago were very similar to today.
"[Joan] didn't talk about the amount of money that she made, but she did talk about the arrangements that were in place. It was really interesting to read, because it hasn't changed much.
"In the first place where she worked, she got 50 per cent and the house got 50 per cent, and that's quite standard.
"I think people are surprised to hear that, because perhaps in other workplaces that might seem like the house is keeping a lot, but you have to understand that you're getting the infrastructure, security, advertising, are often housed and fed, and the premises's upkeep and cleaning.
"It's quite standard still in the industry."
In 1929 The Truth captioned this photo: "Josie Villa, brothel in Roe Street, that allegedly lures married men to folly and infidelity."(Supplied: State Library of WA)
At 31, Joan separated from her husband and moved to Perth.
She worked in establishments on Roe Street — then dubbed Rue de Roe, possibly because of the large number of French women working in the brothels.
By the end of World War II she was running two houses looking after 11 women, almost all of whom were from the eastern states and needed money to support themselves and their families.
Many used nom de plumes at work and Joan remembered very busy times when soldiers came into port from all over the world.
She said, however, the brothels would close when a New Zealand convoy came into Fremantle as the men "get half drunk and go crazy".
"The money was it. The money was everything."
This service station doubled as a secret entrance to a brothel in Roe Street, circa 1929.(Supplied: State Library of WA)
On the day victory was declared over Japan in 1945, Joan left for London and worked on the street in Piccadilly, before marrying again and moving to Canada.
"She was quite broke at the time in Canada and she decided that she would go back to being a sex worker," Ms Kim said.
Eventually she divorced a second time and returned to Perth, once again running a house on Roe Street while continuing to work herself well into her 40s.
Jules Kim says stigma stopped Joan from sharing her story publicly while she was alive.(Supplied: Jules Kim)
"That's another myth about the industry — people expect that everyone's really young," Ms Kim said.
the Roe Street era had ended; the brothels were closed and demolished for redevelopment and the construction of the freeway interchange.
At 46, Joan left the industry for good and 30 years later decided to tell her story to the state library for posterity.
In the recording, Joan looks back fondly at her time as a sex worker.
"There was money, there was a lot of humour, which you don't get in any other life.
"You never knew who was going to come into the house. It was interesting. You met a lot of people from different walks of life.
"In fact, when the street closed, that was the only thing I missed about it. I missed the public. That's about all really."
Little is known about what Joan did after she left the sex industry.
Ms Kim said she understood Joan's decision to have the recording kept confidential until after her death.
"It's not surprising with the level of stigma. Unfortunately, that has not changed at all.
"She did very well for herself and she obviously enjoyed her work.
Perth 'spicy dancer' Miki Allbrite reveals she made close to $100,000 in just 93 nights of work in the 2021-2022 financial year. Credit: Instagram/@srirachamedia /@mikifromtheclub
Perth stripper reveals she made 98K in just 93 nights of work in the 2021-2022 financial year in TikTok video
Elisia Seeber PerthNow July 22, 2022
https://www.perthnow.com.au/news/pe...022-financial-year-in-tiktok-video--c-7613155
A Perth stripper has taken to social media to share with the world just how much money she made in the 2021-2022 financial year.
The woman, who goes by the stage name Miki Allbrite and works as a ‘doll’ at Northbridge’s Voodoo Lounge - Perth’s Premier Strip Club and Cabaret Lounge – in the ‘A-Team’, revealed that she only worked 93 nights and made close to $100,000.
That averages out to working about two days a week.
In a two-minute TikTok video posted to her page @mikifromtheclub on July 2, Miki lays it all on the table to more than 70,000 followers.
“Have you guys ever wondered how much spicy dancers actually make in a year?” she starts off with.
“Well, lucky for you, the financial year has just ended and I happen to keep a spreadsheet of literally every single dollar I make on literally every single night.”
Miki, who’s almost 30 years old, explains that she keeps track of every day she worked, what wig she wore, and how much money she made on a rather fancy stripping spreadsheet.
“It’s all auto-calculating. I made it myself – I’m quite proud of it,” she boasts about her Excel talent.
“And, the total I made in this entire year was $98,033. So close to six figures, it’s not fair.”
Perth stripper Miki Allbrite keeps an Excel spreadsheet of how much money she makes each night. Credit: TikTok @mikifromtheclub
She goes on to say that the average amount she made a night was just over $1000.
“Which sounds really good, but the scope on that is huge,” Miki explains. “The worst night I had in the year was $65, and the best night I had was $3410.
“So when you ask a stripper how much they make and they say, ‘it really depends.’ They’re not f*cking kidding.”
And, yes. She pays her taxes.
“Before you all come at me – Yes, I do have to pay tax on all those dollars … and it sucks,” she says.
“So what I actually take home in the financial year is somewhere around the $80,000 mark.”
The video has received more than 560,000 likes and over 7100 comments, with the usual, “I chose the wrong career” remarks, but mostly, people are impressed by her excellent Excel skills, labelling her a “Spreadsheet Queen”.
“I think you have found a niche market, empowering SW with financial knowledge,” one TikToker commented. “You should sell your Excel spreadsheet!”
Another wrote: “Okay, but I will pay you to teach me how to make a spreadsheet like that genius.”
“Spitting in the faces of everyone that claims SWs are not smart, that spreadsheet, the graph! Love this,” another fan said.
If your Excel skills are lacking, Miki later answered her fans’ calls and posted videos explaining how to do it.
Other viewers later asked if she was using her money wisely, to which Miki cheekily replied, “You think I have spreadsheets this detailed and wouldn’t have my finances in order? Booboo, I’m doing good.”
In a third TikTok video, Miki brags that she has basically paid off her house, cleared her university debt from her first bachelor’s degree and is working towards another, and also has a decent deposit saved for a second house.
“I know a lot of girls are uncomfortable talking about their money and their figures; I’m not one of those people,” she says. “I think it’s good to be able to compare with other people so that you can see if you might be able to be doing better.”
While she’s living quite comfortably, she says it is hard to gauge how much money she makes compared to other exotic dancers, without knowing their earnings.
“If I had to guess, I’d say I’m somewhere in the top third of dancers at my club,” Miki estimates.
“I’m not the top b*tch, or anywhere near the top b*tch, but I do OK.”
Skimpy barmaids Malibu and Tori working at Judd’s in Kalgoorlie-Boulder in 2018. Daniel Wilkins Credit: Daniel Wilkins/The Sunday Times
Skimpies return to Diggers & Dealers despite shocking inquiry into sexual misconduct at WA mine sites
Amber LilleyPerthNow July 30, 2022 8:42PM
After a scathing inquiry into FIFO rapes and sexual misconduct, mining executives head to Diggers & Dealers on Monday where stamping out sexism and making workplaces better for female employees will no doubt be hot topics for discussion.
Perhaps over a beer served by women wearing only their underwear — the more revealing the better.
To anyone outside Kalgoorlie-Boulder it makes no sense. Especially in a horror year when companies have been forced to scramble to clean up their act at sexist mine sites.
But skimpies — lingerie-clad barmaids and waitresses — are as much a part of the town and the Diggers & Dealers experience as talk about tenements, drill holes and financing deals.
Many skimpies next week will be sort of FIFOs themselves, flown in from Perth specifically to serve the influx of conference delegates.
Also part of the tradition is heavy drinking and living it large at day’s end — in stark contrast to remote mining sites where four-beer limits are now in place to try to improve behaviour, largely for the sake of women employees.
It is this taste of the unique Kalgoorlie-Boulder “wild west” lifestyle that is an added attraction for the thousands of delegates — bankers and brokers as well as mining execs — who flock to the prestigious conference in the Goldfields city for three days each year.
Diggers and Dealers 2018. Credit: Daniel Wilkins/The Sunday Times
Now in its 31st year — it was started by the late Geoff Stokes in 1992 to allow miners to promote opportunities to investors — this Diggers & Dealers should by rights be a little different.
This year it has its first female keynote speaker and is taking place amid the noise about a toxic culture at every level at companies across the State.
It follows an investigation by The West Australian which uncovered rampant sexual misconduct that sparked a parliamentary inquiry.
That inquiry resulted in the Enough is Enough report which revealed shocking stories from women across the industry, including at the workplaces of mining giants such as BHP, Rio Tinto and Fortescue Metals Group.
Inquiry chair and Deputy WA Liberal leader Libby Mettam is confident change is in the air.
“I’ve spoken to at least one person will who be raising some of these issues as part of their presentation at Diggers and Dealers,” Ms Mettam told The West.
“These are human rights issue and more importantly these are most defiantly safety issues as well.
“I hope that there will be a lot of positive discussion around how we can make another great stride as an industry to open the door for a lot more diverse workplace.”
This deeply upset me
My faith in humanity has been shaken
https://hiphopdx.com/news/id.72161/...eating-four-months-after-renewing-their-vows#
My faith in humanity has been shaken
https://hiphopdx.com/news/id.72161/...eating-four-months-after-renewing-their-vows#
google news popped this up , I selected hide and was immediately accused of a hate crime
For Sale: The ‘Sexiest’ Hourly Rate Hotel in Manhattan
by Nick Erickson August 10, 2022
https://www.dailyexpertnews.com/lif...e-the-sexiest-hourly-rate-hotel-in-manhattan/
The last hourly rate hotel in Manhattan’s meat-packing district, the Liberty Inn is just a small triangular block off the West Side Highway. The website calls its rooms the “sexiest” in the city, and for nearly 50 years it has provided a haven for bouts of afternoon passion, clandestine affairs and quick lunches.
So when it was reported that it had been put on the market with hopes of raising about $25 million, I decided to check in, to witness a kinky relic of old New York before it was gone.
The hotel is a nondescript three-storey brick building with a burgundy awning at the entrance. Long before Google’s New York headquarters emerged a few blocks away, the hotel’s tiny building underwent decades of change, continuing through several cycles of Lower Manhattan’s history.
Instead of meat-packing factories and after-hours clubs, there are now brunch spots for the tech crowd and boutique hotels, including the Standard, with its penthouse night spot Le Bain. Across the highway, Little Island, built at an estimated cost of $260 million by mogul Barry Diller, rises from the Hudson.
In the early 1900s it was the Strand Hotel, a boarding house for sailors. When the Titanic sank in 1912 and the Carpathia arrived at Pier 54 with its survivors, DailyExpertNews rented out rooms on the Strand for reporters to submit reports on the disaster. In the late 1960s it was called the Hide-a-Way Motel. And until the mid-1980s, the hotel shared the building with the Anvil, a famous gay nightclub.
When I stopped by last week, a family of tourists bought ice cream from a truck parked outside the door. A vending machine sells condoms, cookies and candy in the narrow lobby, and the reception area is protected by a bulletproof glass window. A sign read the room rates: $95 for a two-hour stay; $155 for six hours.
“Only you?” the concierge asked.
I nodded.
“Okay, fine, but someone can’t get to you after that.”
He let me put a key through the slot and soon I entered room No. 204, a cozy den bathed in red light. The bed had a fake reptile leather headboard. Above it hung a ceiling mirror accented with cloud drawings. Purell packages were on the nightstand. A sign by the door read: “ALWAYS turn the knob on the lock to prevent wrong access!”
A black stump-like object sat against a wall. I soon found it unfolding and realized it was the Liberator, a wedge-shaped device that helps lovers get into imaginative positions. The room was pristine, but I discovered a scribble of passion on the Liberator’s surface: a faint handprint.
When I caught my reflection in the ceiling mirror, I experienced a flashback to my own encounter with the Liberty when I was 21 or so. I was just starting to see someone, but we were both still living at home with our parents, so we took a hazy cab ride to the Liberty one night. What followed is vague, but I remember an iPhone, put in a cup for amplification, being used to play Arcade Fire, and a Jolly Rancher sticking to someone’s hair. The awkward adventure ended two hours later, but it bonded us, and the relationship became the first serious romance of my life.
The phone rang towards the end of my short stay.
“Fifteen minutes,” the janitor said.
On my way out, I hoarded some Liberty Inn products, like souvenir slippers and soap bars, and have since added them to my collection of old New York ephemera: matchbooks from Toots Shor and Maxwell’s Plum, coat-check labels from the Four Seasons, a stirrer from the Waldorf Astoria.
The round
I had been trying to contact the owner of the Liberty, who was named Robert Boyd according to a 2011 Times article, for several days, but I had trouble reaching him. I also got confused, because an article in Crain’s New York Business about the future sale of the building said that the owner was a man named Edward Raboy.
On a return visit to the hotel, I told the concierge that I was the journalist who had called and asked if Robert or Edward was nearby. He made a phone call, told someone I had arrived, and then he grinned and said, “It’s the same guy.”
For a moment, a man in his 70s with glasses and a hearing aid walked down the stairs to meet me. He said he was Mr. Raboy and politely explained that over the years he had used the name Robert Boyd as an alias to help him deal with the quirks that can come with running a business as idiosyncratic as the Liberty Inn.
“What does it matter now?” he told me. “I have nothing to hide.”
Mr Raboy said his father ran the establishment when it was called the Hide-a-Way, adding that he took it over in 1977, when meat processors with bloodied aprons were still operating in the area, and he soon started it with his female. . He said he was reluctant to tell the full story of his hotel because he hoped to tell it in a book one day, but he agreed to give me a tour of the rooms.
First we visited No. 103, which has a hot tub and wall art featuring erotic characters from ‘Alice in Wonderland’.
“As you can see, there is a large wall mirror, which people appreciate,” he said. “We don’t use rugs because they can get the dirtiest.
“Our team is constantly cleaning every inch of every room thoroughly,” he continued. “Cleanliness is next to godliness. Even when we started, we were the cleanest hotel for a short stay in town.”
Room 104 glowed in a soothing blue light. Room 209 had a hand-painted mural on the ceiling depicting a playful couple. The bed in room 210, which Mr. Raboy said was one of Liberty’s most popular suites, had giant red lips for its headboard.
“Every room has something cute and different about it, and we have people who go to certain rooms and keep asking,” he said. “We try to give people a good time here. We don’t follow them to their rooms, but we understand what they’re doing there.”
Reflecting on his years as manager of the Liberty, Mr. Raboy said the decision to put the building up for sale was a bittersweet one, adding that it also just made sense. He cited the desire to retire and the gentrification of the neighborhood as reasons for leaving the company.
“So much has changed since the 1970s, when I called this area the ‘Wild West Side,'” he said. ‘It has now become an almost quiet place. What was then appropriate for a hotel like this no longer makes sense. Above all, the building is now worth more financially to other people, because it is so unique.”
“Hour hotels are like that Rodney Dangerfield quote: ‘You don’t get no respect,'” he added. “But it was a fantastic run.”
After the tour, I sat on the High Line across the street to observe people entering and exiting the Liberty. A man led a woman in with the swagger of someone who had been there before. Another couple entered with some hesitation. As I continued to watch the afternoon couples return to the tumult of the city, I realized they were all holding hands.
by Nick Erickson August 10, 2022
https://www.dailyexpertnews.com/lif...e-the-sexiest-hourly-rate-hotel-in-manhattan/
The last hourly rate hotel in Manhattan’s meat-packing district, the Liberty Inn is just a small triangular block off the West Side Highway. The website calls its rooms the “sexiest” in the city, and for nearly 50 years it has provided a haven for bouts of afternoon passion, clandestine affairs and quick lunches.
So when it was reported that it had been put on the market with hopes of raising about $25 million, I decided to check in, to witness a kinky relic of old New York before it was gone.
The hotel is a nondescript three-storey brick building with a burgundy awning at the entrance. Long before Google’s New York headquarters emerged a few blocks away, the hotel’s tiny building underwent decades of change, continuing through several cycles of Lower Manhattan’s history.
Instead of meat-packing factories and after-hours clubs, there are now brunch spots for the tech crowd and boutique hotels, including the Standard, with its penthouse night spot Le Bain. Across the highway, Little Island, built at an estimated cost of $260 million by mogul Barry Diller, rises from the Hudson.
In the early 1900s it was the Strand Hotel, a boarding house for sailors. When the Titanic sank in 1912 and the Carpathia arrived at Pier 54 with its survivors, DailyExpertNews rented out rooms on the Strand for reporters to submit reports on the disaster. In the late 1960s it was called the Hide-a-Way Motel. And until the mid-1980s, the hotel shared the building with the Anvil, a famous gay nightclub.
When I stopped by last week, a family of tourists bought ice cream from a truck parked outside the door. A vending machine sells condoms, cookies and candy in the narrow lobby, and the reception area is protected by a bulletproof glass window. A sign read the room rates: $95 for a two-hour stay; $155 for six hours.
“Only you?” the concierge asked.
I nodded.
“Okay, fine, but someone can’t get to you after that.”
He let me put a key through the slot and soon I entered room No. 204, a cozy den bathed in red light. The bed had a fake reptile leather headboard. Above it hung a ceiling mirror accented with cloud drawings. Purell packages were on the nightstand. A sign by the door read: “ALWAYS turn the knob on the lock to prevent wrong access!”
A black stump-like object sat against a wall. I soon found it unfolding and realized it was the Liberator, a wedge-shaped device that helps lovers get into imaginative positions. The room was pristine, but I discovered a scribble of passion on the Liberator’s surface: a faint handprint.
When I caught my reflection in the ceiling mirror, I experienced a flashback to my own encounter with the Liberty when I was 21 or so. I was just starting to see someone, but we were both still living at home with our parents, so we took a hazy cab ride to the Liberty one night. What followed is vague, but I remember an iPhone, put in a cup for amplification, being used to play Arcade Fire, and a Jolly Rancher sticking to someone’s hair. The awkward adventure ended two hours later, but it bonded us, and the relationship became the first serious romance of my life.
The phone rang towards the end of my short stay.
“Fifteen minutes,” the janitor said.
On my way out, I hoarded some Liberty Inn products, like souvenir slippers and soap bars, and have since added them to my collection of old New York ephemera: matchbooks from Toots Shor and Maxwell’s Plum, coat-check labels from the Four Seasons, a stirrer from the Waldorf Astoria.
The round
I had been trying to contact the owner of the Liberty, who was named Robert Boyd according to a 2011 Times article, for several days, but I had trouble reaching him. I also got confused, because an article in Crain’s New York Business about the future sale of the building said that the owner was a man named Edward Raboy.
On a return visit to the hotel, I told the concierge that I was the journalist who had called and asked if Robert or Edward was nearby. He made a phone call, told someone I had arrived, and then he grinned and said, “It’s the same guy.”
For a moment, a man in his 70s with glasses and a hearing aid walked down the stairs to meet me. He said he was Mr. Raboy and politely explained that over the years he had used the name Robert Boyd as an alias to help him deal with the quirks that can come with running a business as idiosyncratic as the Liberty Inn.
“What does it matter now?” he told me. “I have nothing to hide.”
Mr Raboy said his father ran the establishment when it was called the Hide-a-Way, adding that he took it over in 1977, when meat processors with bloodied aprons were still operating in the area, and he soon started it with his female. . He said he was reluctant to tell the full story of his hotel because he hoped to tell it in a book one day, but he agreed to give me a tour of the rooms.
First we visited No. 103, which has a hot tub and wall art featuring erotic characters from ‘Alice in Wonderland’.
“As you can see, there is a large wall mirror, which people appreciate,” he said. “We don’t use rugs because they can get the dirtiest.
“Our team is constantly cleaning every inch of every room thoroughly,” he continued. “Cleanliness is next to godliness. Even when we started, we were the cleanest hotel for a short stay in town.”
Room 104 glowed in a soothing blue light. Room 209 had a hand-painted mural on the ceiling depicting a playful couple. The bed in room 210, which Mr. Raboy said was one of Liberty’s most popular suites, had giant red lips for its headboard.
“Every room has something cute and different about it, and we have people who go to certain rooms and keep asking,” he said. “We try to give people a good time here. We don’t follow them to their rooms, but we understand what they’re doing there.”
Reflecting on his years as manager of the Liberty, Mr. Raboy said the decision to put the building up for sale was a bittersweet one, adding that it also just made sense. He cited the desire to retire and the gentrification of the neighborhood as reasons for leaving the company.
“So much has changed since the 1970s, when I called this area the ‘Wild West Side,'” he said. ‘It has now become an almost quiet place. What was then appropriate for a hotel like this no longer makes sense. Above all, the building is now worth more financially to other people, because it is so unique.”
“Hour hotels are like that Rodney Dangerfield quote: ‘You don’t get no respect,'” he added. “But it was a fantastic run.”
After the tour, I sat on the High Line across the street to observe people entering and exiting the Liberty. A man led a woman in with the swagger of someone who had been there before. Another couple entered with some hesitation. As I continued to watch the afternoon couples return to the tumult of the city, I realized they were all holding hands.