Wednesday, June 28, 2006


Strippers can be amazingly stupid. Not all of them, but there is guaranteed to be a contingent of retards at any club you happen to dance at. The anti-discrimination laws in California mandate that new strip clubs make all the stages and dressing rooms accessible to handicapped dancers. I've never worked with a stripper who was in a wheelchair, but I've had to share stages with overwhelming numbers of mentallyhandicapped ones. They become irate if another dancer plays "their song." Do they think they hold the copyright? They bitch about another dancer talking to "their customer." Is he their property? They whine about not making enough money on stage so they sit down in the middle of their song and pout. Do they think that helps? I always thought Goldie was a cut above the rest. She is, actually, but she had an attack of idiocy a few nights ago at the bar..

Join my archive site www.JackOffLand.com now to read the rest of the story and see the entire gallery.

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- XXOO Tanya

Monday, June 26, 2006


Things are getting HOT at www.JackOffLand.com !


Have I mentioned that my archive site www.JackOffLand.com is on sale for just $7.95 if you join during the month of June?


- XXOO Tanya

Sunday, June 25, 2006


Taylor St. Claire can be a selfish twat. Sure, she's beautiful and has tits to die for, but that's no excuse for turning her back on a friend. Last Saturday night is a good example of her self-centeredness. She and I had plans to go out. We were all dressed up and ready to leave. No sooner had we both applied that last spritz of cologne then her phone rang..


What could possibly have happened next to prompt the act of violence you see above?! Join my archive site www.JackOffLand.com now to read the story and see the photographic evidence.

www.JackOffLand.com is on sale for just $7.95 if you join in the month of June!

- XXOO Tanya

Saturday, June 24, 2006



Beautiful, ultra-busty Misti Knight thinks that because she has bigger tits than I do that she is more "feminine." That is her word for it. My word for her is "floozy." Misty and I dance at the same club and she is known for her nasty lap dances. I'm known for being a bitch and I don't appreciate other strippers taking away my customers by appealing to their baseness. She practically leads these guys away by their dicks. Last week I confronted her in the dressing room and called her a "cheap hooker" in front of all the other girls. Everybody laughed enthusiastically but then they started laughing even harder when she told all of them that the security cameras in the parking lot had recorded me giving the owner of the club a blowjob in his car..

What debauchery happened next? Visit my archive site
www.JackOffLand.com to find out right now.

www.JackOffLand.com is on sale for just $7.95 if you join anytime in the month of June!


- XXOO Tanya

Tuesday, June 20, 2006


Good morning,

My archive site www.JackOffLand.com is on sale for the month of June!

Celebrate the coming of a beautiful summer and join now for just $7.95!

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- XXOO Tanya

Wednesday, June 14, 2006



Large Dog Larry

Large Dog Larry is a legend in his own time and his notoriety has endured for decades. The Siren, a crusty old bar in Hermosa Beach, is Larry's domain. The old codgers there delight in hearing the tales of his latest adventures from around town and in the sack. Rumor has it that Larry, who is probably now in his late forties, vaulted to local prominence in the 1980's when he was a Penthouse Magazine photographer. The blonde Fabio hairstyle, wifebeater tank top, skintight jeans, and cowboy boots he sports today are probably what he was wearing back then. Larry accessorizes with gold jewelry, big belt buckles, dark sunglasses, and wiry chest hair. Quite often he will don a roguish leather vest to complete his ensemble. It is glorious to see him striding into the bar in the middle of the day on any given weekend, particularly since he still has an affinity for both steroids and tanning beds. His jeans are so tight that I know he has been circumcised even though I've never seen him naked. He's about 6'5, but I don't know if he's called "Large Dog" because of his height, his bulging rod, or both.

The Siren is the destination of confirmed alcoholics who don't fuck around with pretension. It has sat on the beach in Hermosa since the 1930's and opens at 6AM. Presumably it will be demolished to make way for a new condominium development or hotel as soon as the current owner dies. That's the way things have been going in Hermosa as waves of gentrification continue to wash over the city and beat all the character out of it. It is likely that most of The Siren's regular customers will be dead before the demise of the bar itself because most of them appear to be over 70 already. They don't even realize that the Large Dog is the only person in town who has continued to wear tight-ass, ball-pinching Levis 501s since the Heavy Metal music era died in the early nineties. Or was it the late eighties? Time is suspended inside the walls of The Siren. Incidentally, the place is aptly named. Many men have been lured inside its wood-panelled interior only to be crushed against the rocks. The rocks are the ice cubes at the bottom of their drinks. It takes a while for them to meet their fate, but it is a sound thrashing nonetheless.

Larry himself does not seem destined to follow that route. For him liquor is just an ancillary aid in scoring fresh pussy. That sounds kind of crass, but there's no need to mince words when talking about the Large Dog. Larry's livelihood is attracting women. Those who are not drawn to his flowing blonde locks and period wardrobe may well succumb to the fine grade of cocaine and unlimited cocktails that he proffers. He finds his potential conquests on Marina Avenue which is behind The Siren. Marina Avenue is dotted with many popular, trendy bars that are frequented by attractive women. None of these ladies would ever normally set a toe inside the grungy Siren, but that sometimes changes when they encounter Larry. Quite often he manages to coax beach babes away from the crowded pubs and restaurants and into The Siren where he can have their full attention.

Who are these women? It's difficult to make sweeping generalizations about them because they are so diverse, but they all seem to be very hungry for compliments, male attention, and flattery. Larry knows how to lay it on thick and he knows how to locate a mark.

A few weekends ago I had just sat down at my usual table inside The Siren. Jewell Marceau had come there with me for the first time. Her reaction was one of immediate disgust. "I can't believe you come to this shithole," she muttered. She looked at the cracked red Naugahyde booth I was sitting in and refused to make contact with it. Her eyes scanned the chipped glasses hanging above the bar and the small assortment of characters sitting around its perimeter. It appeared that most of them had been there since openning call at 6AM. A few were still alert enough to notice Jewell's contempt. I told her to go check out the other bars on Marina Avenue and promised I'd come meet her after I'd had one at The Siren. Of course I did not mention that one drink at The Siren is equivalent to 3 drinks at any normal establishment. I just wanted to get her out of there before one of the locals lobbed a handful of peanut shells at her disdainful face. The rest of the afternoon passed quietly because I never bothered to leave my Naugahyde booth and find Jewell.

A week later Jewell and I were in the boxing ring at the gym. We were doing a lot more conversing than training. It turned out that Jewell had had a fabulous time at the Marina Avenue bars the previous weekend. She'd met a hot guy and was planning to see him again. Not only that, she'd met another guy she thought I might like! It had been a long time since Id chanced upon anyone of interest so I was willing, even eager, to venture out on a blind date. Jewell could not wait to show me the picture she'd taken of the guy with her cellphone. She described him as a "hot stud" and said he had a captivating personality. He sounded awesome and I was excited to see what he looked like. She located the picture and handed me her phone with a flourish. I grabbed it from her and then almost fell out of the ring when I saw Large Dog Larry's tanned mug peering at me from underneath his gold-rimmed sunglasses.

I hadn't had a date in over 6 months and this was who Jewell wanted to set me up with?! Was this a sick joke? My anger surged, my pulse raced, and visions of Jewell's imminent demise flashed across my brain like a PowerPoint presentation. Of course she could not have known the reputation of the Large Dog. She doesn't live anywhere near Hermosa. But she really should have been able to recognize Larry for the serial philanderer that he is. I decided to pound some sense into her head. What was supposed to be a cardio kickboxing workout turned into a nasty, no-holds-barred brouhaha as I assailed her poor judgement and she defended her honor. You can view the outcome of this vicious, leotard-ripping brawl inside my Playhouse right now..

www.tanyadanielle.com/join.html

I never would have dreamt that I'd ever get into a fight over Large Dog Larry.



- XXOO Tanya

Monday, June 12, 2006

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Saturday, June 10, 2006


"Expand the Use of Your Existing Assets"

Stacy Burke and I dance at the same club. Actually, Stacy doesn't work there very often anymore. She is moving into a different career altogether and she loves to rub it in my face whenever she gets a chance. A few weeks ago she made one of her rare appearances at the bar. It was pretty annoying to see some of my regular customers throwing large amounts of cash at her each time she went on stage. She wasn't even trying that hard. Her dance routine consisted of her parading slowly around the stage flashing a big grin and her bare boobs. She would spend the last minute of her song gathering up the mounds of tip money on the rail rather than continuing to put on a show. It bugged the shit out of me to see the rapt adulation on the faces of many of the bar patrons as they stared at her pretty face and slim body. I grew increasingly incensed when one whiskey-drinking gentleman beckoned me to his table and asked me to introduce him to Stacy. I just walked away without bothering to tell him to fuck off.

Forty five minutes later Stacy was in the dressing room packing up her belongings. Where was she going? The night shift did not end for another 4 hours. Stacy snottily informed me that she was going home so the other dancers could make some money. The implication was clear: Stacy knew she was better looking than the other girls in the bar and now she was pretending to feel sorry for us! What a complete fucking bitch. Sadly, I was just relieved that she was leaving. I knew I'd start making money after she took off because my competition would be gone. I swallowed back my feelings of bitter resentment and began retouching my makeup in the mirror. Having a profitable evening would certainly help heal my wounded pride. I could barely wait until Stacy was gone. It did seem to be taking an inordinate amount of time for her to count her money.

She must have caught one of the impatient sidelong glances I was shooting in her direction because all of a sudden she strode towards me with a fistful of money in her hand. "You know," she began, "it really would behoove you not to spend so much time in the dressing room. You are not as pretty as you used to be and every minute counts in your dwindling dancing career. Do yourself a favor and go mingle with some customers. You really need to expand the use of your existing assets. Those assets are not going to be attractive for much longer. I've seen how much vodka you drink- just imagine what you are going to look like when you are 30."

Both the cruelty and the pomposity of her statement hit me like two separate slaps in the face. All I could think to say was: "Give me your damn money, bitch! I am going to take ALL your motherfucking money, you stuck-up little twat!!"

Our battle was as prolonged as it was ugly. Strip clubs always have cameras in the dressing rooms to help indemnify themselves in legal proceedings that may arise from melees between raging strippers. You can check out the resulting footage from this episode inside my Playhouse right now..if you think you won't be too revolted by the hairpulling, breast clawing, choking, punching, etc.

-XXOO Tanya

Friday, June 09, 2006



America should consider following the Canadian tactic for interrupting financing of terrorist operations.


Due to the global war on terrorism, many terrorist organizations have had their finances frozen. Consequently, they have resorted to counterfeiting.


The Canadians have decided to redesign their currency to prevent the radical Islamists from even touching it! It is also hoped that this will have a positive effect on tourism.


- XXOO Tanya

Thursday, June 08, 2006

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Friday, June 02, 2006



Carolyn Monroe had an obsessed fan. For years he would write her letters and send her cassette tape recordings of himself discussing their supposed relationship. He felt very strongly that Carolyn loved him as much as he loved her, but that she was afraid to reveal her emotions. In fact, he claimed to have spotted her following him around his neighborhood and lurking outside his apartment. He spent long amounts of time on each tape exhorting Carolyn to stop denying her love for him. He wanted her to approach him the next time she saw him instead of just continuing to pursue him surreptitiously. In the midst of one of his tapes it occurred to him that it might be easier if she just waited for him inside his apartment when he was at work. I could hear the tinkling of the icecubes in his glass of iced tea as he pondered this new notion. By the way, I was the only person who listened to these tapes when they arrived. Carolyn was too sickened by their content to get any amusement out of them at all. And, incidentally, I knew he was drinking iced tea because he always made certain to describe exactly what he was doing, wearing, and eating while he recorded his messages.

Carolyn's fan became progressively enamored of his new idea. He really wanted Carolyn to let herself into his place while he was at his office and wait for him until he got home. Coincidentally, or perhaps not, this gentleman lived in Los Angeles. It was not long before a key to his apartment and a map of his neighborhood arrived in Carolyn's post office box. Of course another cassette tape was in the package as well. This time her fan was in the tub and I could hear him splashing around as he described his apartment and the amenities therein. He told her there was ice cream in the freezer and fresh strawberries in the refrigerator. She was welcome to any of the food in his place. She could also relax in the bathtub or play video games until he got home. He worked from 9AM-5PM Monday through Friday. In a short addendum he also mentioned the exact length of each of his electrical cord extensions and the exact dimensions of his apartment.

So there I was. I shut off the tape recorder and looked at the key I was holding in my hand. Would it be so wrong just to check out his place while he was at work? I love doing weird stuff. Would it really be detrimental to any of our lives if I went over there just once? The short answer to both of those questions was "yes," but I felt compelled to seek another opinion. I called my friend Brian to get his take on the situation.

The following Tuesday Brian and I were in the dude's apartment eating ice cream and playing Nintendo. Everything about the place seemed completely normal. You would never have guessed that its inhabitant spent hundreds of hours narrating messages to a pornstar and had offhand knowledge of the precise measurements of all his extension cords. Even though we found his abode to be very comfortable Brian and I decided to leave well before 5PM so we didn't have to meet him. We left our ice cream dishes in the sink, turned off the TV, and recorked what was left of a bottle of wine.

As we left the apartment we noticed two women in a neighboring unit looking at us with undisguised curiosity. We managed to restrain our laughter until we got back to the car. On the way home I tried to think of any possible repercussions for our actions. It's not really "breaking and entering" if you have a key, is it? After all, he'd given me the key. Well, actually he hadn't. Still, when he arrived home he was just going to think that Carolyn had stopped by. The neighbors might mention that they had seen a busty blonde, (housewives of their ilk would probably throw the term "bimbo" somewhere into their description too), with a pale guy who sported a spiky blonde hairdo.

Hmm..Carolyn's fan might trip out on this. Brian suggested that I tell Carolyn to get a new P.O. box someplace else. I knew he was right so I told Carolyn the whole story when I got home that night. She freaked out. Things got ugly really fast.

I knew I'd done something wrong, but I still wasn't going to let her beat my ass. This altercation turned into a real street brawl - you can see the carnage inside my Playouse now..


- XXOO Tanya