Erotic City

by Ray McMillin

2016 was, for all intents and purposes, one of the worst years ever recorded. Even worse than that album "Years" by Ringo Starr (admit it, you genuinely don’t know if I’m being facetious or not). We lost many, many people who were loved by various demographics, including David Bowie, Prince, Lemmy, Leonard Cohen and Harambe. Pop culture took a moment every few days to commemorate the departed, with Facebook profile picture changes aflutter. However, aside from lame jokes and half-empty remembrances to people who were never short on ego validation, there are people who, although lacking in TMZ celebrity status, were just as endearing (if not more so) to hundreds, if not thousands, of actual friends and family.

R.I.P. To Those We Have Lost

The entertainment industry is a weird one, because performers spend most of their careers putting on a show for others, while masking their true selves behind whatever roles they play on stage. Rarely, though, will one encounter performers so genuine and real that you wonder if there’s any separation between the person they portray on stage and the real self that their friends and family are exposed to.

Last month, the comedy and strip club communities lost two very, very real and important people—neither of whom were able to put on a "fake" persona in any sense of the word. In the comedy world, we lost a man named Will Woodruff, whom I have known since grade school. Quite possibly the most unapologetic and honest performer in Oregon comedy, Will was also an extremely kind, morally-upstanding and likable dude. If he knew his name was going into the column of an adult magazine, alongside many of his old comedy buddies, he’d probably threaten to kill me, before asking for a few dozen copies. Will, I’m gonna kick your ass in chess, when I finally make it up there.

In dancer land, one of the brightest and most unshakable spirits I have ever encountered, Strawberry, left this mortal coil with a cult fan base of friends and admirers— the size of which barely begins to reflect the impact that she left on everyone who was lucky enough to share a smile with her. As with pretty much everyone to be taken away from us in 2016, Strawberry was larger than life and indisputable. Strawberry made everyone she met feel as if they had been friends since middle school, while being the type of person whose side anyone would take in an argument, regardless of circumstances. Bizzle, you will be missed more than you could ever imagine.

I really wish it would have been Dane Cook and one of those scummy drug addicts from Idaho.

Basically, we lost our own Prince and Bowie in comedy and stripper world, with both Will and Strawberry dying at a too-young-what- the-fuck age, of virtually unpreventable circumstances. This may sound cliche, but there is very, very limited time on this planet. And, if you’re lucky enough to live it out as long as Keith Richards or Tom Waits, you will encounter many people whom you may take for granted (or, just never consider viable candidates for being taken away so early). You don’t need to put down the bottle, find God and call your mother in one afternoon, but it’s not a bad idea to at least introduce yourself to your neighbor or, better yet, spend some time with that person you take for granted.

Mad Props To Those Who Have Won

On a much lighter note, it is with great honor that Exotic crowns this year’s Miss Exotic Oregon, the undeniable Shelli from Spyce! I don’t want to take sides or play favorites, but I’ve never, ever seen an unattractive woman compete for Miss Exotic, nor have I ever met one at Spyce. Both the establishment and the woman representing them deserve this title, which is more than we can say about the recent presidential election.

One thing that made 2016 at least slightly better than we remember, is that the Miss Exotic pageant went down without a snag and, being friends with a few thousand strippers on Facebook, I didn’t see a single, negative post from runners-up. This is dope, considering the sheer amount of competitors, fans, sponsors, club owners and Exotic staff who all came together, under the banner of competitive nudity, to elect our new queen.

Isn’t it odd, that the Portland strip club scene runs in a smoother, more progressive fashion than our political system? How’s that for a dose of Northwest irony?

Either way, here’s hoping that this year turns out to be as beautiful as our covergirl.

Rogue Pun

If you haven’t seen the new, standalone Star Wars flick, Rogue One, be prepared to meh. The action? Meh. CGI? Meh. Story? Meh. It is undeniably better than the prequels (and actually does a nice job of legitimately connecting a bunch of missing time between III and IV), but is in no way Force Awakens, in terms of epic level fanfare. The thing that bothered me the most, however, was the fact that Darth Vader is suddenly a shitty stand-up comic. "Try not to choke" (spoilers above) is one of the worst puns I’ve heard in a long time...ago, in a galaxy far, far away. See? Puns aren’t fucking funny, but they’re addictive and anyone who engages in them should be put to death...star janitorial assignment. God-fuckin’-damnit, I swear this will Obi over in a few. Luke, I haven’t been Leia’d in quite some time and Yoda understand. Maybe I need to get a new Tatooine, or take Ewok.

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— Ray McMillin