I don’t know what kind of girl you think I am, David Copperfield

By Lacey Carroll

To read more about Lacey Carroll, read the article here.

KENNEWICK- Let me begin by saying that I am no saint. Just like everyone else, I have made mistakes in my life, and I like to think that I have learned from them as I move forward. But just because I have transgressions in my past, that doesn’t mean that you can do with me whatever your depraved heart desires, Mr. David Copperfield.

First, let me lay it all out on the table so you don’t accuse me of trying to mislead you. Yes, I am a stripper. I work at a nightclub called The Candy Shoppe in Eastern Washington. You may have been able to deduce my profession from the fact that my name is an adjective followed by a noun- that’s usually a dead giveaway. You may have also got the hint that I was not prudish when you came to my strip club and slipped several $20 bills in my g-string while I grinded my ass into your crotch to the beat of Pour Some Sugar On Me. Six of one, half dozen of the other- bottom line is that I don’t have a problem using my sexuality to my advantage.

[RIGHT- Your wiles won't work on me, you sexy, sexy man!]

I should also probably let you know about my previous arrest for alleged (ALLEGED!) extortion and prostitution attempts in Bellevue, Washington. This guy says that we met at a bar, and when he took me back to his hotel room, I whispered into his ear “You can have it all for $2,000,” and when he declined I ran out of the room and he called the police. My story is that he roofied me, and when I awoke, he was on top of me, I squirmed out from under him and accused him of rape. No matter that I dropped the charges as soon as he documented the events and threatened a counter-suit. It’s a classic case of he said/she said. And on the advice of my lawyer and a binding non-disclosure agreement, I will not be telling you the “she said” side of that equation.

But I digress, David Copperfield. The past is behind us. When we met at that seedy strip club in rural Washington and you paid me hundreds of dollars to simulate sex acts in a dark room, I thought we were just friends. When you offered to whisk me away to your $50 million private island in the Bahamas for a week, I thought it was another generous, friendly gesture. How was I supposed to know that you expected me to engage in unlawful carnal knowledge? I don’t know what I did to lead you on, but let me be clear that at no point during my explicitly sexual dance or my acceptance of your offer to spend time secluded together, half-naked on an deserted island did I mean to make you think that I was interested in having sex with you.

I came to this island because I thought it would be a fun getaway, not for some depraved sexual romp. I don’t live in the world’s most exotic locale, so when I was invited to the Caribbean, my imagination went wild with thoughts of beaches, snorkeling, fresh seafood, and tropical music. To think that you had sex on your mind the whole time is appalling and disgusting. Just because you paid thousands of dollars to fly me here and house me on the island for a week, that does not entitle you to my holy trinity. Oh, you’re not familiar with that term? Use your imagination.

By the way, how does a fruity magician make enough money to buy a $50 million island in the Bahamas. I mean, I was at your show in Kennewick, and these aren’t exactly the halcyon days of HBO specials and sold out stadiums. Don’t try to deny your way out of this decline. I have been around the block enough times to hear Andrew Dice Clay claim that he’s glad that he’s now playing to his “core audience,” and the lead singer from Warrant justifying his shrinking audience by saying that he prefers the “intimacy of a club setting” over the five figure ticket revenues of giant arenas. Let’s face it, I saw the sweat stains on that gay puffy shirt that you wear on stage, and they were dry enough that they had been there for a few shows. Can’t pay the dry cleaning bills? Then you’re going to have a hell of a time paying your settlement for the rape charges I’m about to file against you. Listen, I really need you to be honest about your financial situation. If there’s a lien on this property, I need to know before I invest in a lawyer to sue you for everything you’re worth.

I will spell it out for you very clearly: you’re going to need to summon all of your magical powers to make these charges disappear. Your curly mullet is not going to save you this time, Mr. Copperfield. I am going to sue you for everything you are worth, and you are going to pay me a hefty settlement to prevent people from permanently associating the world “Copperfield” with “rape” instead of their current association, “nerdy, gay magician.” Just don’t bring the charges to trial, because any jury will realize that I am completely full of crap and have dedicated my life to using my body to extort money out of men. Oops, did I say that out loud just now?

Authorities Begin Manhunt After Earthquake Rocks Haiti

PORT-AU-PRINCE- Local authorities and international aid workers are responding to one of the most profound natural disasters in Haiti’s history. The island nation felt the Earthquake’s impact on Tuesday, which measured at a whopping 7.0 on the Richter scale. In response, the nation’s law enforcement officials have put out an all points bulletin for John “Earthquake” Tenta, the man they believe is responsible for this national tragedy.

The Earthquake’s effects have been catastrophic- over 100,000 Haitians are estimated to be dead, and many landmark buildings- such as the Port-Au-Prince Cathedral and the National Assembly Building- lay in ruins. President Obama has pledged the full support of the United States in the recovery effort. “It is of the utmost importance that the international community remains steadfast in response to this tragedy. It is also important that Haiti is careful to avoid any aftershocks, as Tenta is known to deliver his Earthquake Splash finisher even after the referee has made the three count. If any Haitians see Tenta jumping in circles around the ring or flinging himself wildly off the ropes, it is crucial that they seek shelter immediately.”

[RIGHT- The Earthquake strikes again.]

Many were surprised that the Earthquake struck Haiti, which is known to have problems with tropical storms and hurricanes far more than earthquakes. Seismologists, on the other hand, have pointed out that Haiti lies close to a fault line, making it a prime target for international criminals like Tenta. Experts were also surprised to see Tenta resurface after such a long period of dormancy. He had not delivered an Earthquake Splash since March of 1994, when he rocked New York’s Madison Square Garden. Tenta also briefly dabbled in Avalanches, but that gimmick was dropped quickly in a contract dispute between WCW and the WWF.

After Tenta inflicted a tragedy of such great magnitude, his former manager and friend, “The Mouth of the South” Jimmy Hart held a press conference, pleading with Tenta to come clean. “I know that you’re the most indestructible and unstoppable force in the world, baby, but you can’t go around destroying entire nations. Baby, it was one thing to drape a Canadian flag on the All-American Hulk Hogan after the Earthquake struck him, but now you’re killing hundreds of thousands of innocent people, baby! Everybody out there needs to be careful, baby, cuz that big Earthquake is out there, baby, and he’s lookin for the chance to deliver the Earthquake on the Richter scale of 10.”

[LEFT- Hart tries to prevent a natural disaster.]

Authorities have put out a warning to be on the lookout for Tenta, who may be using an alias, possibly either The Shark or Golga. It is also possible that he has return to Japan to shake the earth where he once trained as a sumo wrestler known as Kototenzan, or “the heavenly mountain harp.” Regardless, Tenta should be easy to spot, as he is 6’7” tall, weighs approximately 475 pounds, keeps a gnarled beard, and has a giant tattoo of a Tiger on his left biceps that looks like it was drawn by a kindergartener. Furthermore, he has a tendency to jump up and down in place while speaking. There have also been alleged sightings of a man wearing a leather mask that looks like a carved up volleyball and carrying an Eric Cartman doll, which could be Tenta, disguised as Golga the oddity.

[RIGHT- Earthquake disguised as Golga.]

The Earthquake was at his peak in the early 1990s. His period of peak destruction included a 1990 Earthquake in Iran that killed 50,000 and injured 100,000 more, a 1990 Earthquake on Hulk Hogan during the Brother Love Show that cracked the immortal one’s ribs, an Earthquake in India in 1993 that killed as many as 22,000, and a 1992 Earthquake that was paired with a Typhoon that beat the Legion of Doom for the Tag Team Titles. Luckily, the Earthquake is not invincible. Citizens of Haiti should know that he is susceptible to Yokozuna’s Bonzai drop, as well as the Giant’s chokeslam, so even in this dark time for the world, hope should remain alive.

Running Up The Score Is OK In Women’s Sports

By Nancy Lieberman

DURHAM- In a recent women’s college basketball game, Duke beat North Carolina Central 117-28. If you are a sports fan, you probably assume Duke head coach Joanne McCallie took a beating in the media and from the opposing coach for refusing to call off her players after the win was securely in hand. After all, we constantly hear the story about amateur athletes at small colleges who go into the hallowed stadiums and arenas of dynastic state schools to take a beating in exchange for their share of the gate receipts. The professionals- and by that I mean coaches, not USC’s entire recruiting class- have an understanding that they won’t embarrass one another.

So did the Duke women’s basketball team get chastised in the media the way that Steve Spurrier did when his Florida Gators would dominate other football teams and keep throwing in the fourth quarter? Of course not- running up the score is perfectly acceptable in women’s sports. Is that because it doesn’t hurt female athletes’ feelings as much as males’ feelings? As a woman, I can assure you that this is NOT the case.

Thus, the question remains unresolved as to why it’s acceptable to run up the score in women’s sports. There’s one possible and very simple explanation- that it’s sportsMANship and not sportsLADYship, so the rules of fair play would not apply in their games. Of course, such a rhetorical examination opens up a hopeless can of worms. What do you call the keystone defender on a softball team- a secondbasewoman? Far too clumsy. Is the key reserve on a women’s basketball team the sixth female? That sounds more like a bad science fiction movie than instant offense. I have never heard Bill Raftery excitedly announce that Stanford came out “in the womantawoman!” Therefore, I am going to assume that women run up the score for some reason other than the fact that sportsmanship is a gendered noun.

[LEFT- Candace Parker has been perfecting her deadly set shot since her days at Tennessee.]

Since I was having trouble pinpointing the reason for why women like to embarrass each other, I consulted the experts. I called Connecticut coaching legend Geno Auriemma to get his input as a frequent curb-stomper, but his assistant said he had an appointment with former Huskies players Rebecca Lobo, Sue Bird, and Diana Tuarasi. By hook-up, I am going to assume that she meant booty-call, because everybody knows that Auriemma sleeps with all of his current and former players. Why a man hell-bent on exploiting his position of power to coerce young women into having sex with him would work in a sport where 80% of the participants are lesbians remains a mystery to me, but I digress. When I was unable to get in touch with Auriemma, I called Hall of Fame Tennessee coach Pat Summit. Summit said that one reason women’s teams are not afraid to run up the score is that they do not have to fear retribution down the road since the exact same teams are good every year. Since there is no turnover whatsoever in women’s basketball, it’s not like Tennessee, UConn or Duke are ever going to be on the receiving end of one of those 80 point beatings.

Summit’s explanation got me thinking about the fundamental differences between men’s and women’s basketball. Primarily, the level of athleticism changes the game entirely. In men’s basketball, if one team is getting embarrassed, one of its players could lash out at the other team and unleash a hellacious dunk on the dominant team where he jumps so high that he puts his balls in the defender’s face. In women’s basketball, you are more likely to find someone with balls than you are to find someone with the vertical to put those balls in a defender’s face. I hate to say it, but there is something very unintimidating about a two-handed set shot. I have had many people tell me that the good fundamentals make up for the lack of athleticism, and there’s a word for those people: wrong.

[RIGHT- Vince Carter puts his balls in Frederick Weis' face. Pause. Lisa Leslie cannot jump high enough to put her balls in anyone's face.]

Maybe several factors contribute to why women enjoy running up the score against one another: the rules of sportsmanship do not apply, the downtrodden team will never have a chance at retribution, and the lack of athleticism means that nobody will ever be punished for going out of her way to make her opponent look bad. But one explanation trumps all of these- nobody cares. Think about it, the reason that you were not appalled that Duke beat North Carolina Central 117-28 has nothing to do with your opinion of Duke or North Carolina Central; you were not appalled that Duke beat North Carolina Central 117-28 because you did not know that Duke beat North Carolina Central 117-28. You would be outraged that a girls’ high school team in Minnesota pitched a shutout for an entire game against a hard-working but under-talented opponent… if you knew that it happened. An autistic kid chucks in four three-pointers in twelve attempts and he wins an ESPY, but women’s basketball teams win by triple digits and still nobody notices. So there you have it, nobody cares about running up the score in women’s sports because nobody cares about women’s sports.