Stormy Daniels Shoved Thunder and Lightning in My Face 

Joseph William Simmons

February 12^th, 2019.  I call my brother’s roommate Nathan Black on my cell; I’m about to leave my house in Millard to see Stormy Daniels perform at The Best Club in Omaha off of 72^nd and Farnum.  My brother Babo won’t be able to go; he has to work tonight, loading up tacos with lettuce with one hand while smoking a joint in the other.  Sometimes they would have team meetings in between customer orders and form a circle right there in the kitchen area, smoking a joint or blunt before getting back to work.  

“Nathan.  What’re you doing tonight?” 

“You going to see Stormy Daniels?” I had been talking to all of them about seeing Stormy Daniels for a month now.  

“You fucking bet.” 

“I dunno man…I don’t know if I have the money.  It just seems like a waste.” 

“Dude.  It’s Stormy Daniels.” 

“Yeah…I know…it is a little bit of history I guess right?  Fuck…I dunno…” Nathan pauses while he mums it over.  I sit patiently on the phone waiting for his response.  “Shit.  I got to take a shower first.  But yeah, why not.” 

“I’m coming straight over for you dude.” 

“I’ll leave the door unlocked for you.  I should be done by the time you get here.  See you then.” 

I throw on some cologne, brush my teeth, and head straight out the door for my rusted Ford.  I have just finished using my F150 over the last four years to take me to work every day, becoming a Carpenter Journeyman months ago.  Now it’s going to bring me to Stormy Daniels.  

I turn the ignition and pull out, leaving the suburbs for 144^th Street.  My brother Babo and Nathan live off of Blondo; it’s going to be a fifteen minute drive, swerving around Omaha’s numerous potholes.  I make my way up to 144^th; once I reach Pacific everything turns dark, the light pollution disappearing in the night.  I’m surrounded by farmland for five brief minutes before I reach Dodge.  Gradually the City vamps up again with life in the form of condos and apartment complexes. 

I pull off on the east side of Blondo and find my brother’s house, parking in the driveway.  I get out and run in, heading straight for the freezer in the kitchen.  I pull out a bottle of Canadian Whiskey (the best type, like their education and healthcare) and pour a shot.  I gulp it; the warmth spreads.  I pour another one.  And another.  After my third shot I put the bottle back.  I’m trying to kill my buzzing nerves; the whiskey helps. 

Nathan walks down the stairs.  “Ready?” He says. 

“Fuck yeah.  Let’s do this.” 

“Let’s hit up a gas station first.  I want to get a six pack of tall boys.” 

We leave, hit up the gas station, get our beer, and hit the road.  We don’t have far to go; we reach Dodge and turn east.  We’ll be there in ten minutes.  I had already pulled out two hundred and fifty dollars for this little excursion; I hoped it would be enough.  Both Nathan and I are going to find out.  

We pull up to The Best Club in Omaha.  Veering in between dozens of cars, we find a spot to park in the back.  I get out of my truck; snow and ice cover the ground.  We make our way inside.

After a bouncer checks our ID’s, we go through a set of red curtains.  Inside is a lobby area with a man behind a counter.  A girl that has just aged past her teenage years is standing next to the man, wearing nothing but a bikini piece.  She’s whispering in his ear; as Nathan and I stand in front of the counter, the girl sees us and runs off through a separate set of curtains.  The man approaches us from the other side of the counter. 

“Welcome to The Best Club in Omaha gentlemen!  Have you ever been here before?” 

“No,” I say. 

“Nope,” Nathan says.  

“It’s $40 to get in tonight or an annual fee of only $60!  If you pay the annual fee, each and every time you come in it only costs $20.  If you don’t pay the fee, it’s $40 regardless.  Hell, if you pay the fee tonight, next time will pay for itself.  What do you say?” 

“Well…” I begin to say. 

“Umm…nah…” Nathan says. 

“Fuck it.  I’ll do it,” I quickly intervene. 

“Fuck, I’ll do it too,” Nathan abruptly says, changing his mind.  

“Alright then!” The man behind the counter says, gleaming.  “Let me get you the appropriate forms.” 

He turns around and grabs two stapled packets; each one is about fifteen pages each.  He places them in front of us.  At the top there is one question that asks; ‘Are you a member of Law Enforcement?’ with a blank space by it.  He circles the space with a blue pen on my form, and then Nathan’s. 

“Just fill in the word ‘NO’ where I just circled the blank space.  If you fill in ‘YES,’ you’ll be escorted off of the property.  After you’re done filling that out, sign your name on the bottom.” 

Nathan and I sign ‘NO’ on our respective forms.  After this space, the page is filled with a legal addendum I don’t bother reading.  At the bottom there’s a space for a signature; we sign. 

“Great.  Give me your ID’s.  I need to make a copy for our records.  Don’t worry; the only reason why I do this is so we can find your membership information when you come back in. We wouldn’t give that information out to your wives or girlfriends.” 

We give him our ID’s.  He photocopies them and keeps the copies, giving the ID’s back to us. After we pay him, I ask for $40 in one dollar bills.  We make the exchange and I tip him two bucks. 

“Thank you, sir.  Now, through those curtains.” 

He points to a set of red curtains to our right.  Nathan and I walk through them into a dimly lit bar.  We make our way down the stairs; half-naked girls swirl around us, some of them leading men by the hands, others just talking to other girls. 

A full service bar sits to our right, and it runs the length of the club.  To our left are two stages; the first one is circular and large with one pole.  Twenty chairs surround this stage; all the chairs are full.  

Past this stage is a longer but rectangular one that hugs the wall, and has two poles.  A dozen chairs are placed in front of it.  This stage is sparsely populated with customers; Nathan and I easily find two chairs in front of it.  A small set of stairs connects the two stages where they meet in the middle; the wall behind the stages has a mirror that runs the length of the wall, first for the bigger circular stage, and then turning the corner for the rectangular stage.  

Nathan busts out a tall boy for both of us, and I crack mine open.  I pull heavily from it, letting the beer mix with the liquor I’ve already drank.  A black stripper with huge tits crosses onto our stage and sprays her pole down with disinfectant from a plastic bottle; she then rubs it down with a rag.  After jumping on the pole and sliding down it, she gets on all fours and crawls across the stage.  I throw down $2 in front of me; Nathan does the same.  Other men are throwing money down onto the stage as well. 

You can tell she’s had a kid; her stomach is slightly distended with stretch marks.  She crawls from man to man.  With the first set of bills she pulls off of the stage, she sits down in front of her first paying man; after looking him in the eye, she gets into the man’s lap and straddles him, riding him like a lap dance. 

“Holy fuck, you get that for just $2?” I tell Nathan.  “That’s a lot of love.  Most of the time they just shove their tits in your face.  This is the first time I’ve seen them do anything else.”

She takes her arm and grabs him by the back of the neck, dry fucking him for fifteen seconds.  She then gets back up on the stage, lays down in front of this man, spreads open her legs, and starts pleasuring herself with her fingers.  

“Fuck dude, they do this too???  I’ve never seen a stripper fuck herself with her fingers on stage before.  This is nuts,” I say to no one in particular.  Nathan watches intently.  

The music changes.  The next stripper comes onto the stage; the left half of her head is buzzed but the right side is combed over the left side.  She’s naturally a blonde but she’s dyed her hair green.  Her tits sag just a little bit more than the hot black stripper that is collecting her money in a metal bucket at the moment, as she gets ready to leave the stage.  The stripper with the green hair comb-over is wiping down her pole, and getting ready to dance for us.  She has several smaller tattoos on her body, mostly of spiders and spider webs. 

The music begins with a new song and this stripper begins her dance.  The first thing she does is notice the several dollar bills placed in front of Nathan.  She goes in front of him and takes the two dollars, throwing them over her shoulder.  She then squats in front of Nathan and spreads open her legs.  Taking her index finger, she sticks it inside of herself, fucking herself with it; she then takes her wet glistening finger out, and rubs it on Nathan’s face.  First she rubs it on his right cheek, and then on his left.  

“HOLY FUCKING SHIT!” I scream.  “WHAT THE FUCK MAN, DO YOU LIKE THAT!” I yell as I slap him on the back. 

“What? You’ve never seen that before?” The stripper says, slightly upset.  

“No!” I reply back to her in honesty. 

She gets up and walks off to another part of the stage.  I can’t tell if she’s annoyed or not.  

“Alright, club patrons,” the MC over the loudspeaker says.  “We are going to have the beautiful Stormy Daniels come out in about ten minutes.  Now’s the time to change your $20 bills into ones if you haven’t.  Before her though, we will be bringing out Omaha’s own Sadie B.  Sadie is a former Playboy and Hustler model.  She’ll be out shortly.”  

The voice disappears.  A young teenage stripper with a smile on her face takes the stage in front of us.  Her body is perfect and smooth.  She has anime characters tattooed on her legs, all of which I recognize.  The music begins.  We throw down money; she starts with me first by jumping into my lap. 

“I love your tattoos,” I say to her above the din of music. 

“Thanks!  Nobody gets them.  I’m glad you do!” 

She rides me for ten seconds before jumping off of me and getting back on the stage.  I see on the larger circular stage that Sadie B has come out, the first act before Stormy Daniels’ appearance.  She’s walking around naked with a gigantic fluorescent foam glow stick in her hands. 

“Do you want a private dance?” The young teen stripper with anime tattoos asks me. 

“No thanks,” I say to her.  

I get up in wonder and fascination to Sadie B walking around the giant stage.  When I approach, Sadie B gets down in front of a man with money in front of him.  She spreads open her legs to him and hands him the fluorescent glow stick. 

“Beat my pussy with it,” she says to him.  

I watch over this man’s shoulder as he flogs her with the foam glow stick.  Every time he brings it down, the stick curves with the force of the throttle.  He does it five times. 

“Harder.  Harder!” Sadie B screams.  

He does it harder.  Sadie B makes no visible reaction.  

“No you pussy, like this!” Sadie B screams.  She yanks the tube out of the man’s trembling hands and beats her own pussy with it.  The slaps from the stick resonate through the club. 

“Yes, YES!” She screams.  

“Alright Sadie B,” says the man coming over the speaker.  “Time to get off the stage…STORMY IS HERE!”

The crowd cheers.  I go back to my seat.  Behind us at the bar, every bar stool is filled with a watching spectator.  A number of women are sitting at the bar as well as men.  Through the curtains that we had entered earlier, two men appear.  Behind them, a woman wrapped up in an American flag shawl appears.  Her whole body is covered up to her mouth; I barely make out her eyes.  The men lead her to the big circular stage; the woman gets up on it, rips off the American flag shawl, and the crowd roars.  It’s fucking Stormy Daniels; beautiful, mysterious Stormy Daniels, who was fucked by an American President, and was also threatened by one of his henchmen in a parking lot.  Stormy Daniels, one of the sad but strong children of the American Dream.    

Stormy is wearing a matching American flag bikini, both top and bottom.  She runs around the edge of the circular stage; men are throwing money at her from all directions.  Running for the nearest pole, she clambers to the top, and slowly slides her way down, stretching out her arms and tilting her head backwards.  When she reaches the floor she jumps up, parading around the stage and kicking her legs in the air.  She then rips off her bikini top, exposing her giant tits; in her early 20’s, Stormy had breast augmentation surgery.  At the time, she had named her tits Thunder and Lightning.  The crowd is going crazy.

I’m about to leave my chair and go to the main large circular stage when Stormy runs across the tiny staircase and jumps up onto the rectangular stage in front of me.  She runs to the end and kicks her gigantic leg into the air; she then pivots on one foot, runs back down to where I’m sitting, and gets on her knees.  She throws her blonde hair around and then stops, staring at me and Nathan.  We both have dollar bills folded up and placed in front of us on the stage; she first approaches Nathan, but changes direction and sits down in front of me.  She beckons for me to stand with one finger; I stand.  As soon as I do she waddles over on her knees, grabs my head, and brings my face in between Thunder and Lightning.  I smell her perfume and sweat; I’m close to licking the space in between her breasts but I stop myself.  She pushes me down into my seat, stands up, and runs back over to the circular stage, grabbing different men and bringing their heads in between her tits.  She then rips off her bikini bottom.  

“Holy fucking shit dude,” I yell into Nathan’s ear.  “My head was just in between Stormy Daniels’ tits!” 

“I know,” he says.  “I saw.” 

Stormy runs the length of both stages for fifteen minutes.  The woman is forty with the aerobic capacity of a high school track star.  After her fifteen minute insane workout, she pants her way to the large circular main stage.  The two men from the beginning come back to her, and give back her shawl.  They take her hands and lead her off of the stage, back through the curtained front area. 

“That’s it for Stormy Daniels,” the voice over the loudspeaker chants.  “Stormy will be in the back at the end of the bar in thirty minutes, to sign autographs and take pictures.” 

I glance at the end of the bar fifteen feet away from me.  Someone is already standing in line. 

“Nathan, do you want to stand in line with me?” 

“Naw, man.  You go ahead.” 

I get up and get in line.  The minute I do, a tall drunk bearded man in his early 30’s gets in line right behind me.

“What’s your name?” I ask him. 

“Pete.” 

“What do you do for work, Pete?” 

“I run the penguin exhibit at the zoo.” 

“What the fuck?” 

“What do you do for work?” He reciprocates.  

“Nothin’ right now.  Usually I do construction, but right now I’m laid off.  I got a couple of leads.” 

“I’m going to ask Stormy if she wants to go to the zoo tomorrow and pet some fuckin’ penguins,” Penguin Pete says. 

“Wow.” 

“I hope she says ‘yes.’”

A young man in his late 20’s comes through the red velvet curtains in front of us and snags the man standing in line right in front of me.  I’m next.  

“Yeah I’ve been at the zoo for 8 years.  I put in my time but I’ve earned it.  I love taking care of the penguins.” 

There’s an uncomfortable pause.  All of a sudden the curtains part and the same young man in his late 20’s comes through the curtains.  My turn.   

I follow the man through the curtains.  A table is standing by the entryway with a small pile of Stormy Daniels’ book Full Disclosure on top. 

“How much for a book?” I ask. 

The young man in his twenties comes up to me and addresses me.  His hair is parted to the side.  

“$40 for a book.  $20 for her to sign it.  $20 for a picture on your phone.” 

“Can I get her to say ‘Fuck Trump’ on a video on my phone with me in it?” I ask him. 

He pauses.  “I don’t know,” he sheepishly says. 

“That would be a cameo.  We can’t do cameos,” Stormy says from across the room. 

“Oh right.  We can’t do cameos,” the young man says.  

“Can I get her to write ‘FUCK TRUMP’ really big across the first page of this book?” I ask him. 

“Yes.  I won’t have a problem with that,” Stormy says. 

I grab a book and go to Stormy Daniels.  She takes it and signs it with her name, with a big ‘FUCK TRUMP’ across the front.  I slide my arm around her shoulders, and she holds the book open for me.  The young man in his twenties takes my phone from me and snaps multiple pictures.  When we’re done Stormy hands me my book, and the young man hands me my phone. 

“That’ll be $80,” the young man says. 

“Fuck Trump,” I say loudly.  “Fuck what he did to you,” I address directly to Stormy. 

“Beautiful, just incredible,” the young man in his twenties says, outstretching his arms and thumbs towards me in an exaggerated motion.  “I love it.  Simply love it.  ‘Fuck Trump.’  We like the way you think.” 

It dawns on me that this young man must be her manager.  He seems to me like he’s a sleazy porn producer.  I look at Stormy…and she’s embarrassed.  She won’t look at me; her eyes are on the ground.  She looks really uncomfortable.  I’m not sure why or if it’s something I said…but I realize that this woman had a life before Trump and I’m sure she doesn’t want to be remembered just because of him.  

“Damn,” I say under my breath, guilty and apologetic.  

“What?” The sleazy young man in his twenties says. 

“Ahhh…nothing.  You guys got people in line, I better go.” 

I’m getting ready to head out when Penguin Pete walks in through the curtains, drunk as fuck.  The sleazy young man in his twenties breaks away from me and guides him to Stormy. 

“Stormy, my name is Pete.  I manage the penguin exhibit at the zoo.  Can I interest you in coming to the zoo tomorrow and petting some penguins?  I mean your management team can come too, of course.  Anyone you know can come.” 

“YES! YES! YES!” Stormy Daniels says excitedly, jumping up and down in the air.  She temples her hands and claps her fingertips together like a delirious child.  

“Can we? Can we go to the zoo tomorrow?” She asks her sleazy young manager. 

“Sure.  I don’t see why not.” 

“Wonderful!  Wonderful!” Stormy says.  My last memory of Stormy is her excited laughter as I walk by everyone and go through the curtains to find Nathan Black. 

I find Nathan sitting near the stage still. 

“You want to get the hell out of here?” I ask him. 

“Sure.” 

We get up and leave the club. The cold Omaha winter air hits our faces.  We turn the corner and walk around the club to my truck.  Inside, I rev the engine and we speed home towards 144^th and Blondo.  One of my favorite CD’s, Hole’s Live Through This, is playing in the CD player.  The first track Violet comes on.  

“I don’t know man,” Nathan says.

“What do you mean, ‘you don’t know?’”

“Do you think she did it?” 

“Who? Did what?” 

“You know.  Do you think she killed Kurt Cobain?”

“Oh, fuck.  Don’t tell me you think she did.  I don’t believe in that conspiracy theory bullshit.  In a world full of UFO abductions and government secrets, don’t tell me you think someone covered up Courtney Love killing Kurt Cobain.” 

“Well? What do you think?” 

“I think he had some fucking demons man.  He shot himself in the head.”

“Yeah.  But she would have never been famous unless he died.”

“I tell you what man,” I say to Nathan.  “I always hated Nirvana.  Nirvana always sounded like shit to me.  You can’t understand a word Kurt Cobain says.  Hole’s got heart.  And Courtney Love can fucking Rock.” 

“Do you think she’s trash?” Nathan muses.  

“Of course she’s trash.  That’s why she’s awesome, dude.  She’s sexy, she can rock, she can wail, she’s pure trash.  I’m trashy as hell motherfucker.  I’m proud of it.”

I change the track to Doll Parts. 

“This track is special, dude.  Listen to it.  You can feel her pain.” 

We listen on in silence to one of the best songs in history.  The stars above us are lost to the glitter of Omaha’s street lights as we careen through the big/small city that I love back towards Nathan’s so that I can do another shot before I drive home. 

Bio 225 word version

Joseph William Simmons was born in Omaha, Nebraska on May 1st, 1981.  After graduating with a bachelors in Film Studies with minors in Asian Studies, Japanese, and theatre from the University of Nebraska – Lincoln in 2004, he received a job teaching English overseas and moved to Japan in 2006.  He lived in Japan for three years and spent this time traveling Asia and Australia.  Upon his return to the United States in 2009, Joseph graduated from the University of Nebraska – Omaha with an MFA in Creative Writing with an emphasis in Literary Non-fiction in 2013.  Needing employment to pay off his destructive and enslaving student loans, Joseph joined a carpenter’s apprenticeship program through Local Union 1306 and after four long years of getting screamed at by toothless methhead drywall gods, he graduated as a Journeyman in 2018.  Not really feeling the vocation was right for him, Joseph found a job in 2019 as a roughneck floorhand on an oil rig in Wyoming. After working for two months on the oil rig floor he was almost decapitated by the Top Drive, which is the oil rig drill itself.  He left Wyoming and returned to Omaha, where he currently works for Electrical Union 22.  In his spare time he writes stories and produces local low-budget independent horror and comedy films in Omaha and Council Bluffs.

JWS In a Nutshell:

Joseph William Simmons was born in Omaha, Nebraska on May 1st, 1981.  After graduating with a bachelors in Film Studies with minors in Asian Studies, Japanese, and theatre from the University of Nebraska – Lincoln in 2004, he taught English overseas and moved to Japan in 2006 and spent this time traveling Asia and Australia.  Upon return to the United States in 2009, Joseph graduated from the University of Nebraska – Omaha with an MFA in Creative Writing with an emphasis in Literary Non-fiction in 2013.  Needing employment to pay off his enslaving student loans, Joseph joined a carpenter’s apprenticeship program through Local Union 1306. After four long years of getting screamed at by toothless methhead drywall gods, he graduated as a Journeyman in 2018.  Not feeling the vocation was right for him, Joseph found a job in 2019 as a roughneck floorhand on an oil rig in Wyoming. After working for two months on the oil rig floor he was almost decapitated by the Top Drive, the oil rig drill itself. He returned to Omaha, where he currently works for Electrical Union 22.  In his spare time he writes stories and produces low-budget independent horror and comedy films.