Articles by Face99

It began, as all true American horror stories do, with a text that came in during the witching hour: “She took the dog.” That was it. No punctuation. No context. Just those four words, carved into my phone like a ransom note from Hell. My old friend Danny—journalist, bourbon enthusiast, and optimist by mental defect—had finally joined the ranks of the…

The night started like all the best ones do: with a bad idea and an open tab. We were packed into a rideshare that smelled like Axe body spray and weed gummies, chasing that ancient American hunger for trouble—the kind you can't find on a screen or wrapped in a fucking podcast. No, what we were after was something primal,…

There’s something undeniably American about the strip club. It’s a strange, sordid blend of capitalism, lust, and the pursuit of the human experience in its rawest, unfiltered form. It’s a place where men (and women) come to spend their hard-earned cash, trying to find some form of satisfaction in the chaos of life. But there’s a certain magic to it.…

The whole damn thing used to be a private affair. A gritty, seedy slice of American life, where the beer was cold, the lights were low, and the women—those beautiful, tragic, electric creatures—offered up their bodies for a few dirty bills and a dozen quick glares from the leering crowd. It was sacred, in a way. But somewhere between…