Girls with Tattoos. Nekkid.


It’s coming. A raunchy culmination of contortion, over-pierced body parts, tattooed everythings, g-strings, hoola hoops and strategically placed electrical tape. All of this on women. On stage. In Austin.

That’s right; its that time of year again- when ten of the Suicide Girls’ finest hit the road with suitcases full of studded belts, chocolate sauce, heavy metal music and mortifying props. Suicide Girls Live.

For the unenlightened (or sheltered) among us, the Suicide Girls are…well…smutty porn. Porn touted under the guise of alternative pornography (“Redefining beauty one hot naked chic at a time”), showcasing the punk-rocker gothic chics of the world. There’s no airbrushing these ladies- all those scars, tattoos, imperfections, birthmarks, and shiver-inducing piercings are what orchestrate the appeal.

Now I love the Suicide Girls (not because I love porn OR naked women…), what with their brazen attitudes, rule-breaking approaches and unabashed bravery. Somewhere deep inside of me (deeper….down there past those insecurities, dislike of being naked, fear of being photographed, dread that my father would find out…) I have always secretly dreamt of posing as a Suicide Girl. Do you think 3 tattoos is enough to qualify?

Anyways, back to my original point.

The Suicide Girls Live show is coming to Emo’s on November 3rd. I had the privilege of catching the last 45 minutes of a Suicide Girls show in Phoenix a few years back- and, if nothing else, this is good family entertainment.

Advertised as a “The Most Dangerous Burlesque Show in the World”, I guarantee that, unless hanging out with pornstars is a daily occurrence for you, this show will be nothing like you’ve ever seen before.

Let me give you a visual (children, stop reading): 4 girls (with little black strips of aforementioned electrical tape covering certain areas) making out in the background of the stage. Enter left, voluptuous dreadlocked blonde wearing what appears to be a mechanic shirt and tool belt. Stage right, Marylin Monroe-ish Housewife in plaid skirt and apron, trying to fix a broken toilet. Plumber meets Housewife…and unless your 18 years or older with a valid credit card, I’m not telling you the rest of the story.

Toss in some chocolate sauce and whip cream, firearms, some magic tricks and bad music- and you’ve got yourself a show!

A few warnings for prospective viewers:

1. While a good chunk of the show is theatrical and –frankly– amazing (getting naked while spinning a hoola hoop? I envy her…), a still very large portion is downright boring and awkward. A lot of the show is just some punk girl with disproportioned body parts (these are, after all, normal girls) jumping around the stage to Rob Zombie. Woo.

2. Unless you want to get drenched in god-knows-what, don’t stand in the first 3 rows. You’ll go home smelling like an adult video store (and stickier than one, too).

3. This isn’t your average Burlesque show. Burlesque shows are historically classy, tame and mildly satirical. This is just plain raunchy.

Point of the story, I may find myself among the other women in the crowd, rallying together in the name of bra-burning stereotype-bashing freedom.

Actually, I just want to see naked people doing stupid stunts.

My mom is going to kill me for writing this.

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