Born in Arizona, Moved to Babylonia

A customer just flounced through the door, slurred, “When they dug up King Tut, he was wearing a solid gold cock ring,” and sashayed back out.

It might be time for everyone involved here to re-evaluate some life choices.

Fenoli. Marjorie Fenoli.

Advertorial

Considering that I have the Montrose Forge listed on my profile as a place of employment, it’s weird that Facebook keeps asking if I’d like to write a review of it.

“Some of the customers are jerks, but the pay’s not bad, and I get to spank people. 4/5, will definitely work my next shift.”

Initiation and Returns

Tonight, I had to tell a customer that I would not sniff his leg.

Who has boundaries? That’s right, this guy has boundaries.

And by “Beard,” I mean “Beard.”

Dear pervy customer:

It’s beard oil. Beard. Oil. That is not a euphemism. It’s just oil. For your beard. It has no “additional effects.” I promise it’s really beard oil.

I will pay you not to buy the beard oil.

Welcome to the Forge. All Judgements Are Final.

Customer: “I’m a freak. You like freaks? Because I’m a freak. In bed, I mean. Not, like, in real life. I’m not going to stalk you or anything.”

[awkward silence]

Be still, my heart.