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1. A Discreet Exit - December 2016 - page 2
2. Felony Murder - December 20, 2016 - page 3
3. Convicted on Facebook - December 20, 2016 - page 5
4. Magic Cards - 2012 to 2016 - page 7
5. Date-Rape Drugged - December 14, 2016 - page 10
6. Strip-Club Junky - 2007 to 2013 - page 13
7. Orlando from Miami - 2010 to 2013 - page 16
8. Angry Well-Dressed Doorman - Summer, Fall 2012 - page 19
9. Control Freak - 1964 to 2016 - page 28
10. Hustlers At Scores - December 2015 - page 31
11. Always Another Guy - 5000 B.C. to present - page 33
12. Luring Young Girls - eternity - page 36
13. Vulnerable Men - 2007 to 2010 - page 37
14. Private Room - December 13, 2016 - page 41
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1. A DISCREET EXIT - December 2016
Mandi's car was at Chris Dahl's. Mandi had finally come out of the house. And Scott had followed her out. I told
Mandi's mom at the time that I would have just thrown Mandi's stuff in the street if I were Scott. But I guess that is
why I am single and Scott Love is in prison. It was just a matter of time before he would fuck up and get arrested.
And that's when I got a knock on my door. Someone tried the doorknob, and then I heard a tap tap tap on the glass.
She said "David are you going to call the police and say some bullshit again?"
You see how quickly reality gets lost in the human mind? On the day she got arrested at my house, she was the one
who called the police. No one will ever remember what she told them, it didn't matter. If she could do sales, she
wouldn't be sucking dicks.
She said "Promise me you wont email my dad that I came here he is still really angry at you."
She said "I know you've been following me. If you want to do something for me to make up for what you did, I
really need some money or someone is going to kill me."
It is like I had gone straight back to when I met her in February 2015, and some spazz pimp was inside her head
again. It took me most of a year to deconstruct that world around her, and pry her out of it. And put her into a world
where she could sit at a bar by herself and meet guys like poodle boy. And tell me to fuck off, and wake up each day
with the possibility to do anything.
And here she was back in her own private Idaho. She was back at the door of a hooker customer in the dark, asking
for money or her pimp would kill her.
She said that something terrible happened, she needed to go to Walmart and buy stuff and return it, yada yada yada.
This is where it gets murky. Because a teenage hooker is trained to be discreet. She won't ever tell the truth about
the guys, or who they are or what happened. When she goes into a strange guy's hotel room, the truth is what she
thinks would get her in trouble.
If you died, would you want your family to know the last thing you did before you died, was have sex with a
hooker? Or would you want that girl to disappear, and the last hour of your life erased for you?
Hookers know their place. Their place is invisible. They enter into a pact to crumple the truth up into a little ball
where no one will find it.
But I had become good at un-crumpling that ball with Mandi. I knew she found another old guy. And gave him a
better deal than me. Because she had no choice, because he didn't care about her like I do. And she liked him better
than me.
There will always be guys who don't attach as many strings to the money, or are less jealous, or are willing to smoke
weed and do other cool things I am too dorky to think of. There are guys who are more miserable than me, and more
hedonistic, and make her feel needed. There are guys who will put her to work calling johns on the phone, or
turning screws on a car engine, and make her feel useful.
It's not a normal relationship, when she walks out his door she doesn't owe the guy anything. But this guy, she owed
him something. He must be her new angry pimp. And she had come for my money to fix it. She was with another
secret guy all along, not Scott. Or Scott was secretly her new pimp, or something. I knew Scott's ex girlfriends were
hookers, but did I know it then? I don't think I knew that then.
It was simple: As always, some other guy left her broke. So I told her she needed to get her head checked, and stop
hanging out with such scumbags. And she left, without even doing what most girls would do, which is throw my
phone through a mirror or something.
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2. FELONY MURDER - December 20, 2016
I had a hope, that Scott would get into it with Chris Dahl, or maybe some hessian who lived at Chris Dahl's house.
Because when I saw Mandi's car at his house, that is two guys and one girl. But that would be from planet Earth. We
were on planet Mandi, where guys are led into a mysterious forest by their own impulses. Scott Love was just an
insincere picture on social media, Mandi could be 10 guys ahead of him by now.
I figured whoever she owes money to, she will meet up with old guys like me to get it. Which is good, because that
leaves Scott Love out there drifting around somewhere like a third wheel, and finally he gets arrested. All is fair in
love and war. But if I had it to do over again I would not wish demise on my fellow man so lightly. Yes I would, I
am human.
I was sleepy. My head was filled with crazy thoughts. From jealousy after seeing sweet Mandi. From worry that
hanging out with Chris Dahl, Mandi would get in trouble for possessing drugs. From believing the fantasy world
inside Mandi's head where every guy is going to kill her. Her fear is always be cured by sex. I was relieved to see
her. It was a first step.
So sure enough, I think two days later, Mandi and Scott pop up on the Orange County Jail website. And it says
fraud, which makes perfect sense, because that is what I would expect someone like Scott Love to do when his
girlfriend starts running to other guys for the better deal. So he did fraud so that he could come up with the money
that she asked me for.
And then it says felony murder out of Seminole County which makes no sense at all. Felony murder is when
someone dies by accident during a robbery. So I figure some guy died by accident, and Mandi used his credit card at
a gas station.
I may even have wondered if it was Mandi's customer or something, who took too much viagra and had a heart
attack and died. And she used his credit card and got blamed.
Before the treasure ships, before the conquistadors. before the resurrection of Christ, a tree grew.
3,000 years later, the tree had become a landmark, a meeting place for indians. Then European settlers came. In
1913 the northern area of Mosquito County broke off as Seminole County, derived from the Spanish word for
runaway. In 1927, State Senator Moses Overstreet donated the tree, and the land around it, to the young Seminole
County. The tree became known as "The Senator."
Land promoters came from the North. They named the area where The Senator stood "Longwood," and a
neighboring area "Altamonte Springs." Air conditioning was invented, and inflation combined with deposit
insurance led to a glut of trash dwellings. The area around The Senator became a haven for white trash and meth
freaks, attracted by the soft climate, low rents, and menial jobs in the growing Florida tourism industry.
Then in 2012, a local tweaker from Altamonte Springs crawled inside the Senator high on meth. She got lost in the
trunk, and lit a fire to find her way. What stood and grew for 3500 years went down in flames.
A tree doesn't bother anyone. It just grows and stands for 3500 years of war and peace. But it could not withstand
the uniquely benighted white-trash lowlifes the area suddenly became home to.
That is the place where some crazy thing happened which the Orange County jail website was calling "felony
murder", Seminole County.
Seminole County is to Orange County what North Jersey is to Manhattan; a haven for the mediocre, who are not
even self-conscious about it because they never aspired to anything. Seminole County is like bugs under an Orange
County rock. Human life has no value in a place like that.
I tried to imagine what it might be all about. I pictured a ranch-style Florida teardown with paper walls. And Mandi
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went up there for who knows what after I refused to give her money. Probably some crack house Scott Love knew
about. And a bunch of people were partying and running around like chickens with their heads cut off, and
somebody died.
I could totally imagine the kind of person who lands in Seminole County getting totally fucked up on drugs, and just
running through a roach and termite infested paper wall and dying.
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3. CONVICTED ON FACEBOOK - December 20, 2016
After I saw Mandi's arrest on the Orange County Jail website, her fake "Jackon" facebook picture popped up
immediately. Her feed was taken over by vicious, ugly, sociopathic strippers wishing death and torture on Mandi,
They weren't bereaved. They were having fun, indulging in an opportunity where female machismo might pass as
appropriate, to outdo each other and show off their true talent of nastiness.
I didn't find out until two years later, they were really just angry because they never got to cash out their Dollhouse
Dollars. They thought Mulrenin took their money home with him, and Mandi stole it. I knew people like that
couldn't honestly care about the guy who died.
They saw Mandi's misdemeanor battery arrest at my house, and said Mandi beat up a guy a before. I was there,
that's not true. They saw she was arrested in Georgia with 7 pounds of GHB. I have a report from the Georgia crime
lab that says that's not true. They said she threw James Mulrenin off a balcony. I wasn't there. But according to
stories in the newspaper that same day, people who were there said that's not true.
I hadn't yet figured out I knew this guy James Mulrenin. But I know why guys become strip-club managers. And
these girls were filling in the blanks who he was. I don't think they saw the toxicology report yet, they couldn't have
seen it. But one mentioned Viagra and implied Mulrenin was good in bed for his age. Another mentioned something
like what a big strong guy he was. Reading between the lines, I could tell these girls on facebook had gone back to
Mulrenin's apartment themselves at some point.
I know strippers. None of these girls slept alone at night. When they walk out of that club at the end of the night,
there is a guy waiting for them in a car or at home. And they surely had suitors, pimps, boyfriends, baby-daddys in
their lives, on the nights they went home with Mulrenin. And here they wanted to torture Mandi to death, for doing
the same thing they had done. It was as if they were jealous.
Someone said this guy Mulrenin had cocaine. I saw on Google he had multiple prostitution convictions,
racketeering, domestic battery, DUI. I wasn't there, but these were actual convictions. He once told a newspaper he
was run out of town for rape. His own childhood friend and business partner chased him out. A bartender from
Rachel's told me he date-raped a lot of girls. (In Seminole County, that is called a "witness.")
I figured out he was some kind of a pimp rapist dirtbag, who stumbled downhill to the Dollhouse on Orange
Blossom Trail, and finally found a home. And I knew right then there is no way Mandi threw this guy off a balcony.
Because I knew she would have loved him. She would have loved to please him. And the whole thing was a scam.
Did Scott Love have cocaine? No. Did James Mulrenin have cocaine? Yes. Ergo, Mandi Jackson loved James
Mulrenin. Dont' kid yourselves folks, life is not that complicated. You don't need to invent a conspiracy. It really is
that simple. Scott Love knew he had lost the race.
But I guess gossip can expand into its own universe. Here's the one thing the facebook gossipers on December 20
really didn't want to admit to: Did James Mulrenin like Mandi Jackson back? Yes. She was the fresh strawberry that
made his whole strip-club career worthwhile.
Mandi was eager to please. This was a self-centered guy she would have been a magnet on, he would have made her
feel so needed. Suppose you are a half-retarded cop, and Mandi Jackson gave you your one opportunity in life to
solve a murder. Understand that's how she made Mulrenin feel also. She was his shooting star.
But there was one more thing I didn't put together right away. Mulrenin would tell you he was run out of Michigan
for being falsely accused of rape. It ruined his career and his friendship. Ever since Mandi was arrested at my house,
she feels a kinship with anyone falsely accused of a crime.
But this guy Mulrenin was even closer to home. His false accusation included the word "date rape." He and Mandi
both had a Google problem, with the word "rape" coming up when you searched their name. Mulrenin for "date
rape" and Mandi for "date rape drug." And that is why Mandi was more than Mulrenin's coke whore. She loved him.
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Bonnie and Clyde, with their falsely-accused date-rape stories in Google.
The people gossiping on facebook didn't know Mandi. But I did. This hedonist guy Jim with the"falsely accused"
story in Google was her dreamboat. She wouldn't leave even after the cocaine was gone. He would have to throw
Mandi out to get rid of her. I didn't really get how girls who were not at Mulrenin's house that night, could kid
themselves that they liked Mulrenin better, or were closer to Mulrenin, than the girl who was at his house. It was a
wishful invention from the start.
That was some Dollhouse girls hating on Mandi. But there was another girl who was already on Mandi's "Jackon"
facebook page even before she got arrested. Because she had been on Scott Love's facebook page, and on the
facebook page of every girl he dated, every single day since he dumped her three years earlier.
For three years she had envied Scott Love living above ground without her. For three years she posted facebook
comments and messages to try to exploit his down moments to become relevant in his life. The day Scott Love was
arrested was Christmas for Scott's facebook-stalking ex.
Not only did Scott's ex suddenly know a famous person in the news. But after three years of trying to tell herself she
was better off for being dumped by Scott, this was the first day she could actually believe it. And after three years of
being jealous of every girl Scott Love talked to, and three months of being miserably jealous of Mandi, on this day
she could feel sorry for Mandi.
So finally her life was not an endless ball of pining and rumination, and she was happy she was not with Scott Love
and Mandi was. She was free. And I don't doubt she indulged in the moment and tried to participate, by calling
police and saying “I know Scott Love, he did it.” The more she believed it and convinced herself it was true, the
better she felt about having lost him. Only by Scott going to prison can she stay free.
I've learned so much since that December day in 2016, I don't remember exactly what I thought that day. I think
Mandi's mom told me Scott lost his job. But it was well known this strip-club manager takes the new girls home,
everyone in town knew this. And it was pretty obvious he had cocaine and gave Mandi the better deal. And Scott
knew this and was powerless to do anything about it. And Scott shot the guy. I figured it was a jealous boyfriend.
And then Mandi used the guy's credit cards, because that is what teenage hookers learn to do. They don't go to
police, they disappear in the dark. Who knows, maybe she already had the cards in her pocket, because alcoholic
Mulrenin with his DUI sent her to the liquor store earlier in the night.
And that is where the story should have ended, a guy who took home a young girl and got shot by her jealous
boyfriend. But for some reason, the police let their imagination run away. And then they filled in evidence, and
manufactured witnesses, when the evidence and witnesses they had turned out to not fit their imagination.
It may have had something to do with Mulrenin losing his business, and getting run out of Michigan, for date rape
of a previous young female employee. The people who knew him were not going to let a little girl get away with
ruining his life and their business again. So they ran way out ahead this time, trying to hide the truth and destroy the
young female employee he had sex with to protect the business.
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4. MAGIC CARDS - 2012 to 2016
Why was I so quick to imagine Mandi used this guy's credit card at a gas station? That's easy. Children don't even
have a concept what a credit card is. When I was a kid, other kids explained to me how a credit card lets you go to a
restaurant without paying. You use the credit card to pay, and get a free dinner. People who have credit cards, have
been given something free.
I was a kid in the early days of credit cards, whereas Mandi Jackson was an adult in a world of plastic. So she has a
rational understanding of what a credit card actually is, right? I would say a developing understanding. She didn't
understand the next step. She understood the credit card bill gets paid, but she didn't understand how it gets paid or
from where.
When you screw 50-year-old guys for money as a teenager, you will see credit cards 100 times, before you ever
have a credit card yourself. And the guys whose credit cards you see, will encourage you to believe they have access
to a free-money tree. They want young girls to believe they have magical powers. They don't say "I work hard as a
laborer for this money, so I have to spend it sparingly." They say "I am a magical bling man for whom money is no
object, and this card is attached straight to the Federal Reserve. This card is in Euros which are better than dollars.
This card is liquid gold. Any amount of money, they won't miss it, any amount of money, the card company will
give it to me."
So people will be jealous that Mandi Jackson lived a lifestyle where she was gang-banged by dozens of strange old
men, and then once in a long while got to enjoy things purchased with their credit cards. But this jealousy is
unfounded, when the same opportunity is available to you. You can go down to Miami today, or send your teenage
daughters. You give those old men what they want, and they will run up bills on their credit cards for you.
I've never known Mandi to steal. Quite the opposite, I have heard her rant about how she is against stealing, and
won't hang out with people who steal. It was a bit of a surprise to hear such a passionate moral position come from
the mouth of someone who mainly talks about her cats. But Mandi does often preach morals. Such as fairness when
it comes to making sure one dog doesn't get more treats than the other. Or keeping promises. Specifically my
promises to pay her for sex.
Mandi always knew how to appeal to me when it came to morals. It was surprising from someone who didn't know
or have a lot of lines to hustle anyone with. But she was often able to recite a moral reason why I should do
something she wanted me to do. And she knew I would find it hard to argue with.
Somewhere in her young life, she had a previous experience with an old guy who preached morals. Her dad doesn't
talk like that. Maybe it was her youth pastor. Maybe it was her uncle who wasn't really her uncle. I think it was
probably all of the above. Everywhere she turned there was an old guy who thought this is too good to be true.
Remember, as you see her today her brain has had more than a decade to recover from a series of brain injuries that
began as a child. Everywhere she turned, there was an old guy who saw immediately here is a little blonde girl I can
stick my dick in her mouth, and no one cares.
And one of the old guys she spent time with at some point was a moral man, a preacher of morals. And she spent a
lot of time with him. She had to be at most a young teenager at the time, and she was able to quote him on morals.
I got the idea her stand against stealing came from being a victim. She weighed only 100 pounds. The way I found
her, standing in a park in Miami at night, she had some experience with people running off with her money. She told
me a story about it. I thought her pimp was supposed to protect her from that sort of thing, but apparently he didn't.
Worst of all, Mandi often felt victimized by people who had sex with her and then threw her out or left without
paying. They often threw her out and threatened to call the police on her, or simply ran out the door. She felt raped.
So stealing, taking something that belongs to an actual person in an unfair way, was not right in her mind. But using
magical money cards is not stealing, it is what the cards are supposed to be used for, according to the people who
have them.
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I can tell you how, in addition to buying her Walmart gift cards, I met Mandi many times at the gas station and
loaned her my debit card. I will buy her a tank of gas if she is crying in a mental breakdown by the side of the road.
But I am not going to do the pumping for her. So I lend her the card. And when she sticks that debit card in the
pump, she doesn't really have a sense the money is coming out of something, or will make me poorer. She thinks I
have simply given her access to the money. When the card comes from a guy she has sex with, the money comes
from the card, and to there from some place that she doesn't know anything about. She really didn't believe it cost
me anything to put a tank of gas on my card.
Until very recently in 2019, Mandi never believed it when I told her it was actually possible for me to not have any
money. 5,000 guys in a row flashed money in her face, and lied to her that they are millionaires who can spend
unlimited. Mandi had her own bank account, and her own debit card. And she worked a kid job, and deposited her
check in the bank. But money that came from guys who had sex with her was different. It was a totally different
scale, and seemed to simply be access to whatever pool of free money that old guys have.
Imagine the only job you ever had paid $7.50 an hour. And people in her family get paid like $20 an hour. And then
you see guys in the strip club or the Fountainbleau Hotel with $20000 to blow, or $200,000. A girl like Mandi has
no sense or notion of where money like that comes from. It just seems like a bottomless pool of money to her, and
you give guys what they want, in return for a little piece of access to it.
So I would have $1500 in my wallet to pay rent. And I would tell Mandi “I don't have any money today.” She felt
depressed and betrayed that I was lying to her. To this day, she insists I was always lying to her, all the times I said I
didn't have any money. She took it as "fuck off, you are ugly." Her pimp financed a car in Mandi's name to use her
credit. Chris Dahl put his electric bill in her name because he owed money to OUC. Her Mom used her pussy to pay
the rent. But Mandi herself never lived in a world where you had rent and bills to pay. To her, if you had $100, that
was $100 you can spend on Lucky Charms and ice cream at Cold Stone Creamery.
Does using a dead person's credit cards make it 100 times more sinister? If Mandi has reason to believe Mulrenin is
dead, then her understanding of credit cards is actually more accurate. Dead people don't have credit cards. The
money really does come from some unknown place. When you sue reckless drivers, you have to pretend in court
that you are suing the individual driver. Because if the jury knew all the money was coming from the insurance
company, they would award the max cash payout every time.
Mulrenin adorned his car with department-store shopping bags to encourage the easy-money concept, that all old
guys have access to. He displayed full shopping bags in his car, Neiman Marcus in the front, Macy's and Apple in
the back. He wasn't too lazy to bring his purchases inside. The display was designed to say "take my credit cards
shopping." Of course you will have to give him something. Which Mandi did.
So I figured Mandi probably used the dead guy's credit card at a gas station, same as if it were mine. Because old
guys just walk around with a pool of free money that they are always waving at her. And she didn't think anyone
would notice or care. That's what strip club managers train young girls to do. Guys come into the strip club with a
bunch of plastic cards, and your job as a stripper is to spend money off them. The news stories said this guy James
Mulrenin walked around with cash in a money clip to tell girls it was available. So Mandi is just spending the old
guy's free money same as she has done for years. Same as she had done for years under the supervision and training
of guys exactly like James Mulrenin.
According to Barbara Mellinger, Mulrenin blasted two guys' credit cards for $20k just that night, and walked out
with more than $2500 of it in his pocket, more than three times what Jackson and Love spent on his cards at
Walmart. I'm skeptical two customers actually spent $20k at Dollhouse. But whatever money was blasted on credit
cards that night, the customers were separated from it either by Mulrenin himself, or by the girls he trained and
supervised to do exactly that. At least Mulrenin got to fuck Mandi for his money. For reasons I will show you, it is
almost certain Mulrenin's customers got nothing but tricked and kicked out at 1:45 AM with their credit-card bill.
The Dollhouse customers didn't buy dances or drinks with their credit-card bill the night Mulrenin died. They
bought something called "dancer dollars." Dancer dollars are tokens that strip clubs sell you so that they can steal
them from you. That is not according to me. That is according to credit-card companies. If strippers get you drunk
and trick you and run up bills on your credit card, you can call the credit-card company and do a chargeback. So
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strip clubs sell the customers tokens on their credit cards, and then steal the tokens. The sole reason the tokens exist,
is in anticipation that customers will say the strippers robbed them. Otherwise customers could pay with a credit
card like every other business in the world.
Suppose you go to a hotel and they put you in a tent and call it a room. You leave and call your credit-card company.
Suppose a hotel sells you tokens. And then you pay 1000 tokens for a room, and find out is is a tent. You say I want
my tokens back. The hotel says fuck you. You tell the credit card company you want your money back for buying
the tokens. Did you get the tokens? Yes. Fuck you.
It is possible for a strip club to keep a tab, and bill your credit card at the end of the night. Or you can pay as you go.
The only reason not to, is because strip clubs expect their customers to say they were tricked or robbed. That was
the plan when Dollhouse sold customers dancer dollars the night Mulrenin died. The plan was to do something that
customers would likely feel they were owed their money back. Very likely those strippers promised the customers
something they did not get. I never even heard of the tokens being used anywhere else, other than at Dollhouse.
Not only did Mulrenin kill himself not Mandi, but he got something for his money that night. It was his customers
who were robbed on their credit cards and got nothing. Mandi sucked 1,000 guys dicks in a row and never cheated
one. Mulrenin cheated people every single night, that is what dancer dollars were invented for. Mulrenin is in the
business of robbing and luring young girls, Mandi is in the business of sucking dicks, and people in Seminole
County are marshmallow rubes without a clue in the world.
You may not like me saying Mulrenin got a fair deal for the money Mandi spent on his credit cards at Walmart. You
may disagree with that, according to what you and most people think, and how you and most people measure fair
and right and appropriate. But my statement is true and consistent with the ethics and thinking and values of the
world Mulrenin created and lived in. That is how fair is analyzed and calculated and weighed at the strip club, and
by Mulrenin's employees. That is how Mulrenin himself measured it. Mulrenin is dead and you never met him, you
cannot tell me what he would think is fair or not. You would not do what Mulrenin did. You would say what
Mulrenin thinks is fair, girls leading guys on and getting them drunk and blasting their cards for $20k no refunds in
an OBT shithole, is wrong.
Mandi spent her whole life in that world of hotels and strip clubs, where her handlers told her she was doing the
right thing by blowing up credit cards for $5k $10k $20k. Pimps, and convicted pimps operating euphemistically as
strip-club managers, said her job is to spend guys' money. They told Mandi the people who think this is wrong are
your enemies, run the other way. And suddenly Mandi gets arrested, and is exposed to an alternate universe of
people who tell her that using a guy's credit card is evil. And they say that the same guy who trained Mandi to run
up credit card bills as her job description, the same guy who lured her by representing to her that money was no
object and he had access to that unlimited pot, the same guy who brought home hundreds of employees according to
his valet parker, was a victim of her immoral decisions.
In this alternate universe, Mulrenin didn't want or demand sex of his vulnerable young employee. That was all
Mandi's idea to trick him! It was Mandi's evil idea to promise this innocent man sex! Mulrenin was just in the
business for the secondhand smoke. For two decades. Never demanded sex. I know, somehow Mandi became the
person who leads guys on, and Mulrenin became the decent guy who never tricked anybody or ran up bills they
couldn't get refunds for, it is the most insane upside-down backwards idiotic slime scam in history. Run on a brain-
damaged young girl who just wanted to pay the rent and got a dick in her mouth.
What is justice?
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5. DATE-RAPE DRUGGED - December 14, 2016
I was working on my laptop at the bar at Gator's SoDo on May 4, 2017. And this guy sits down next to me, Randy
"The Mini Jim" Ferrara. As in "Big Jim" Mulrenin. He sits down and starts talking to me completely out of the blue.
He said he was a manager at Dollhouse, and Big Jim was his good friend and co-worker. He tells me the
circumstances of Big Jim's death. He even claimed he was the one who parked Big Jim's car on the night he died.
When Mulrenin went over the balcony, it was reported as a suicide. People said "Don't jump, don't jump." But
Detective Sprague found some duct tape in the apartment, and there was blood on the rug. So Detective Sprague
decided it was a murder. And he saw Mandi on video with Mulrenin at his apartment before he died. So Sprague
went to Dollhouse on December 14th to find out who the blonde girl is. And that is where Mini-Jim's version of
events begins.
The police came into Dollhouse and said "Your boss was murdered last night. He went over the balcony and died."
If he was murdered and died from going over the balcony, that means he was thrown over the balcony. That is how
the people at Dollhouse understood it. That's what they thought Sprague was saying.
So they asked each other, how could this little 100-pound girl overpower Big Jim, and throw him off a balcony?
Neisha met Mandi and said she was "petite." Mini-Jim said they all knew Jim was a big tough violent guy. Their
first guess, according to Mini-Jim, is that Mulrenin "was slipping" in his old age. They never doubted Mulrenin
forced Mandi to come home with him. But in his advanced age, he was getting sloppy in his takedowns of young
girls. Too many drugs and drinking, and too old, and his standard plot finally went sour. That was the people at
Dollhouse first guess.
Mini-Jim had a man-crush on Big Jim. He tried to impress on me that Big Jim was known as "The Human Ken
Doll" and could have any girl he wants. "Any girl he wants" was a recurring theme in police interviews, quoted by
the sort of dorky boys Mulrenin hired to worked under him. Mulrenin was the rooster in his henhouse, he didn't hire
other Mulrenins.
The "any girl he wants" line was used by all three of 1) Ferrara the parking manager, 2) Gorewitz the valet parker,
and 3) Carico the floor manager. Mulrenin's death was reported as a suicide. That's what police called and told
Barbara Mellinger, and that's what they kept saying. So the guys who worked at the Dollhouse started saying "Why
would he want to kill himself, when he can have any girl he wants."
Mini-Jim was smart and articulate. So why he is working at a strip club? Same as everyone, for the girls. And Big
Jim was his hero, for taking advantage of, and taking down, so many broke young girls who came in looking for
work. Big Jim was a living legend. Mini-Jim aspired to be Big Jim. I asked Mini-Jim how many girls did Big Jim
really take home? He said in awe "It has to be hundreds."
They pressed the "any girl he wants" and the "hundreds of girls" thing so hard, it is almost like they were
anticipating he might be accused of rape again. And they wanted to say no, it is all consensual, he doesn't need to
rape anyone.
Mini-Jim looked faintly like a 10-pounds-lighter version of Mulrenin. And he probably stood by the door all night
talking to people, like Mulrenin. But I remember him giving his own explanation of his nickname, as one of the first
things he said, before I started making note of all of it. He said something basically "I take home a lot of girls
myself, so much so that they actually call me The Mini Jim."
And something else, Mini-Jim kept making naughty jokes. Like he pointed at the torn-off paper on top of my straw
when they served my drink. He said "Do you like how they give you your straw with a condom on it?" So I am
thinking maybe pretty-boy has more than just a man-crush on Big Jim the date rapist, the king of one-night stands.
Sitting at that bar in May 2017, Mini-Jim explained how in the main room at Dollhouse on the night of December
14 with Big Mike, they figured out who Mandi Jackson was, Mandi the balcony-thrower, Mandi the stone-cold
killer. There were many people at Dollhouse who knew her.
II - 11
Mandi probably bragged to them about her GHB arrest. Little Mandi walked into Dollhouse broke, but she wanted
to say I am not so little. I was arrested with $25,000 of something, look at this news story on Google. And they
looked her up on Google and found it, found out how she was arrested with 7 pounds of GHB.
Either they found the bogus Georgia GHB story themselves, or Mandi or someone who knew her showed it to the
people at Dollhouse. Chris Dahl who was in Georgia with Mandi when she was arrested, was a regular at all the
Veigle clubs. And his girlfriend Dalindy was a bartender at Stars. Many other people in Conway knew Mandi and
were familiar with the GHB story.
Dollhouse valet parker Marc Gorewitz said in his police interview on December 28, 2016, that they knew about
Mandi's bogus GHB news story. Gorewitz even made what sounded like an insincere comment, that Dollhouse on
OBT needs to do better background checks on strippers before hiring them.
So a light went on, and the people at Dollhouse on December 14 had their answer. Mandi must have drugged Big
Jim with the date-rape drug, to incapacitate him and throw him over the balcony. They said Jim was drinking with
Mandi all night at Dollhouse. They imagined Mandi must have been drinking with Jim so that she could drug him
with GHB. How else would that old creep hook a little girl like that to drink with him all night?
The other Dollhouse employees may have exaggerated how long Mulrenin was actually drinking with Mandi, to fit
their GHB story. The Dollhouse surveillance video that would have showed Mandi drinking with Mulrenin, went
missing from what police gave to Mandi's lawyers.
But Neisha Cintron said Mandi had $0 at the end of the night. Mandi would have had some money if she spent
much time with customers. She supposedly was owed for a customer who paid for a private dance with dancer
dollars, but I will get to that later. The vast majority of customers pay with cash, and Mandi had none.
Mandi told her mother in a recorded call from the jail, that Mulrenin would not leave her alone that night. So she
may have spent the whole night being shown off by Big Jim, and drinking with him.
I don't think Mandi would have accepted the job and got dressed up, if she didn't intend to make money as a stripper
that night. Whatever else she had been doing that week wasn't making her any money. I believe pushy Jim did make
her sit with him instead of work. He was very pushy, and liked arm candy.
And Mulrenin told Mandi to change dresses that night to one that suited him, and made her sit with him all night.
That is what Neisha Cintron saw, and the kind of behavior I myself witnessed from the well-dressed manager GQ
Sitting at the Gator's bar on May 4, 2017, I pointed out to Mini-Jim how Mandi was actually arrested with
something called G which is totally legal in Georgia, and does not incapacitate. Mini-Jim said "Well now G, that is
something a little bit different from GHB." Mini-Jim claimed to have parked Mulrenin's car the night he died. He
said he detailed Mulrenin's car every week, and the money for the detail came from coke sales in the club. So the
guy who detailed Mulrenin's car and claimed to park it that night, and claimed to know about Mulrenin's drug use,
knew what "G" is.
Mini-Jim recalled how Mulrenin was said to walk out with $1300 in his pocket that night, but added that Mulrenin
"never took his money home with him." I later decided the $1300 was most likely Mini-Jim conflating the $2500
someone said Mulrenin might have walked out with, and the $13,000 that was mentioned in the newspapers.
Mini-Jim also said many girls were willing to testify how they went to Jim's house to have sex with him for money;
their motivation is to show how Mandi could have done the same thing to set him up. Jim's employees always
assumed Jim had set up the meeting with Mandi, but "must be slipping" with age or had been drugged.
Mini-Jim also said something which, at the time, I thought he was wrong about. He said Mulrenin personally knew
both Mandi and Scott. Mini-Jim didn't seem to be claiming firsthand knowledge of this. He seemed to be repeating
gossip. But I thought he misunderstood the gossip or heard wrong or got confused. I never heard that at the time,
II - 12
and it didn't fit my preconceptions.
It occurs to me today, I really have no basis to think Mulrenin never met Scott. Scott was riding around and going to
the strip clubs with Mandi, and Mulrenin was in Mandi's social circle. For comparison, Mandi got two life sentences
at a trial where the central feature was gossip and hearsay which I know was wrong and is easy to prove was wrong.
But Mini-Jim's gossip that Mulrenin had previously met Scott, I don't know for certain it's wrong. Mini-Jim's gossip
that Mulrenin had met Scott previously, is better quality gossip than what Mandi was convicted on.
Mini-Jim bragged that he once valet parked attorney Jose Baez's BMW. It sounded like the same BMW I saw
parked outside Jose's office after I met with him in his cheezy BMW jacket.
Mini-Jim was pretty drunk at this point. I had given up whatever I was working on, to drink with him as long as he
had something to say.
When Mini-Jim first started socializing I was busy working, and I wished he would just go away. By the time I
perked up and started writing down everything he said, best I could remember is he introduced himself as "Ross." A
year later I wanted Mini-Jim's full name, so I went over to Dollhouse to find him.
He wasn't there, and nobody knew who I was talking about. Valet parker? No. Sort of good looking? Hmm. Blonde?
"That must be Jim. He passed." It may have been Barbara Mellinger who said that.
They told me Dollhouse and Stars are run as a single business, so I should try across the street. I went into Stars and
someone said "Big Jim." I hadn't wanted to remind them of their loss. But that gave me the confidence to say it.
I went back to Dollhouse and said "Mini Jim." Oh, you mean Randy.
That's how I found out Mini-Jim's full name is Randy Ferrara. They said he ran the Dollhouse valet parking as an
independent business at the time Big Jim died.
That makes Marc Gorewitz the valet parker Mini-Jim's employee, and probably his closest co-worker. Let's compare
their statements:
Gorewitz to Detective Sprague on Mulrenin bringing Mandi home: "That's crazy, he actually let her into his house."
Mini-Jim to stranger at bar on how many female employees Mulrenin brought home: "It has to be hundreds."
Gorewitz to Sprague on Mandi's false GHB arrest: "How you gonna hire a girl who has GHB."
Mini-Jim to stranger at bar when I said the obscure term "G": "Well now G, that is something a little bit different
from GHB."
Is Gorewitz sincere? Or does he know everybody at Dollhouse drinks G, just like everybody in Conway drinks G. I
don't know. I know Mandi told her mother on a December 30th, 2016 phone call Mulrenin was on G. I know that
Mandi is unable to get the stuff herself, she needs a guy to buy it for her.
II - 13
6. STRIP-CLUB JUNKY - 2007 to 2013
When I moved to South Beach around Thanksgiving 2005, I had just cashed out my bank account in the Bahamas. I
had $15k in my pocket like a camel hump. I stayed in hotels until the lump got smaller, and eventually I moved
right around the block from Club Madonna on Washington Avenue. When business was slow, the strippers would sit
out front in an oversized armchair, and talk to guys who passed by. I walked back and forth and back and forth past
there every day with all that money burning a hole in my pocket, and they never talked to me.
There was a good-looking 19-year-old guy Johnny who sold weed in the neighborhood, and ate slices of pizza, and
did whatever idiot kids do. One day I walked past Club Madonna with him, and all the strippers said "Heeeeey
Johnny!" I thought how stupid are these stoned warhorses. I walked past here a dozen times with all that money, and
they never so much as said "hi." And now I walk past with this kid, and they talk to the kid because he has weed.
Like a year later, I had a bunch of web sites I needed built. There was a Russian girl standing in front of Club
Madonna, waiting for them to open at 6:00 like she needed a job. She told me "I haf degree in veb development." So
later that night I decided to go find her, and see if I could pay her to build my web sites.
I went in there and talked to her for a bit, and got her number or whatever. Then I went home and made sure to take
my clothes off and leave them on the floor inside the front door before they could touch anything. Because the
furniture at the strip club was disgusting. And I got into the shower without touching anything, to wash off the
The Russian stripper's dad was a famous physicist who worked for NASA. Her mom sent her to live with me in
hopes she would get married. She had an adult brain injury from a car accident. I threw her out, she went back to
LA, and she OD'd on fentanyl a few years later. But I discovered it was pretty cool that for less than the price of a
tense date at Sushi Samba, you can go into the strip club and meet a girl with long skinny arms and hang out and
I am very particular about how girls look, and it makes them unhappy. They don't want to hear me say "You're not
perfect, but I enjoy being with you and I will always do the right thing." They want the power and trust and security
of a guy who says "You look awesome. You are the prettiest girl in the whole world. I am blessed and my world is
completed every second I get to be with you."
Plus, people in Miami are so aggressive, if you don't try to have sex with a girl she will assume you think she is
ugly. And she will never forget or forgive how ugly you made her feel. It took me a long time to understand if a girl
in Miami Beach is in your house, she expects sex. It is not like Boston where a girl can come inside to study for an
exam or dog-sit or pick up a lamp, without expecting sex.
I got tired of making girls unhappy. I had to find a girl who was stunningly beautiful and amazing in my eyes, so I
could give her what she wanted. If I can't say "I love everything about how you look, and I think you are awesome
from end to end" and be honest, sooner or later she will figure out I am lying and she will hate me. So I started only
dating girls from the strip club. I got to see them completely naked before the first date. And they were comfortable
with how I looked at them.
There were other things I had in common with strippers. I am a bit eccentric and march to the beat of my own drum.
Strippers don't care what other people think, or they wouldn't be strippers. Rather than looking for a guy who checks
boxes to complement their social image, strippers are a bit on the romantic side,. The ones I met all seemed to own
dogs and be devoted to them. They were sort of bleeding hearts, with a tragic sense of surviving in an imperfect
I used to play poker for a living when I was in my 20's. There were only 21 hours a week, when there were a lot of
people in the California cardrooms playing badly, and I could make money. It was like 4:00 to 6:30 Tuesday through
Friday when people tried to squeeze in a few quick hands after work but had to hurry home. Plus drunk people from
like 8:00 to 11:30 on Friday. Plus sleepy people from 3:00 AM to 6:00 AM Saturday and Sunday morning.
II - 14
So I would drive around to the cardrooms, and sleep in the parking lot or out by the Pacific Ocean, and then go in
there when people were ready to lose money. Club Madonna on Washington Avenue in South Beach was similar.
There were girls who came from out of town and needed to work a shift to make some quick money. So they would
go in there and make money for a few hours, when the guys who didn't get lucky in the bars showed up drunk at like
3:00 AM Saturday morning.
Meeting strippers was a fun and easy activity for me. Club Madonna in South Beach was the perfect place for it.
There were always girls from out of town passing through. Whatever guys they were attached to were back in New
York or Tampa or Moscow. They were in vacation mode, looking to have some fun. They wanted a place to stay for
free, and I was in the perfect location. The only thing is when I told them I didn't have any weed, and I had no plans
or connections to get any, sometimes they would have a quick change of heart.
"Can we come stay with you? Do you have weed?" No. "Ummmm... never mind."
It took an average of six months in Club Madonna to find a girl whose appearance was acceptable to me. To make
the process more efficient, I learned that I could see 80% of the new girls who would work in the club in a given
week, by going for just 30 minutes before closing on Friday and Saturday night. Good-looking strippers are lazy and
don't usually work two days in a row. So by going on two consecutive nights, I could catch most of them. Luckily
Club Madonna did not have a day shift.
A lot of guys show up at bars early. The meet some pretty girl and buy her drinks for four hours. Then right at
closing the girls ditch them. So I used to wake up at 4AM and walk down Ocean Drive, and meet pretty girls
coming out of the bars drunk after some other guy spent all the money. The later you show up, the less time and
money you have to spend to hang out with a girl after closing.
Strippers aren't even allowed to leave before the end of the shift. So every hour you show up before closing, is an
hour you will have to spend money until you can even meet the girl at a diner or something. If you meet them right
before closing and they see you are generous or have money, they will want some extra time to try to make money
off you. And they won't know until closing if they had a bad night, and need a sugar daddy for a day.
After about four years, I moved away from Club Madonna south of fifth street. I had to drive and park, to spend 30
minutes at Club Madonna before closing. It occurred to me if I was driving anyway, I could go to multiple strip
clubs. Club Madonna usually had like 25 girls. If I also drove to Gold Rush with 30 girls, and Beach House with 20
girls, I could see 75 girls in one night. In theory, instead of taking six months to find a pretty girl, I could see three
times as many girls and find one every two months. I hadn't yet learned there are some clubs where no pretty girls
ever work, given any amount of time.
So I started driving around to more and more strip clubs, and staying just long enough at each one to get a look at
every girl. The strip clubs try to mingle the guys and girls by offering a two-for-one lapdance every hour. Every girl
in the club has to stop what she is doing, and go down the runway in a line for the guys to pick one. That is usually
your chance to verify you have seen every girl there. If there are no pretty ones, then you can leave.
I began to learn that other strip clubs weren't as open as Club Madonna. They were local, it was the same girls every
week. The girls were unfriendly and at times violent to new pretty girls coming in and applying. They were more
tightly managed. The managers weren't open to girls coming in and freelancing. They didn't want a girl from Atlanta
to just come in and work for a day, just take the customers numbers and then go meet them at a hotel. (There is a
club near the airport for that, where they just charge girls $75 to enter.)
The girls themselves were less free spirits at other strip clubs. They weren't new in town, unattached, or on vacation
like at Club Madonna. They were more often local single moms who needed a steady paycheck. They were older
and not as good looking. They developed and refined mean and hard-nosed tactics, to trick old guys out of their
money week after week.
One day I had just done my usual routine of looking at every girl in Club Madonna right before closing, and
walking out with no interest. I was getting into my car which was parked in the street right in front of the main
entrance. A regular girl came out who was familiar to me but we never talked. There are girls you see every time,
II - 15
but they are not your type or you are not their type. They know they will never make money off you, and it is not a
problem. You peacefully coexist.
She said to me "Go to Tootsie. You will find what you are looking for." I said how do you know what I'm looking
for? She said "I am a people watcher." I said I'm a people watcher too. That is how I saw myself, laying eyes on
every girl once, maybe talking briefly to one, and then leaving. She said "You're not a people watcher, you are a
So I went to Tootsie. It was wide open. There were girls who worked closely with managers to sell bottle service or
do private parties, girls who freelanced, girls who had no idea what they were doing and were only there one night.
Any girl who was under 20, or under 25 and reasonably pretty, would be allowed to show up and work the first
night without any training or supervision. They actually had a big board there with all the girls names on it like the
New York Stock Exchange. The list would circulate to show what girl would be on what stage next.
My first night at Tootsie there were 156 girls on the board. There was an upstairs and downstairs and a front and
back. It was a little stressful, but I undertook the diligent task of efficiently locating and laying eyes on every single
girl in the club one time, front and back. At the end of it there was exactly one pretty girl. She was entertaining a
bachelor party in the more intimate area on the second floor which they call "The Next Level."
So I sat patiently for an hour and a half and waited for her. I sat all alone and refused to talk to any other girls for an
hour and a half until the bachelor party broke up. Was it two hours, was it more? I don't know. She saw this and was
really impressed by it. I sat in a room with 156 girls, and waited all night to talk to only one. Remember this is the
whole reason I started going to strip clubs, to find a girl I thought she was really special and she knew it. And she
did. She was the prettiest girl ever born.
My friend saw her walking out of my house. He said he never saw a girl that pretty before in person, in real life.
Only on TV. I don't like that God contrived a game where some girls are pretty and others aren't, for no other reason
than to stir the pot. But I accept that He did.
I don't do sex for sport. But after that worked out well, it seemed justified to drive a long way to strip clubs, Scarlett,
Cheetah Hallandale, Gold Rush, Showgirls Cutler Bay as a regular mission. My intention was always to find a girl I
could have a long-term relationship with, because she knew I really liked her. Otherwise it was not worth the work.
It was not worth the driving just to have sex with some girl one time.
Suppose I meet a stripper and she says "Let me give you my number. I am busy tonight but call me Monday." That
is a hooker. I am not going to get any long-term return on my up-front investment. So I was not interested. It was
never my intention to have sex with the prettiest girl at every major strip club in Miami and Ft. Lauderdale. But the
end result was the same as if that had been my intention.
II - 16
7. ORLANDO FROM MIAMI - 2010 to 2013
At some point I met the porn star Nadia Nitro. Don't get the wrong idea, she was extremely charming and talented. I
think she was the last real porn star to make money on the web before Paris Hilton made sex videos aspirational,
and every young girl wanted to have sex on camera for free. I wasn't attracted to Nadia because her feet were too
small. And she tried to set me up to be middle car with her bisexual porn star soul mate from LA, but that is another
Nadia Nitro had just moved to Miami in Thanksgiving of 2009. I asked her what was the biggest and best strip club
she had ever been to anywhere. She said Dollhouse.
So when I set out for Nashville and ended up in Orlando around Christmas 2010, and as soon as I got my dogs
squared away at a motel in Kissimmee, I drove straight to Dollhouse. It was east on Irlo Bronson, and north on 441.
I had already been driving all day, and the night came in colder and sooner than I was used to in Miami. It was
almost misty, with a hint of fog on the retention pond at Florida Hospital. In one day I went from baking sun and
jerk chicken to the first winter I tasted in five years.
On the way past the Tupperware building there was a billboard that said "Dice in 5 Seconds." I thought it said "Die
in 5 Seconds." So after thinking of all the ways a person could die totally unexpectedly in five seconds, and a drive
that took much longer than I expected past an endless stream of taco joints and shitholes, I finally saw a filthy little
building in the dark with a sign that said Dollhouse. And there was a more exciting looking strip club that glowed
more in the mist, directly across the street.
Dollhouse looked like it hadn't been remodeled since the Korean War, when it might have been an armed services
recruiting office. Or maybe an Old Main Street dive bar, the kind where the neon flickers. Dollhouse looked like the
back of a restaurant where the dumpster is, no matter what direction you approached it from. There was no way to
avoid feeling disappointed at the end of my drive. It was like the building some young people drive up to at the
beginning of a horror movie, and a creepy old guy answers the door, the harbinger.
But it was a long drive, and I was ready for some strip-club magic, so I went rushing in there. And I ran out of room
to rush, and just about ran into the far wall. It was small.
It had to be the five ugliest girls in Orlando - Mexican crack addicts with three kids - shaking it on a tiny stage.
They were being watched by the seven brokest guys in Orlando, some day laborers waving crumpled $1 bills. And
they were all sitting in a tiny area on chairs that wouldn't sell for $1 at a yard sale.
I suddenly remembered Nadia moved to Miami from Tampa, not Orlando. I was in the wrong Dollhouse. This place
was disgusting. The lights were turned the whole way up so you could see the grunge, the music was deafeningly
loud. I left as fast as I came in.
Across the street was Cabaret Internationale. I only got a little taste of it that night, but it was dreamy. I rented a
house right up the street within walking distance. I don't remember if it was that night, or the next night I came in,
that I met and fell in love with the prettiest stripper in Orlando. She wasn't that pretty when I first saw her. But after
a few drinks and seeing how she danced on stage and talking to her for a while, I was in love. And then she was the
prettiest stripper in Orlando.
And there were more where she came from. Strippers are always more likely than average to be lesbians. In Orlando
it seemed like almost all strippers were lesbians. Cabaret Internationale had plenty of teenage and 20-something
lesbian space cadets who thought $25 was a gigantic tip.
And it was right in the middle of Orange Blossom Trail, the main north-south street in Orlando. And it had a day
shift with plenty of space for new girls. So there was excellent turnover with new girls every week driving in from
Atlanta, or Sumter County, or wherever. And the girls who came in there and freelanced were more worried about
their sugar daddies walking in, or their girlfriends catching them cheating, than anything management might say.
II - 17
I don't remember what it was about Cabaret Internationale, but I immediately met at least two or three girls that I
liked. Maybe it is because it was within walking distance of my house, so I drank more and the girls looked prettier
and I just had more fun. Club Madonna didn't have liquor. And the other clubs I drove a long way to in Miami were
all about business for me, and I couldn't drink too much.
Maybe I was relatively richer in Orlando than I was in Miami. Maybe it was a higher percentage of American girls.
I have never gotten along as well with any foreign girls. American girls have the most hustle and are the least
pathetic, and that is attractive to me. I like girls who are good at the talking, and the nicer sides of being good at
There must have been something that made Cabaret Internationale special. Because I was a strip-club addict, and I
don't think I would have stayed in Orlando unless Cabaret Internationale was better than all the clubs I went to in
Miami combined.
I wasn't going to Cabaret Intenationale just to check if there were any girls, like I used to check every week at Club
Madonna. I knew there were girls there. So I would just go there on Friday night and hang out. Weekends weren't as
big in Orlando as in Miami. Orlando was more Thursday and Friday night, than Friday and Saturday night.
I didn't need to find any more girls, I already had more than I could work with at Cabaret Internationale. But I kept
hearing there was another club Rachel's. And if there was a pretttier girl over there, I didn't want to miss her. One
day I had a virus, and I was afraid to work for fear my brain would associate working with being sick. So I figured it
was a good time to go try the lunch buffet at Rachel's. This would have been maybe April of 2011.
Rachel's was not the same. Cabaret Internationale had all kinds of girls. Rachel's was all 8 out of 10 cookie-cutter
white girls, who seemed like they were screened before being hired. Rachel's was on a remote area of South Orange
Avenue, and did not get the same turnover of random girls, and girls passing through, as Cabaret Internationale on
Orange Blossom Trail. It seemed like all the Rachel's girls were regular girls, they had all been there forever. Years,
Rachel's was kind of empty on day shift that day. But I sat at the bar and ate some sausage and potatoes from the
buffet, and it gave me time to see every girl go up on stage and see which one was the prettiest. I remember eating
my last potato, and I must have tipped the prettiest girl on stage once I figured out who it was. Because next thing
we were sitting in the back row against the back wall, and I was getting a private dance.
I remember looking at her blue eyes. The first thing I thought is this girl is not as pretty as any of the girls I know at
Cabaret Internationale. But we sat at the bar and made jokes, and I liked her. She was good at it. I couldn't tell if she
was a hooker, or if she was looking for a boyfriend, or what. She was a pro stripper, with a streak of sadness and
depression. She had been at Rachel's forever and age 30 was coming up. She just had a pro look about her, like
Heidi Fleiss, like she should be working at an airport car-rental counter.
She suggested we could meet for drinks outside the club after the end of her shift. That sounds like a hooker. But for
real she was still thinking I might be a potential boyfriend. She told me to be really careful and not look at her when
she left. Just go to another part of the club. And then wait at least five minutes before leaving, and then meet her at
the gas station up the street. We had to be very careful or her "manager" might catch her.