Insincere

Insincere

If there’s one thing most escorts truly excel at…it’s lying. They might not have initially been so talented at the task…but practice has made perfect over time. When you lie to your family…and your friends…and your lovers about what you do for a living literally dozens of times every day, you get real good at it!

So I’m on the phone with the creme de la creme…a woman who’s the best of the best at the craft when she prefaces a statement thusly: “I won’t lie to you.” I’d like for all the people who use this phrase to think about what they’ve just said. If you begin a statement with the aforenoted phrase what you’re really saying is…”I usually lie but for a change, I’m going to tell you the truth.” Not good!

Given the obvious, why would anybody even use the phrase? Obviously, only idiots do. Generally, it’s drama queens trying to emphasize the importance of what they’re going to say. Whatever…this time I was ready – as she’s used the phrase one too many times in the past. I cut her off in mid sentence to respond “Stop right there. As soon as I hear that, I don’t care about the rest of what you have to say because in essence, you’re admitting what a liar you are. And it’s a huge turn off.”

Here’s my recommendation for all who’ve read this far. Whenever somebody opens a statement with “I’ll tell you the truth,”…stop them on the spot and say “Go fuck yourself, asshole. You just admitted you lie to me all the time. So unless you wanna pay me to listen to to this bull shit, get off my phone!”

Ya think they might take the cure? No way! Anybody stupid enough to use that expression is clueless and deluded in the first place. And if it’s a girl, she better be extremely skillful for you to even be dealing with her. I think you guys get the idea!

 

Well…I guess when it rains it pours. At least when it comes to closures. To answer the two questions posed by readers…here’s the news.

I spoke to the boss man at ADULT FAX and the word is that he’s uncomfortable with the explicit nature of the site and has decided to shut ‘er down. My response was of the understanding nature given the site’s content. Not a lot of plausible denial there! In its place, he’s starting up something along the lines of a sugar daddy site which he obviously feels leaves the man less exposed. Asked whether the current RENT BOY fiasco has anything to do with his decision, he answered no. But I wonder. Whatever…all traces of his site are off this one and that’s that.

Another reader or two noticed that MY ASIAN GFE‘s site also indicates that they’ve shut down as well. And so…I spoke to that owner and he informs me that the place has been sold. He was in the middle of some hassles with employees which were wearing him out when suddenly, somebody asked if he wanted to sell. Right time and right place for whomever. I got the idea that he sold the space more than the business as the site is down and the number hasn’t been forwarded though honestly, I’m sure I don’t know everything about the nature of the transaction. Nor do I know the new owner which generally means he or she won’t be on this blog…though you never know. Easy come…easy go. I’m not gonna sweat it as there’s nothing for me to do in either case.

Moving on…ASIAN PARADISE (347-256-8137) texted to inform me they have a new girl named AMI on staff. I have not seen her but I have seen REINA over at ROSE HOUSE (347-624-3305) recently and was impressed. Very solid and good looking girl! Reina looks like she could help me heft the soup crate onto the table over at St. Bart’s. And I mean that in a good way. Hubba hubba! Here are the two girls’ pix:

amymodel5_fs

reina4_fs

jean-pierre-lafont-hooker-times-squareTwo dating sites…one allegedly of the pay for play variety…and the other somewhere in a gray zone on that front, have recently sustained wounds that may render them lifeless in the near future. The first is ASHLEY MADISON…and the second is RENT BOY.

AM has been widely regarded as the world’s foremost cheater site. With a brilliant marketing plan, the organization has presented itself as an upscale and very private enterprise clearly directed at the CEO/Wall Streeter with an income deep into at least six figures. Then came the hackers. Inside employees warned the boss that the site’s security sucked but that didn’t seem to set off any alarms with the head honcho and soon enough, the site was accessed and now its secrets are spilling out all over web.

All those profiles of hot and horny babes who wanna fuck? Guess what! It looks like the great majority of them were conceived by professional writers posing as hot horny women. Now there’s a surprise! And forget about the fake profiles. I’ve always known that Adult Friend Finder has been a source of income for independent escorts I’ve dealt with in the past. So if you see a cute girl on a site of AFF’s ilk, she’s probably a pro!

Anybody who thinks amateur women go on these dating sites because they’re horny and want to hook up indiscriminately is kidding himself. Chicks like that hit the club and choose their prey. They don’t fuck around on loser dating sites! The only real ads belong to obese and/or extremely unattractive girls who are desperate for anybody to make love to them. Whatever and given all the circumstances…I think you can kiss Ashley good bye. The handwriting’s on the wall.

Moving on to site # 2, Rent Boy.a site that’s been around as long as Eros. They’ve been the #1 pay for play source for gay guys for almost 20 years! When I was in the center of the adult advertising world, I dealt with a few male escorts as well as many she males. I’ve certainly been aware of Rent Boy’s existence. The very fact that Rent Boy got raided and had their bank accounts seized bodes poorly for hetero sites like Eros with similar platforms.

You might defend Rent Boy (and Eros for that matter) with the standard “they’re just selling companionship.” You see those disclaimers all over adult directories. But go watch a “Law and Order” rerun and you’ll soon come to realize that when law enforcement wants somebody, they’ll go in the front door…the side door…or the back door to get him (or her). All of which means they’ll interpret some statute or other for their own purposes and make it stick regardless of whether their prosecution falls within the spirit of the enacted law.

And even if Rent Boy decides to contest the charges rather than plead out (which is what happens in 97% of Federal cases), it will cost them $250,000 to $500,000 in legal fees to “fight the good fight.” Only pure idealists like Al Goldstein fight that fight. And look what happened to that schmuck!  He died broke after squandering his millions on bull shit…and legal fees! Not a pretty prospect!

Ok! Enough of the thundercloud rhetoric. The AM thing is pretty much just a diversion to everybody except those whose cheating ways were revealed. But Rent Boy? That’s a whole ‘nother deal. In case you haven’t noticed, the initiative is federal. This Rent Boy case is no local bull shit. There will be more to come.

And finally, there’s one more consideration of which the Feds might not be aware. This pay for play business isn’t going anywhere. This is not a war they’re going to win. Guys wanna play. It’s in their DNA. It’s why the world has 7.3 billion inhabitants of the dominant species. And if the Feds aren’t careful, they’re gonna drive the business back into the street. And then it will be like the old days with scores of scantily clad women inhabiting the corners of 28th Street and Lexington…and 28th and 11th Avenue…and ye olde Bowery and Delancey. Ah! I harken back to my early cab driving days and the natural beauty I used to see several times a night. Just when I thought those halcyon days were dead and gone. Now I’m not so sure. Law enforcement just might bring them back!

It’s late and who wants to leave the house or wait for a girl to arrive when video chat with this and many other girls is just a few seconds away? Check it out! And every time you hit the refresh button, you’ll see a different girl. Or click the girl’s pic and the sound comes on.

train-heroes_23b82ae41e4a30b23073b0ebcbaa20e2.nbcnews-ux-2880-1000We’ve all heard the feel good story about the 4 Americans (one of them French-American) who foiled a terrorist/ would-be mass murderer on a train in France. But what nobody mentioned is what a morale-crushing/boosting moment – the most significant since the death of Bin laden – it truly was.

My and probably the world’s perception of America’s military might lies in superior technology and hardware more than it does in the fighting spirit of the soldiers themselves. We win our wars (or fight them anyway) at a distance with drones and monstrous ordnance. Hand to hand combat is mostly a thing of the past. And when civilian Americans were faced with it on 9/11, we failed miserably. I mean…where were all our gangbangers and thugs on that historic moment? One thing’s for sure: They weren’t on those planes (with the exception of one guy who objected during one of the highjackings and was immediately murdered). Yes, the passengers on the final plane did something – but it was only when they realized they had nothing to lose!

Enter the 4 guys on the French train. Faced with hand to hand combat with the enemy, these guys flew into action rather than cower. And they beat the enemy mano a mano. I know…it’s only one foiled terrorist and certainly not much in the great scheme of things. But for the first time since the outbreak of the “war on terror,” Americans vanquished the bad guys on even terms. In fact, it wasn’t on even terms. The wack job had guns and box cutters. The Americans only had their hands!

The message this sends to the world – and terrorists – is monumental. Before, Americans subdued the enemy with long range missiles and drones. Now, Uncle Sam’s boys can do it with their bare hands! This has to be a morale deflater for terrorists who prided themselves on being tougher than the soft infidels. I can’t imagine anybody in ISIS or Alcaeda would want to face off with an American who can disarm you…put you in a fucking headlock…beat you unconscious…and then plug two fingers into a wound in a victim’s body thereby stemming the flow of blood and saving the guy’s life – all while he himself was bleeding from slash wounds inflicted by the terrorist. That’s a pretty fucking brave guy. In fact, that’s a very brave guy.

Right now, I don’t think he understands exactly how important and symbolic his actions were. We see a lot of stupid action movies with Stallone and Willis serving up the drama. But this dude is the real thing. He’s a throwback mother fucker who has shown the world that the USA is capable of performing as it did back in WW II. And if he isn’t on the cover of Time and Newsweek magazines, somebody isn’t paying attention. His contribution to American pride and power worldwide is incalculable.

And personally…if the guy showed up in New York and wanted a session at any place on the sidebar, it would  be on me! And trust me…that says a lot right there!

Every so often a keen observer will catch a glimpse of a moment in time which defines New York. I have two I’d like to relate today. The first happened early Sunday morning – of all times.

Swingin’ nightlife type of guy that I am, 11 PM was beddy-bye time for this guy last Saturday night. I should mention that I don’t sleep on a schedule like most “normal” people. And that means I can nod off at 8 PM…awaken at 2 AM…and then stay up until at least dawn. There’s no predicting when I’ll pass out. I guess it’s one of retirement’s luxuries as for 15 years, I fought sleep deprivation in the name of supplying all the ads to all my customers in a timely fashion.

So anyway…I was up and wide awake at 7 AM this past Sunday and decided because it was such a perfect day, I’d ride to the GW Bridge and back – a trip I haven’t done once this entire summer. And as I’d hoped, it really was an excellent outing what with the weather and lack of traffic at that time of the morning.

Just past the 79th Street boat basin, I saw an old man up ahead feeding the ducks out of a paper bag. Ok! So nothing unusual about that! All sorts of old people feed pigeons and ducks bread crumbs wherever they (or you) are. But upon riding by the guy, I came to realize he was shoveling whole bagels out of the bag and into the water.

The offerings themselves looked like little lifesavers floating all around the ducks. For the ducks’ part, they quacked away bearing an expression that said “What? No lox or cream cheese? What kind of cheapskate breakfast is this?” Whatever…I couldn’t help but think to myself “Only in New York would an old man feed bagels to ducks! Nowhere else!” Too funny!

Moving on…I’m riding the subway this morning from way out in Queens (I had a hot overnight date). Having waited out rush hour, I succeeded in scoring my own two seater at the end of the car. Pretty civilized except…there was a paunchy little hispanic guy sitting across from me who began to clip his fingernails (bleccch) right on the train.

Now with most people, clipping your nails takes like two minutes and maybe 20 clips to complete the job. But not with this slob. Each fingernail rated at least 10 snips. And after each digit was trimmed to his satisfaction, the man whisked the detritus off his pot belly and onto the floor! Dude was hugely gross! And no shit…it took him from way out in Queens clear into Manhattan to get the job done. Snip, snip and  more snips. I wouldn’t be surprised if he hit 200 of them! Kind of odd given the guy’s appearance was totally disgusting. You’d think he was wearing an Armani suit given the care he took on his fingernails. Go figure. Still…another tender New York moment.

Enough! Time for a nap. As you can imagine, I didn’t get that much sleep last night.

A few days ago, I ran a repeat titled “The Bartender’s Boyfriend” in which I compared the futility of capturing an escort’s heart to the odds of similarly hypnotizing a Coyote Ugly or Village Idiot bartender. But I left out a funny personal story which should have been part in parcel of that entry. And so…I offer part two of “The Bartender’s Boyfriend.”

Despite the fact that I had nothing going for me to speak of save a job driving a cab, there was an occasional bartender who found me provocative. One of those precious few was a girl named Laurie, a regular drink slinger at the original Village Idiot. Laurie was born and raised on Woodhaven Boulevard in Queens by her mama and stepdaddy. I mention this because one of her teeth was a little cockeyed. I’d always wondered why daddy had never sprung for orthodonture given what a pretty little girl his daughter surely was. When I heard her stepdaddy was a truck driver, I figured it out! A perfect smile simply wasn’t in the family budget – especially when daughter Laurie wasn’t actually stepdaddy’s offspring.

Anyway…Laurie was a considerable hottie (that’s how she got hired as a regular bartender in a joint like The Idiot in the first place) but the kind of girl who would say shit like “Maria (her roomie and also a bartender) has huge tits. It really pisses me off.” And of course I would respond as I generally do with women who interest me and say crap like that…”Honey! God gave you plenty. Don’t worry about it for a second. You have enough guys beating a path to your door already!”

One of the things I liked about Laurie was she was tough and direct! At one point in our acquaintance…and after she had taken on a boyfriend from the customer base…Laurie confessed to me “Actually, you were my second choice.” “Really?!?! Does that mean I get to hold the other guy’s balls while he fucks you?”…would have been the perfect comeback.

So one night at some point later, Laurie followed me home after quittin’ time. I don’t think it was about us getting it on particularly. But it could have gone that way if not that night…maybe a few later. Everything was going fine and after a few or several minutes, I excused myself to do what beer drinkers do (take a leak). And when I got back, Laurie was noticeably uncomfortable and almost demanded I walk her to a cab. Which I did…gentleman that I am. Of course, I asked if she was ok but whatever had happened in those two minutes…she wasn’t letting on.

Back in my crib, I decided to sit exactly where Laurie sat to pretend I was she for the two minutes I was in the john. Maybe I could catch a hint of what the fuck happened. And as I looked to my left, there it was: One of the very few dirty movies I owned. And guess what the title was: BREAST BANGERS! OY!

Laurie had no way of knowing that the real reason I’d bought that particular video had more to do with its price than theme. (“Like yo…it was on sale for three bucks down at Wankers ‘R’ Us because it had no outer box. Honey! Be reasonable!”) But of course, that wouldn’t be the inference she drew. All recogmnized was a guy who was hiding a special appreciation for large breasts – as she suspected all men did!

I felt really bad. Not just for her…but for me as well. I’d have been happy, lucky and proud to be Laurie’s boyfriend – breast size notwithstanding. And here it was my parsimony – and not my predilection for udderly amazing chicks – that had blown the entire deal. Talk about a fucking maroon (me)!

We stayed friends before Laurie drifted away to tend bar out of the neighborhood but clearly, I lost my chance at a romance. And trust me…she never came over to visit at 4 AM ever again. To think I was almost the bartender’s boyfriend…but a breast banger boondoggle blew my chances. Oh well!

I’m currently in the middle of a book written by a stand-up comic/journeyman actor named Fred Stoller who describes his career as basically consisting of cameo appearances on 70 something sitcoms, never quite achieving his goal – that of actually starring in one. In pursuit of his dreams, Fred has been humiliated or failed miserably on more than one occasion. It’s not that I can relate to Fred as I’m not an actor…but reading his book did remind me of one disastrous experience I had long ago in his realm.

I know I’ve mentioned my days as ad salesman and editorial contributor to an egregious taxi rag – and that its owner and publisher sent copies of the newspaper to all the New York media outlets in his quest to attain fame and notoriety. And to a certain extent, his effort worked. We at the office became go-to media sources on anything taxi-related.

So one day, a Hollywood guy contacted the paper looking for a taxi driver to be a guest commentator on a talk show pilot named HE SAYS SHE SAYS. The discussion was to be centered around why women drive like shit and of course, what better guest to have than a New York taxi driver…a clear authority on the subject? There would be a give and take between men and women on the panel as to whether there was any truth to the mythology. You get the idea.

This was a long time ago so I can’t really remember all the details…but I do recall relating an anecdote (to the producer on the phone) in which I was stuck in traffic on 6th Avenue during one rush hour observing a totally oblivious woman blocking “the box”…and thinking “look at this moron woman” only to realize it was my mother! He loved the story (by the way, it was true) and immediately offered me a ticket to go out to California for the taping. While it didn’t pay, you know this was a big deal for a lowly cabby. And I jumped at the chance.

And so…a few days later, I boarded a plane and met my chauffeur at the airport who drove me to a nice enough hotel where I’d be staying for a few days while all this got worked out, rehearsed and taped. I don’t remember much activity beyond visiting Venice Beach (I think mostly I drank beer with my driver) but I do recall (vividly) the moment I stood in the wings for the actual taping.

I’d done a fair number of appearances on Manhattan Neighborhood Network Channel 35 as a guest on my boss’s Taxi Talk show…and had been fine. But that was in a studio in front of nobody. Somehow…and for some reason I’ll never quite understand…I got the worst bout of stage fright ever as I waited in the wings to come on stage.

Whatever…I managed to get to my seat without fainting to tell me story (which elicited just a few tepid laughs owing to my horrible delivery)…and then contributed virtually nothing for the rest of the show. A sculpture could have done a better job! It was awful! All I wanted was off that set! The show was stupid…and I was mortified!

The producer who was initially enthusiastic about having me as a guest, said nothing to me afterword. And I was not invited to the big party he’d promised everybody would be attending after the show wrapped. I had a fair idea why!

Fortunately, I did retain my driver and ticket home, and returned the next day to resume my duties as salesman, reporter and most of all taxi driver. Whew! What a fucking disaster! Boy was I happy to be home and stuck in traffic where I clearly belonged. So much for my 15 minutes of fame – which turned out to be 15 minutes of stark humiliation and terror.

If the pilot or show ever aired I don’t know. And if it had, you can be sure I’d have been 1000 miles from a TV set. Brutal is the only work I can use to best describe the experience.

urlI’ve always said that this blog can never go viral because of the very nature of the beast. It’s at once every man’s and the “everyman’s” dirty little secret. Who ya gonna tell? Your wife? Your kids? Ok, maybe your buddies. But then you have to worry if they can be trusted with the secret.

So yesterday, I received a second email from a guy who claims that some of the stories I’ve written on this blog have so inspired him that he is now writing his own blog – and wanted me to check it out as I’m a “real” writer.

Somewhat embarrassed about not reading anything from his website after the first solicitation, I followed the link to discover that the guy is really good – and that his descriptions of life in New York 50 years ago are both vivid and evocative. It just may be that he’s the writer and not me!

Impressed with his writing, I emailed back that I planned on dedicating today’s entry to him, essentially giving the guy a free ad/boost by endorsing his effort and providing a link to his site. I mean…the dude is good…and he’s a big fan. Seems like the right thing to do. His response was enthusiastic enough…but the man emphasized that I couldn’t reveal him as a reader of this blog!

What the fuck, dude! Ya see…right there is why this blog will never go viral. I’m this guy’s dirty little secret. Just like I thunk! My response to that request is this: You can’t have your cake and eat it, too. And so…you get your writeup and endorsement all right. But no link…which kind of defeats the purpose.

Hey! If you like to “see” escorts for fun and therapy…you’re gonna have to “own” it in Dollar Billville. That or nobody gets led your way. I don’t find that unfair at all. Still, I wish the guy luck. But without  revealing that this talented blogger is a reader of this blog itself, the whole deal turns to mud. What can I say? He made his decision. Now both he and his effort stay in the closet.

tumblr_me3rv12GiJ1rhfs07o1_500Back when I was the neighborhood cab driver, there were just a few places you could find me. I was either driving…sleeping…fishing…hunkered down in a lap dance joint…or hanging out in an East Village bar tryin’ to get laid. And as a regular at Downtown Beirut, The Village Idiot and later…The Coyote Ugly, I was friendly with most of the bartenders, all of whom were pretty hot (that’s why they got hired). We had a lot in common. Like…we were all in the service industry – and all had stories about horrible customers who drove us to distraction. We were colleagues of a sort. Plus, I drove a lot of them home at 5 AM!

Anyway…I used to love watching these girls operate – working their magic on all the patrons. There must have been 50 guys who would tip lavishly hoping against all odds that they would be that one dude who’d become the bartender’s boyfriend. I knew pushing the issue with any of these girls was a waste of time. But the 50 guys didn’t. They might as well have played the lottery with their gratuities. They’d have had a better chance at winning a million bucks than the heart of one of those stone cold drink-slingers!

Those days are long gone for me but just recently, a random event at one of my friend’s places of business brought back the memories. The girl I was visiting is a crowd favorite on the review boards. Guys rave about her performance constantly, and I can tell some have developed a little crush on Miss Honey. During our visit, the girl’s phone rang with her super on the other end calling to say he’d be arriving Monday morning at 10 AM to paint her apartment. So I asked the benign question “You live in Flushing like everybody else?” But she responded “No…Los Angeles,” and then shoved her phone in my face to show me a photo of some nondescript guy. I looked up to see the face of a little girl in love and I knew THIS WAS THE BARTENDER’S BOYFRIEND! He may have been 3000 miles away. And she may be an escort “entertaining” multiple guys per day. But nobody or nothing really has a grip on her heart except this nondescript guy. And it brought me back to the parallel world of those bodacious bartenders…all the guys who frothed for them…and the lucky buckeroo who somehow lassoed one of their hearts.

I tell this as a cautionary tale to those who would think that their interaction with the girls is anything beyond the obvious. Yes, a lucky guy could occasionally hit the lottery and live the dream. But consider the prize – which more often than not is an overused vehicle – loaded with baggage – traveling down the road on treadless tires. A slippery slope indeed, I’m sure we can all agree. Hence, I repeat. Have your fun and then just leave it at that. On balance, you’ll be better off for your level-headed discretion. Lust can often be taken for love by a testosterone-fueled fool – whether he’s hitting on an East Village bartender – or dropping 200 bucks at an incall. Just my two cents for what is for me a sleepy Thursday.

At this point in my life, only a few things define me. This blog is first…and volunteer work is second. My love of hiking and the country is third. But today, I talk about the second, pursuant to a “compliment” I received just a couple of days ago.

I volunteer at two places. One is downtown in my neighborhood…and the other is smack dab in Midtown just feet from the Waldorf and the fancy office buildings that surround it. The volunteer  group at the two places couldn’t be any more different. Downtown on Avenue A, 99% of the volunteers have jobs – unless they’re retired. There is a corps of regulars like me…and a group of itinerants most of whom work for Goldman Sachs or other corporations in the financial “services” industry.

You can tell these people a mile away – even if you’re not a regular. They’re grouped-together volunteers  all wearing t-shirts displaying the corporate logo. And they invariably stand as a unit at some point while one of the group snaps a cell phone pic to document their good deed. I call them the weekend warriors of volunteerism. But if it sounds like I look down my jewish nose at their ilk, I really don’t. As one of the “officers” in the volunteer army, I know the organization needs them. There are days we would really be in trouble without their attendance.

Uptown at St. Bart’s, the volunteers are mostly unemployed. Only a few of us are of financial means. Carrie and Magdeleen preach the gospel, helping wherever they can. Magdeleen was a piece of shit Wall Streeter until she found her way. She now devotes her entire life to helping those less fortunate than she. I consider her copiously capitalized in a realm where money matters not. There is a smattering of other church type ladies who show up occasionally – all of whom are very nice. Volunteers from the corporate world are few and far between. They only show up occasionally when their bosses who support the church tell them to.

Then there’s the black crew. Bernardette is a Caribbean woman in her 50’s with the face of a 20 something girl and a big round booty. She’s some sort of intern at this late stage of her life and works not just hard – but efficiently as well. I love Bernie. But I don’t want to date her (which she does me oddly enough). She has a small chest and a fat stomach. And her accent is so thick, I have difficulty understanding her. But just because I don’t want to mount her doesn’t mean I don’t have love for Bernadette. She’s a quality individual for whom I have a lot of respect.

Then there’s a segment of volunteers who are either homeless or living in government-sponsored housing. They have no work and congregate daily more to cherry pick the best food for themselves than to actually contribute to the effort. You come to St. Bart’s you’ll find them either eating while the other volunteers work…or just sitting behind a table doing a half-assed job of something.

Dino exemplifies that group of volunteers and is the most curious of their faction. He is a perfect example of black superiority. Dino is good-looking, intelligent, and a body-builder with biceps the size of my legs. He’s also the laziest son-of-a-bitch I’ve ever met in my life. In fact, he’s become the poster boy for layabouts among the volunteers. Initially, I didn’t like how he jayhawked the best food and did nothing for the cause. But then I decided the reason I go to St. Bart’s isn’t to criticize lazy people. If Dino wants to be that way, it’s his business – and not mine.

Whatever…Dino has a love for 80’s r & b and frequently sings semi-obscure songs in falsetto. And because I was in the music business at the time, I know the name and performing artist of virtually every song he sings. And thus, despite the fact that I don’t approve of his poor work ethic, we’ve become friends.

A couple of days ago while I was doing something constructive and he was mostly watching, Dino asked me “Hey man! Are you Section 8?” Now most people of means would not consider a question like that a compliment as it implies that the questioner considers the questionee to be an on-the-dole loser. (By the way…if you don’t know…Section 8 is a government provision which provides free housing to indigents.) But I didn’t see it that way at all.

What Dino was really saying (at least in my interpretation) was something along the lines of “You’re a down brother despite your beige exterior. You know too much about the street and black culture to be in the work force.” It was almost like he addressed me thusly: “Wassup, my nizzle?”

And at that moment, today’s entry was born. I could have taken it as an insult and fired back something like “I would never be on the dole. What do you take me for?”…and stomped off in indignation. But for whatever reason, that wasn’t my reaction. I thought it was kind of funny!

I rewind back to my extreme youth…to a moment when I couldn’t have been more than 10 years old. I was sitting on my mother’s bed with her by my side. We were talking about something or other and out of nowhere, she commented “We must have somebody black in our ancestry for you to be the way you are.” Mom didn’t really say it with admiration. I think it was more about “I cannot control you. You’re such a wild child.” More an exclamation of frustration.

Whatever it was…or is…is almost irrelevant at this point. At age 65, the die is cast. I am who I am…a guy who takes it as a compliment when a black volunteer asks him if he’s Section 8. The end.

8154339916_74521caed2I know. You must all think I’ve gone mad with this one. But check it out! For those foreigners reading this blog (or just incredibly uneducated Americans), Walt Whitman is one of our country’s most treasured poets. His career began in the “Fiery Fifties” (1850’s) and his reputation and fame built until the day he died in 1892 (and maybe even further). Now that I’ve given y’all the historical background, here goes with the connection.

Back in those days, there was no “media” as we know it. There was only one medium…print. As such, newspapers and magazines were in amazing abundance. And Whitman, whose early self-published works bombed with everybody except Ralph Waldo Emerson, was forced to write for newspapers to earn a meager living. During his employment at one of those publications, Whitman was fired for writing a couple of editorials one of which championed a woman’s right to premarital sex, while the other suggested that prostitutes should be licensed. Some 150 years later, women fuck like crazy (hard to find a virgin bride nowadays) and American society is just beginning to license prostitutes…though we’re a long way away. Pretty forward thinking if you ask me!

But here’s the Jewels connection that really blew my mind: Eighteen fifties New York saw the birth of the American Bohemian movement. Think beatniks or hippies – only 150 years ago. Not a lot different. In fact…not different at all. Bohemians formed a counterculture of dissolute writers, poets, painters, playwrights, sculptors and the like. They’d sit around at bars and drink whiskey or super strong coffee all night trading barbs and/or displaying their work for the others’ edification.

Just as disco’s ground zero was Studio 54…and folkies congregated at the Bitter End or Cafe Wha in the Village, Bohemians had their own land mark location. It was an underground joint called Pfaff’s Saloon. And guess where it was located! Yup! Directly under the current Jewels of New York location. I kid you not.

Of course, Jewels of New York is hardly the stuff of legend. It’s not like Jewels is the first of its kind. But still…the whole idea that much of Whitman’s early career was spent whiling away the hours below the current Jewels spot…and that he had these revolutionary views on women boggles the mind. And I just thought I’d mention it today. Imagine if the Bohemians had Jewels right above them back in the Fiery Fifties! Pfaff’s wouldn’t be quite as packed I’m guessing. But maybe not. The boys were mostly broke. They wouldn’t  be able to afford the toll.

Anyway…there’s my Sheldon Cooper fun fact for the day. I hope  you enjoyed.

Talk about a bonanza! Three posts in one day! There’s a reason why (at least for the third). I just got a call from LOVELY ASIAN (212-470-0409) informing me that the one and only SHA SHA has landed at their house. And I say “landed” because Sha Sha is surely a butterfly of love. The girl may have her champions and detractors but one thing is for sure…she’s a pro from head to toe! There isn’t a cell on her body that isn’t done up in deference to her admirers – who are legion. If you don’t recall…here she is!

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I’ve mentioned before that the way to a K-girl’s heart is through her culture. And if you want to know that culture, I offer K-pop music as the best and quickest insight. Pursuant to that thought, I offer a 20 minute video of the current top 50 K-pop hits.

A little homogeneous if you ask me. Ya know…like they all sound and look remarkably the same. Still…they’re all pretty good. And the guys? That’s what the girls think is hot. Clearly, we are not! Whatever…knowing the genre couldn’t hurt. Here’s your top 50. Enjoy!

While there are a couple in there I like…I gotta go with the following as an example of the superior songwriting Nashville is famous for. In the song’s story, dad and Eric (Church) make a deal. After high school graduation, he and his boys can take a road trip to Talladega Speedway in dad’s Winnebago if they can clean it up and get it running. Which they do. And the trip becomes a sweet memory for the man in the beginning of the video lying on his deathbed with heart monitors beeping. In essence, Talladega becomes a metaphor for lost youth.

A lot of people think country western music is for retards and it’s about nothing but beer and trucks and redneckin’. And in truth, a lot of it is! But every musical genre is 95% bull shit when you think about it. And it’s the 5% you live for – if music moves you the way it does me!

Eric Church has another tune called “Wrecking Ball” about what he’s gonna do when he gets home from the road (love his baby like a wrecking ball. Ya know…the walls may fall). Church’s music is more rock and roll than country. But the sound of his voice and the lyrics make him pure outlaw country regardless. Dude is the real deal…no question about it! Here we go.

And of course…where would country western be without their down home clever little ditties. “I Could Buy Me a Boat” fits the bill perfectly. No explanation required. Just check out the video. And happy Monday if you’re stuck in the burning metropolis.

The world is full of whores. Of that there can be no doubt. For every person of high moral fiber, there are 100 who’ll commit all manner of ethical indiscretions in the name of greed and avarice. For every Ghandi, there’s  a money-grubbing prostitute willing to compromise everything in pursuit of the Golden Idol. We need only look toward Wall Street to see some of the richest and nefarious flatbackers mankind has ever known.

But this is way too grand a scale for me to ponder given my station in life. I leave the real whores for somebody else to ponder. I’ll stick with escorts for the moment. The fact that I see them as more upfront and less whorish than the majority is of no consequence for I am nothing in the great stream of things.

This entry is about dignity. And I maintain that a girl who leaves her customers satisfied has much more than say a dentist who tells his patient he has 20 cavities when he has but one. Or a mechanic who pretends you need a new transmission when a quart of fluid is all that’s required to fix the problem. Or a stockbroker who sells you into a fund he knows is dog shit just to make a commission. Or…on and on and on.

But for whatever reason, society disagrees. It views escort work as immoral and undignified. That’s why they call them whores! Such a nasty yet descriptive word! But what’s so wrong with providing a much needed service? Nothing in my estimation. Any job worth doing is a job worth doing well…especially when it’s in the therapeutic realm. Getting your tooth filled properly is satisfying. Ditto for having what’s actually wrong with your car repaired at a reasonable price. But an hour with a good escort who takes pride in her work? No comparison for most guys who read this blog. You don’t think back and reminisce about your mechanic making your car run smoothly – or you dentist fixing your teeth. But a good experience with an escort? A lifetime of daydreaming nostalgia!

To the point! I’ve known a lot of escorts who provided superior service far exceeding a regular girl’s performance or enthusiasm. But somehow once out of the room, the girl’s life falls apart completely! That hour she’s with her client the woman excels. But once out of her eminent domain? OMG!! Pimpish boyfriends? Bad living situations? Substance problems? Desperate financial straits? They too are the domain of way too many escorts.

You’d think given the money they make, you’d find a multitude of women living a rich, cultured and comfortable life outside of their work. But those escorts are in the distinct minority! How do you make well into six figures per year and be homeless? Now that’s a trick at which escorts excel!

And it’s really a shame. A lot of the girls I’ve known aren’t bad people. And they’re not bad-looking. And they’re good at what they do. But success in life according to the usual yardsticks – or any yardstick? Disaster! I guess it’s because of the stigma attached to their career choice. Or maybe they’re just losers – and that’s why they do what they do.

Whatever…it’s a shame that so many otherwise attractive women lead such undignified existences. It’s a big turn off. With the cash they make…it would be really easy to set themselves up nicely. But most don’t. No amount of coaching seems to help. It is what it is and it just may never change. What are ya gonna do?

 

It’s Dollar Bill Sunday Morning. And that means a repeat (At least today, it does.) Following is how I got into the adult advertising business. Hint: It wasn’t from being a customer!

Though it was almost 19 years ago, I can still remember as if it were yesterday my first day as an Action Magazine employee. How I got that job is a story in itself. So let me start there.

My boy Mikey was an old school Irish cabby. Born and bred in Queens, he was the type of taxi driver who worked as little as possible. In fact, Mikey was the laziest guy I’ve ever known. But he had an opinion about everything…and a blind entrepreneurial spirit which led him to publish a lefty taxi rag which screamed “Fuck the TLC” (Taxi and Limousine Commission) on virtually every page. 

One day I met up with Mikey and told him some road story or other whereupon he responded that if I could type the anecdote up in three double-spaced pages, he’d give me 50 bucks and put it in his paper. And thus a writer was born…or reborn! I’d been the Sport Editor of my high school paper but really hadn’t written a thing save college papers since.

Mikey used to put g-rated shots of bikini-clad girls in his paper and call them “Miss Taxi Talk”…and actually sold the space opposite those cheesecake photos at a premium. Those pix were what all the cab drivers looked at when they picked up the paper. Seeking recognition, fame and fortune, Fizelle (what I called Mikey sometimes) distributed his paper all over the city – and even sent copies to all the Big Apple’s radio/tv stations and print media.

One day, an employee of a big phone sex operator saw the paper and noticed a lack of 900 numbers on the Miss Taxi Talks. Seeing an opportunity, that employee’s boss called Mikey and requested he come to his office in the Empire State Building to discuss a prospective partnership wherein he would supply the numbers and infrastructure and they would split the profits. At the time, phone sex was making big money.

After meeting up with the guy, Mikey declined the offer but gave me Ted’s contact info so I could double back and solicit the porn icon on the editorial front. In addition to running his phone sex empire, Ted was also publishing titles like “Sexy New York” and “Paradise” magazines and I at the time was about writing for every men’s sophisticate publication who would pay me for my wanton taxi prose.

And soo…I scored some freelance work and became friendly with one of the secretaries who forwarded me to Action magazine, a Philadelphia publication looking for a New York writer. After authoring several features for the paper…and getting to know the boss’s son, the company offered me full time employment writing, collecting and selling for the paper. And that’s how I got the job.

Now to the first day! I really had no idea what to expect as I’d never been to an incall in my life previously! Task #1 was to meet Howard (the ace salesman at the company) at 55th and 3rd Avenue. I’d be trailing along with “the man” to get my feet wet. 

First stop was a body rub joint which to my recollection is in the same apartment that currently houses Olga’s (the Russian spot that’s on the sidebar). I wasn’t overly impressed. The place seemed confined and dusty and the guy who owned it was kind of a sleaze bag. He pretended to be a DJ, claiming he was just moonlighting in the body rub business. I had my doubts. 

The girls themselves weren’t too bad. I actually made a date with one to hang out at The Beauty Bar on 14th Street later that night. But I didn’t go as it turned out. I was too pooped when the time came.

Anyway…from there, we hit a grimy little spot inhabited by a couple of gross latina hoochies who talked about nothing but a recent near miss with a vice cop. Gross! I was starting to get nauseated by the whole deal and began wondering if I wouldn’t be better served back behind the wheel of a taxi. These people were creeping me out!

Deeper into the belly of the beast went Howard and me at Asian Heaven, a total rip off joint staffed with some of the loudest, rudest and unappealing Asian girls ever! Blcccch! So far not so good. I was really getting ready to bolt. 

But then we got to Corporate Treasures, a three floor mega house located at 33rd Street and Second Avenue. This was much different. The operation looked very professional and the staff attractive though admittedly, a little rough around the edges. I was instructed to pick a girl and follow her to the room! Now we’re talkin’. 

To be truthful, I was pretty nervous what with being overwhelmed by the seething netherworld into which I’d been thrust! The girl I chose was actually a caucasian blonde weight lifter (go figure). The session went well enough. I’d been baptized. I was now officially an Action man! 

On to the last stop…the legendary Tiffany’s. Howard definitely saved the best for last. Her place was completely different from all the others. First, she was in the Carnegie Mews, a fancy high-rise in Midtown. The apartment itself was spotless. Soft jazz played on the radio and the expensive shag carpeting caressed my feet as we entered. 

Hot Brazilian girls were milling about in between customers mostly competing for who’d had the most orgasms that day. And Tiffany was a complete nut – in a good way. Determined to blow the new guy’s mind, she flashed her tits at me and then told a story about bringing a guy to ecstasy by relating a fantasy about her…a dog…and a horse! This was Stanley Kubrick all the way.

Being the most generous and money-making madam in the magazine, Tiffany threw me a 20 as a tip for which I did absolutely nothing. It was just her way of welcoming me to the fray!

Having done the day’s visits with Howard, I headed home to write a 3000 word story about my experience with the weight lifter. Appropriately, I called the piece “The Power Jerk.” Infer what you will!

That was my first day on the job…and it’s been all downhill from there. I continued driving a cab every other Sunday just to stay in my old world but sooner than later, I let the hack license expire and dove in headlong. Taxi-driving was my past. Adult advertising was my present and future. 

I don’t know why I relate this today. I sat for literally 30 minutes in front of my computer trying to figure out something to write about. And this is what I came up with!

But before I go…LOVELY ASIAN (212-470-0409) has a new girl named JENNIFER. She’s a tall and slinky beauty who I did not meet as she was fast asleep when I arrived yesterday. But I like her picture!

 

anthonys-nose-0.jpg.910x580_q95_crop-topWhat’s wrong with me? Why do I turn everything into sex? Am I a pervert? Pfff! Why would I even ask that question? (Actually, I’m not. I just like pretty girls and sex regardless of my advancing years.)

So anyway…I was looking for new hikes through pristine wilderness that are reachable by public transportation. And with a little research, I discovered that the mountaintop across the river from Bear Mountain has a blazed trail…and is actually a fairly popular Hudson Valley hike. The problem is that the train to Manitou (where you pick up the trail) only runs on weekends. And as I’ve said before…I’m not into doing anything at peak times if I can possibly avoid it.

But the Internet always has several references on anything…and I came to realize that the trail head for Anthony’s Nose (the actual name of the aforementioned mountain…not Anthony’s Ho’s) is (supposedly) just .2 miles from the foot of the other side of the Bear Mountain Bridge. And that meant if I took the Bear Mountain bus, the trail head would be just a 2 to 3 mile hike from the bus stop, a lot of which would be crossing over the Hudson on a bridge with fantastic views.

So I figured “what the hell!” It was a good move. Walking a couple of miles in the country is significantly different than doing the same in the city. For one, there are no people to avoid coming the other way…and no geezers/shufflers to slow you down. And maybe even more important…there are no lights for which you have to stop. Thus, straight line/no elevation gain walks in the country are quicker and take less  energy.

Anyway…the day was beautiful and I was on my way to Port Authority with water, trail mix and a few grains of pot to reward myself when I reached the peak of Anthony’s Ho’s. Two minutes into the bus ride it occurred to me that I hadn’t brought a lighter. Uh oh! This could be a potless journey! Now I generally bring a little herb for hikes and often don’t even dabble. But still…I like to have it just in case the mood strikes.

Now 20 or 30 years ago, this wouldn’t have been a problem. I could have scored a book of matches at the bar, front desk or souvenir shop at the Bear Mountain Inn. But guess what! Total strike out! Not one book of matches anywhere at the fancy hotel. As I said…not a big deal, I simply mention this to emphasize how changed our world has truly become when it comes to the evil weed. And I ain’t talkin’ marijuana. I’m talking tobacco!

And here’s a Sheldon Cooper fun fact for the day: The Jamestown colony was originally financed by private investors hoping to make millions as the Spanish had in South America when the settlers found spices or precious metals. But guess what! The Jamestown crew found neither. Mostly they just suffered and died the first few years. Finally, after the majority of the investors wrote off a horrible speculation, the remaining stalwarts amortized the train wreck by cultivating (drum roll) tobacco. Yup! They figured tobacco was kind of cool. And if they could get Europe addicted to the crap they might be able to recoup their losses in that manner. Drugs being what they are (and make no mistake about it…tobacco is a drug…and a much more deleterious one than marijuana)…Europe got hooked and the Jamestown colony survived. So you could say that drugs helped Europeans establish a presence in the New World.OK! Enough with the fucking history for Chrissakes!

As it turned out, the trail head for Anthony’s Nose was more than .2 miles from the foot of the other side of the Bear Mountain Bridge. But not by much. The trail is clearly marked…and not nearly as strenuous as the Major Welch Trail up Bear Mountain. And as with every Hudson Valley hike I’ve  taken, the views from the top are magnificent. Witnesseth:

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There was plenty of time to ascend the mountain…gasp at the wonder of mother nature from the top…talk to whoever was up there with me…descend at a leisurely pace…stop for 15 minutes to talk with a Grizzly Adams looking guy who was in the process of hiking the entire Appalachian Trail…and even walk around Hessian Lake before it was time to catch the bus back. Really…it was a totally awesome day.

On the way back – all alone in the back of a freezing bus, I wondered “Exactly what is it I so love about gorgeous mountain views and gorgeous-looking women?” And I decided both encompass a love of mother nature. Whether it’s in the form of an astounding woman…or an amazing view of the equally astounding planet we inhabit…there’s no difference.

Whatever…given that it’s Saturday, I’ll be observing the beauty of indigent city dwellers either down on their luck or just plain lazy today. Yeah, I know. It’s a stretch to find beauty in bums. But the children are the silver lining. We don’t get a lot of them. But when we do…they always seem to be super cute. And I always give them extra. After all…it’s not their fault they’re on a soup line at age 6. Might as well make it a happy experience for the tots.

Maybe Monday will be a beautiful day and I can go back and check out Anthony’s Ho’s once again. But for now, it’s City Slicker Bill for the weekend.

unbalanced-scale-of-justice-vector-1805890With nothing of substance to report today, I wax autobiographical with a story about  my failed music biz career coupled with my first bike disaster. I’ve written about music and bikes fairly voluminously on this blog.  But never did the two meet in one entry until today.

Nineteen eighty two was a bad year for musicians and arrangers. The breakout single PLANET ROCK changed everything. Before that song, live musicians and arrangers could make a living. Afterwards? Not so much.

I hated Planet Rock not just because it put me out of work…but because it was a piece of crap musically. Whatever melody there was had been sampled from other records…and there was no harmony, lyrics or vocals to speak of. It just didn’t appeal to me or any of the songwriters I knew. But that was irrelevant. The “kids” loved and bought it by the thousands. And that’s all that mattered.

Faced with this reality, I decided to record rap records exclusively. I’d produced one early on (before Planet Rock) which had earned me a phat advance. Plus, recording it was fun. I’d hired a real band…real horn players…and real background vocalists. But after Planet Rock, rappers abandoned music tracks and simply constructed beats, noises and samples as backing for the chant. Not really for me but I wanted to adapt and so I did.

At the time, I was on the road as a Starlighter with Joey Dee, a sawed-off asshole who’d had the number 11 hit of 1961 with “The Peppermint Twist” and was still working the oldies circuit with an unspeakably bad band backing him on the road. I became one of those unspeakably bad musicians for a summer. I should mention that back then, I did anything to get out of New York for the summer…including playing with a horrible oldies band.

The saving grace of Joey and his repulsively provincial entourage was his 13 year old kid Louie. He was the only fun guy on the entire tour…and we developed a bromance that was the envy of most of the band. Louie was a huge rap fan. He just loved Dougie Fresh and never tired of rapping “Lahty Dotty…we like to pahty.” Everything was fresh with Lou and on one bus ride, I sat him down to write a rap called “Get Fresh Boy.” In truth, it was mostly written by me, but I gave Lou credit and recorded the piece of crap as soon as we had a break from touring. I needed a rapper and turned to the daughter of a friend to get the job done. Soon I had a tape to shop at the many indy record labels in New York.

Will Socolov of Sleeping Bag and Fresh Records, a company which was doing well with not just rap but street r & b, turned the record down but advised “Billy! I’m gonna show you how to put this out yourself…and give you the names of a few distributors and one-stops who’ll buy it for cash. You’ll get your money back. I promise you.”

Initially, I wasn’t really interested. But after a few more labels turned my production down, I reconsidered and pressed the recording into my own record. Avenue B Records was born and within a few weeks of its release, “Get Fresh Boy” was getting  a little buzz. Miraculously, two record companies called expressing interest in picking up the record on the same day! I count that day as one of the top ten in my life. Imagine having everybody reject your work only to change their minds when you took the initiative to release the record yourself and create some interest!

And so Emergency Records which had a big hit with Shannon…and Tommy Boy Records which was well-established after releasing (drum roll) Planet Rock were on my phone. I’d recouped my investment…actually profited near $1000…and was booked to go back on the road. And thus, I wanted to unload the dog  ASAP. In fact, I hated the record and hated recording it. I was just prostituting myself to stay in the music business. And I knew that producing rap was the way!

Tommy Boy was taking its sweet time with the negotiations while Emergency acted with more urgency. So I gave it to them but quickly realized they really couldn’t give a shit about the record. The company had simply acquired the dog with fleas to fulfill some foreign obligations. After “Let The Music Play” became a big hit, Emergency had signed lucrative deals with foreign countries and needed to forward those territories a certain number of records to fulfill a quota of product pursuant to the advance they’d received. Given that I’d already made money on the record and was about to go back on the road, I simply gave it up for a big royalty but no advance.

Maybe a month later, I returned to New York and coincidentally, bought a brand new Panasonic ten speed. A DJ I knew had turned me onto the pleasures of biking New York and I was anxious to have my own iron steed. Unfortunately, I was not aware that New York City was the bike theft capital of the world and bought a cheesy little lock without thinking. And you know what’s coming next!

I rode my new bicycle for just about a week without incident. And then one day, Emergency called up to give me a $100 advance on the publishing rights to our new release. Jazzed that I was about to add another Benji in profit to the misbegotten adventure into record company ownership, I accepted their offer (remember, I hated the record) and rode over to pick up the check. Fifteen minutes later, I walked out to discover that you got it…the bike was gone. Only the severed lock remained.

I couldn’t believe it. I finally got that cheapskate Sergio to get off of a hundred bucks and what happens? Some suck dick bike thief steals my hundred dollar ride in the process!  Talk about the scales of injustice! 

Bottom line…the  record went nowhere  and did nothing after I unloaded it on Emergency. But sure enough, it was released in Holland and Germany and used to fulfill foreign obligations just as I’d suspected. And I don’t  think (not sure) I ever spoke to anybody at Emergency ever again. Even though I’d made almost a grand on the project, I’d worked like a dog earning that thousand bucks and was not in the least fulfilled spiritually or artistically in any way by doing so.

Bolstered by the meager profits I’d made, I actually released yet another piece of crap which was equally as odious…and only earned myself $500 for another herculean effort. Then I made a “music” record I liked and of course took a financial bath on it. And that was it. Goodbye music business. Following is the original piece of shit “Get Fresh Boy” which some DJ in his lack of wisdom, posted on You Tube. Listening back, the record stands the test of time. It’s just as bad now as it was then. Not a big surprise.

As promised yesterday, one of the two girls who wants her own ad actually came through! Go figure. At first she tried to use fake pix…which made no sense to me given the girl is actually naturally blessed. Why use fake pix when the real ones are excellent?  Anyway…with a little “coercion,” (as in…no real pix no ad)…I finally got the real deal.

As I said, LUNA (347-256-8137) is a pretty girl with an all natural and very cute body! She kind of has a throwback feel a la the old Rainbow girls what with her deep tan. Anybody remember when almost all the K-girls went tanning and were this deep bronze color? I sure do.

Whatever, Luna is very flirtatious and curvy. She got a rise out of me and at this point, that says something! So without further ado…here’s LUNA! Personally, I like the third photo best. But I understand it doesn’t show a lot. But then again…I’ve seen her and it fits her personality. Again…these are the real deal! Just to clarify!

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Before I go…a note about comments. Sometimes those of the real variety get lost in the deluge of spam (which at this point numbers 11,681). So be patient. Feel free to comment. I’m working on how to filter out all the crap.

Not a whole lot, really. I mean…it has no mountains, lakes or streams. Central Park isn’t bad. And Staten has a little bit of that country feel. But when it comes to mother nature, the Big Apple can’t hold a candle to the country. That’s for sure. You might answer “What about all the women?” True that! There are a million gorgeous women around. But precious few are gonna let me mount them unless I pay! So what’s the point? And all the night life and culture? Zero on the night life – and close to zero on the culture. I’m just not really the museum type. So what’s left for a schmuck of my ilk?

Well…I nodded off after The Deadliest Catch several hours ago and awakened totally refreshed at 3 AM. I could have read – which is what I normally do under that circumstance. But I knew I was running low on cereal, apple juice, and almond milk – about the only stuff I buy at this point what with all the leftover food I take home from volunteering.

Now in the country, I’d be shit out of luck as far as a 3 AM shopping spree goes. But in New York? Aha! I found something I like! So I hopped on the bike and rode up to 23rd Street where I knew CVS has some high fiber cereal on sale. Ya know…like 16 ozees for two bucks. And brand name stuff, too! So how many people did I find in the store? Zero…except for one guy cleaning up. To the automated cashier and within literally a minute, I was in and out with my purchase.

Next stop…the Key Food at Avenue A and 4th Street. They have my favorite apple juice on sale for $2 for a half gallon and my favorite almond milk…Almond Breeze sweetened with vanilla for $3. And how many people did I see in that store? Ditto! Just one guy working the aisles. Suhweeet! No noise and no lines. New York the way I like it!

The riding back and forth was about like the shopping. A few taxis here and there trolling the back of the series and that was about it. At 3 AM, I doubted that there were any cops giving out tickets to bicyclists so running lights didn’t involve swiveling my head 360 degrees before passing through. I can’t take it! I’m about to cum in my pants!

And just think. If I didn’t live in the city, not only would those stores not have been open at 3 AM, but the prices for the items I bought would have been much higher – even after traveling 6 miles to the nearest supermarket. So yeah…right about now I’m lovin’ New York! I’m a man of simple and eccentric needs. And last night, this shithole of a metropolis filled them. Go figure.

Moving to the relevant stuff…OLIVIA at LOVELY ASIAN (212-470-0409) has returned with new photos. And the phone girl says she’s looking very beautiful. Tomorrow (or today at this point), two house girls want to take out independent ads for themselves. Now there’s an interesting development. That hasn’t happened since CHANEL was working on 21st Street. And that’s a while back.

The only drawback is I’d like to go to Bear Mountain tomorrow (or today) and climb Anthony’s Nose. And it will be 6 or 7 PM before I get back if I go. And I think the girls want to see me before then. Drat! But then again…Thursday and Friday are supposed to be beautiful as well. So in the interest of prostituting myself for the almighty buck, I just might have to forego the trip for a day. What can I say? Bending over once again for a payday. The plight of most  of us working stiffs. Now here’s Olivia.

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With almost seven years of daily blogging, this here train wreck boasts considerable archives barely 1% of which ever bears republishing. What follows is part of the 99% time-sensitive stuff with no relevance today. Still, I offer this 4 or 5 year old piece as a slice of what my life was like up until three years ago when the authorities declared what I had been doing for over a decade against the law…whereupon I ceased immediately.

The amount of work I used to do on behalf of my clients was mind-boggling. And I’d consider myself a saint were I not compensated handsomely for the effort. In retrospect, I don’t know how I kept it up for all those years.

Anyway…don’t call any of these numbers. THIS POST IS SEVERAL YEARS OLD! Enjoy! You’ll note superscripts after some passages. They’re there to add updated info on the old news where appropriate.

Every Wednesday is the day of the week I hop on my bike and go visit most of my customers to arrange for the following week’s ads. There’s a vestigial reason for this: “Hump Day” falls in the middle of the week because it’s (or used to be) Voice deadline day – the once-upon-a-time most influential advertising vehicle in the escort world. Not very many people even advertise in the paper anymore but Wednesday remains my hump day regardless. Everybody’s been cycled to pay midweek and changing that at this point would complicate my life unnecessarily.

So every Wednesday I get an eyeful of babes in lingerie and bikinis as part of the ancillary benefits of doing my little paper route (or internet route as it were)! And because yesterday WAS Wednesday…and most of my clients just LOVE when I talk them up on this blog…I’ve decided a HUMP DAY ROUNDUP would be in order.

Wednesday (and every day for that matter) begins with me falling out of bed around 9 AM to begin posting the morning ads. Half the time, I’ll jump back in the rack and grab another hour of sleep before the insanity really begins – especially if I’ve not blogged the night before and I have that task to perform as well as a million others! And half the time, I figure out what I want to say for the day and begin writing at 9:05.

Indies with no schedule begin calling with their ad times for the day and it isn’t until about 1 PM that I get all of them squared away (put their ads in the phone) and then hit the road to meet with the goils. For the next several hours, I bounce from place to place mostly gossiping…getting fed…and discussing who’s gone and who’s new for the week..and the production changes I’ll have to make on their behalf. That’s not to say that requests for ad changes don’t come in every day of the week. They do. But Hump Day is the day I get most of them.

I’d like to tell you that on this hallowed day of the week, I literally get humped everywhere I go but in fact, it can be very stressful “plowing” through all the work orders and then actually sitting down after all the roadwork to make the ad changes. Humping my way through Hump Day is not part of the program. Like just for example…FANTASIA wanted a unique number on their BEST GFE banner so they can accurately gauge the response from that ad. So I had to change their two banners, which given that they’re flashing gif files, means I re-designed 7 different panels, a task that takes a lot of concentration if I want to get it done as quickly as possible – which I do.

So anyway..who cares about all that bull shit? Did I see anybody hot and worthy of two hundred smackeroolies yesterday? That’s what the readers care about!

Not first on the paper route but most noteworthy was NY ASIAN VIP (347-552-1308). I’m lovin’ this place! For starters, the phone girl is always ready with the payment. I never get bull shit about coming later or anything like that! And if you want to know which phone girl could make a fortune in the room, JENNY’S the one. I mean…this girl is personable, pretty, curvy, and speaks perfect English. And best of all, she needs no “smoke and mirrors,” to achieve the desired effect. The girl was simply born beautiful.1

In the meantime, she hands me the envelope whereupon CRIS flashes me a big smile and then sticks her hand out like a wife demanding her husband’s paycheck when he arrives home from work. This isn’t the first time one of the girls has done this. They constantly bat their eyelashes and flirt gratuitously when they see me getting a piece of the house money for the advertising.

Right in the middle of this, a customer buzzes and out comes JOY to dazzle him! But before he reaches the house, JOY dazzles me! She’s a vision from head to toe. I don’t know her at all really beyond saying hello. But I think I’d like to. She sexxxy girl! And then SUMMER pops her head out to say hey! But she has a stomach ache so no flirting on that front. Whatever…with the addition of JOY and ANGIE and the new phone girl…added to CRIS and SUMMER, this house has an excellent roster worthy of a visit (or several).2

Changing up, I head over to Trannyville to see a she male who called while I was riding. She’s not a big client but I’ve known the freak forever and have come to appreciate that she’s one of the few characters I have on my paper route. And she’s also disturbingly good-looking! Ya know…just one of those human beings who was born attractive regardless of her gender. I once showed an eros verification photo of her taken as she sat in the chair at a beauty salon with her hair all covered in silver to a friend of mine and the guy exclaimed “Now that’s a hot chick!”… only to have me inform him “That’s no chick, homey! It’s a dude!” You get the idea. Anybody in the market for a hot tranny can call 347-357-1566. I’m sure she won’t disappoint!3

Off to ASIAN PARADISE (347-256-7143) where as the tag says, “The girls treat you nice,”4 to walk in and catch a glimpse of a phat-bootied girl in the off-limits area lying on her stomach and peering at her lap top with said phat booty perched high in the air. So I ask the phone girl “Wow! Who’s the girl with the phat booty?” Phat booties aren’t all that common in a Korean house! “KARA” is the answer. I’ve heard from two different phone girls that KARA isn’t that beautiful facially, but nobody disputes that her body is remarkable! I’ve barely seen her face and really haven’t given her the once-over visually, but I can tell you from one glimpse of that magnificent posterior, I’m in…ALL in…if you get my drift.

Over at RED SECRET (212-221-0109), I compliment KYMBERLEY with a mock “Who’s that pretty girl?” as she walks in and out with a payment..and then say hey to CHERRY as she does the same routine a few minutes later. CHERRY’S a little standoffish…maybe because I just complimented her friend…or maybe because I made some crack on my blog recently about not appreciating implants…or maybe because she thinks I’m a disgusting old man. But the fact remains that if I were gonna fool around with a Korean girl, CHERRY would be my choice. She resembles my old girlfriend and I know she thinks I’m a cute guy (go figure)!5

The last stop of the day is always FANTASIA (347-444-5580).…not because I don’t like them or anything like that…but they’re in Chinatown and in exactly the opposite direction of all my other stops. Hence, I leave them for last. When I descend to their basement house, I always know if they’re busy or not by the exhaust vent from the table body shampoo room. If I feel heat and smell incense, I know they’re hopping. If I feel and smell nothing? I know they’re not! Yesterday they were busy for the first time in a while according to the phone girl. The roster is pretty much fixed at FANTASIA! And that’s a good thing when that roster boasts RUBY, LUCKY and BLUE! LUCKY would be my choice. There’s something about her sweet smile and those secretary glasses that does the trick for me.6

After a little gossip and some Korean pizza and fried chicken, it’s back to the crib and the task of getting all the production work done before Dave comes on with his monologue. More posting and setting up all the next day’s ads is next..hopefully getting it all done before “Comics Unleashed” unleashes a “Ladies Gone Wild” show complete with Margaret Cho confessing she likes her women butch..ya know…the kind of chicks who roll their own tampons! Nice!

By about 3:30 AM everything is posted and all the next day’s ads are readied. It’s off to sleep and up again at 9 AM to more or less do the same thing – but without the traveling – unless I go to Staten for some fresh air if the weather’s nice! All the ads are in the phone and the phone works fine except for about 15 minutes when the ferry is in the middle of New York Harbor. But today? I still have some leftover pickups. So it’s north I ride to finish the week’s collections. Staten will have to wait another day.

And there it is (or was)! Hump Day! it’s got all you could want except…no humping. Go figure! I’d be the guy you could throw in a barrel of tits only to come up sucking my thumb! But hey…the job gets done and I live to literally hump on another – and less busy – day!

1. JENNY became JOLIE a year or two later!

2. NY ASIAN VIP continues to house some of the cutest K-girls in the city.

3. This tranny still exists with the same number as far as I know. She called fairly recently seeking an ad.

4. This tag line is one of many I used for Backpage ads. For Bunny Girls? “We hop till you drop”…or “The energizer bunny lives on.”

5. This is the CHERRY who has recently worked at Asian Flower.

6. Fantasia left the blog when it was sold to a new owner. Blue was deported a couple of years later for having an outstanding warrant in another state when she got busted in New York. Ruby was amazing but no longer around.

For most people, Monday morning is a mother fucker. It’s the beginning of a work week during which the average citizen faces the daunting prospect of awakening early and working at least 8 hours until blessed Saturday when the evil syndrome pauses for the eagerly-awaited weekend when the workforce and student body can sleep late and then play all day. But not so much for me. In fact, it’s almost the opposite!

I’m an off-peak contrarian. Whatever I do, I’d rather do it with very few people around. So when Monday comes, I’m ecstatic. I know I have 5 days with which to wander to Staten (which I don’t do so much anymore) or upstate in the knowledge that the ferries, roads, buses and trails will be empty. As soon as Saturday comes around, I’m bumming. If it’s a beautiful day…it’s a wasted day. No way I’m “vacationing” with the masses.

Monday means something else, too. It’s the beginning of my St. Bart’s week. Don’t get me wrong…I like the Saturday University Soup Kitchen deal in my neighborhood. But it’s hard work and responsibility…and there hasn’t been a girl keen on me there for a long time. Conversely, St. Bart’s is really easy…we get a lot of good food…and there are a couple of girls who want me to date them. What’s not to like there?

Thus, the only regret I have this morning is that I can’t go mountaineering because I have a doctor’s appointment. And no, no fucking acupuncturist this time. NEVER AGAIN with that bull shit! Back to the Western guys!

Anyway…on to some cheesecake to ease the pain of Monday. First, we have REINA at ROSE HOUSE (347-624-3305). She looks familiar but didn’t come up in a search in my files. And that means a name change! And next is MILA, a new entry at BLUE ANGEL (917-615-3281). If she’s even close to as hot as IRENE, I’d get over there ASAP! OK, guys. Ten-hut. Here’s da goils!

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Even though last Saturday’s catastrophe was of my own making, the fact remains that bike theft is a big problem in New York City. Take me for example. I’ve been riding for 20 + years and in that time have owned 10 bicycles, only three of which died natural deaths. Five were stolen…one was crushed by a truck while parked…and the tenth is the one I just bought. Overall…not a good sign!

Several years ago, one of our local weathermen had his ride lifted. He was so unhappy that the man convinced his colleagues to run a segment about NYC bike theft. In response, I posted the following entry…one which the girls told me they played over and over again with delight. Enjoy!

LONNIE QUINN, weather man for Channel 2 News, is a celebrity of sorts. But he’s a regular guy, too…a regular guy who rides a $2300 Cannondale around New York City. Or should I say he rode a $2300 Cannondale around New York City, because yesterday, some scum bag broke through no fewer than 4 locks to steal his fucking bike. Anybody who rides in New York can relate. We’ve all had our shit lifted at one time or another.

Anyway… Channel 2 turned the whole deal into a big news story about how NY is actually the bike theft capital of the entire country…and that Kryptonite Locks guarantees they will reimburse any owner of a bicycle whose property gets pinched when it’s locked up with one of their products…unless you live in New York City! In the shithole we call the Big Apple, they ain’t payin’! Just too many suck-dick bike thieves!

So for Lonnie…and anybody who’s ever had his bike stolen, I offer this wonderful video from You Tube in which two messengers catch a thief stealing one of their bikes and fuck him up pretty good.

Here’s how I look at it: You get caught stealing somebody’s ride? Get ready to get your ass kicked!

Anyway…I dedicate the video to Lonnie! May you catch the thief…tie him up…kick the shit out of him…and then steal his mother fucking bike! Yo!

Granted Al Roker and Lloyd Lindsey Young were excellent television weather men. But really…it’s just the fucking weather. And as such, I get mine from Wunderground on the web – checking out not just the weather in New York…but in Bear Mountain and Phoenicia as well to pinpoint which day I should go mountain climbing.

Well anyway…in our land downunder (Mexico), the weather takes on a whole new dimension when it’s presented by YANET GARCIA. Now that’s weather! And mira the choooz!  Nothing quite like doing the weather in 6 inch stilettos! Check it out!

If that doesn’t elevate your blood pressure (and something else) check out this weather girl from Romania. Here’s the good news: This girl’s tits are real! And the bad? Yanet’s ass looks fake. Fake booties are big in Latin America. I’ve seen and felt a few and Yanet’s looks like the real fake deal! What are ya gonna do? Here’s the Romanian weather girl:

And now to bring it all back home…check out ELISHA’S new pic! She can reached at ASIAN PARADISE (347-256-8137). 

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Once upon a time, I knew a lot more about the houses and girls who inhabit the sidebar of this blog. As their Village Voice, NY Press, NY Mag, Eros and whatever else ad rep, I visited their places of business on a regular basis. But now that all that middleman stuff is history (at least for me), I really don’t know much more than your average guy in the street when it comes to the girls.

Regardless, today I met a beauty who I consider a new A-lister at BLUE ANGEL (917-615-3281). IRENE is the bomb. She’s tall (5’6″), thin yet curvy, very pretty facially, and naturally busty. Not huge but very proportional. In short, Irene is virtually perfect from head to toe. Unfortunately, I’m like the gay older brother to these places and even if I wanted to pay, it wouldn’t be a good idea for me to suggest such a thing! But you can take my word on this one. Irene is a winner all the way.

Over at TWINKLE (917-861-6600), where virtually every girl is A-list material, you’ll find a new addition named CLAIRE, who is also all natural. I’m lovin’ her football jersey. Here are the girls pix for your edification.

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bear3Consider these two scenarios: Twenty some years ago I’m shaping up to get my cab and score a tuna sandwich from the scuzzy deli next door to the garage. It’s something I do all the time but on this day, the mayo is old and an hour later while in the middle of rush hour traffic crossing 42nd Street with a fare, I have to take the worst shit ever. What to do?

I almost opened the door and squatted…it was that bad! But somehow, I dropped the passenger and made it crosstown to the Mobil station at 42nd and 11th to use their bathroom. It took an herculean effort to hold it for that distance.

Fast forward to yesterday. I’m climbing Bear Mountain on the Major Welch Trail when my  phone rings. The manager at ROSE HOUSE is telling me I put the wrong picture in yesterday’s post. Instead of DAISY, she’s telling me I put some white girl named Heidi! Immediately, I panic. Who the fuck is Heidi? Could it be somebody who isn’t an escort? Am I going to get an irate call with some wacko threatening to sue me?

The adrenaline rush gets my bowels moving. Now here’s where I love the country. I step a few yards off the trail where nobody will see me…drop trow…and let loose. Sweeeet! Good thing I wasn’t crossing 42nd Street in my cab! I gotta tell y’all. If you’ve never been there…there’s nothing quite like crapping in the woods to get a guy in touch with who he really is…just one of planet earth’s creatures born to eat, crap and rut.

By the time I’d cleaned up, pulled up my pants and pulled my arms through the backpack loops, the flies were already in feast mode. Cool! Dollar Bill…just part of the ecology! As it turned out, all yesterday’s pix were correct. I hadn’t made a mistake at all. It was the owner of Rose House who somehow thought I’d posted the wrong pic…unless something went screwy with WordPress. And ya never know with computers. All kinds of shit can happen!

Moving on…this morning, I decided to back up a mailbox I have in mac mail I titled “followers.” Essentially, it includes anybody who’s ever shot me an email. I never use it but figured at some point, it would be worth having in case my current mac ups and dies with no warning. So I began searching on google to be safe (I didn’t need to…I knew how to do it as it turns out) and ran into a You Tube video tutorial on mac mail tricks. And that led me to a lesson on how to do mass mailings…something that might be useful in alerting guys to certain stuff.

So today…if you’ve ever emailed me…you’ll be receiving my first mass mailing. I’ve already learned to “bcc” it so everybody remains anonymous. Thus, no worries there. And I’ve included two of my own email addresses so I’ll know if it worked. No feedback required. I figure mass mailing the avid readers with insider stuff I might not want to include on the blog could be extremely handy.

Anyway…no goils today! And after yesterday’s burly hike, I think I’ll take it easy today. Ya know…a ride to Central Park, a trip to St. Bart’s to hang with the volunteers and feed the homeless..and maybe if I’m lucky, a BJ after dark.

P.S. The mass mail didn’t  work. Oh well! Back to the drawing board.

Given the constant roster changes in the Korean community, I’m surprised there isn’t a gridlock all over Manhattan what with all the black cars moving the girls around!

Half the world actually believes that Asian escorts in New York City are forced into their line of work by “brokers” who ship them half way around the world to perform their geisha tasks here in the Big Apple. Well…they’re wrong about that (as far as the sidebar advertisers go)…but trafficking themselves on a whim? The girls are definitely deep into that.

So you might ask…”Why are these girls constantly moving around? What’s the point. All the houses charge the same price!” And here’s the answer as far as I can tell: More so than in any other national community, all the “Internet house” (their term) Koreans know each other. It’s more or less one big family. Yes, they compete…but you’ll notice that virtually every place charges the same price. That is not a coincidence. In the real world, that’s called price fixing and it’s against the anti-trust statutes. In the escort world, it’s called “We compete in the service realm rather than undercutting each other price-wise.”

Anyway…the girls are constantly on the phone with their friends asking who’s busy and/or who’s a good owner to work for. And if one perceives that a place where her roommate works (yes…girls from different houses will often share apartments where they live but don’t work – usually in Flushing) is busier than where she works, she’ll try to switch over when the week is done. Yup! The “grass is always greener” syndrome is in full effect and virtually all the girls are on a constant search for the busiest place to work so they can make the most money.

Sometimes an escort will have a favorite phone girl – or even kitchen mommie! If one of those two moves, she might request to move along with her. Or if a girl has a spat with an owner (or phone girl), she’ll get right on the phone to switch houses. Two weeks later, she could very well make up with that owner and return to her original place of work, but at least she made a statement and the boss won’t pull whatever bull shit she pulled in the first place the next time around.

The point is that all this movement is facilitated by a system in which the girls sign on for a week at a time wherever they’re working…and are totally independent contractors – and certainly not trafficked slaves. Nobody traffics them but themselves. They all make a lot of money and (again) live in fancy apartments out in Flushing or Bayside. And their “days off” can be numerous and extended into weeks or months…especially when a sugar daddy steps in to take them on a trip or simply support them in the style to which they’ve become accustomed.

And when we get to the issue of who actually runs these joints, there’s another fallacy to be debunked. It’s almost never men who rule over the girls – and absolutely no mob influence. A few days ago, somebody asked me if any of the girls who own these joints actually works there. And when I thought about it, the answer was “virtually all of them!” As I ran down my list of clients mentally, I came to realize this fact: Korean girls are very entrepreneurial. They like to own and work in their own houses. Hence, a lot set up their own shop – and often with a partner – or even two! A guy could go to a place where three of the five girls on staff are the owners of the business. And only the other two plus the phone girl and kitchen mommie are employees.

And finally, there’s the question of how the girls reconcile what they do for a living in their own minds. And the answer to that one goes like this: They know they make more money than most of the guys who come to see them, and this gives them a feeling of empowerment. We live in a material world where money talks and the person with the largest income reigns supreme. And when you earn thousands per week, you mostly reign over the next guy! This gives them comfort…as do Louie Vuitton bags, trips to Mohegan Sun and finally, the constant fawning they receive at the hands of guys who pay to see them.

It may not be the most meaningful of existences…but it does have its existential appeal. So the next time you visit a Korean place, don’t worry about your girl being forced into her occupation, and then shipped half way around the world to perform it…because she made the choice herself! The laugh’s on you, buddy. You scratched and clawed your way up the ladder – after spending years on an education – and there’s your partner for the hour who knows she’s found a way to make more money than you without all that schooling and all the migraines associated with borrowing the money to get that education!

Remember…Korea is hardly a dirt-poor country! They boast more high speed internet connections per capita than any other nation in the world! These girls weren’t barefoot back in the home country. And they are NOT trafficked by predators in 99% of the cases.

Now that we’ve cleared that up…it’s on to today’s movements. First, BLUE ANGEL (917-615-3281) has a new girl named IRENE. If you want to have a good night…you go see Irene (get it…”Good Night, Irene?). And a few blocks southeast, a brand-new-to-America cutie named DAISY (she’ll drive you crazy) awaits your patronage at ROSE HOUSE (347-624-3305).

And on a final note…business is slow for all the places (so I hear). Good time to go visit. There won’t be any “traffic” jams if you do! Now a round of applause. Here’s da goils.

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As usual, wholesale changes are in the air…this time at HIYAKO (212-679-3681) where MIKA and MIKI have exited in favor of old favorites AMBER and LISA…and the addition of two twenty-something new girls HELEN and BELLA, neither of whom currently have photos. With a little luck they’ll hire me to do the pix and  “what you see is what you get” will be making a brief reprise in the form of my minimalist photography.

Here are the two returning girls for the moment:

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Well…all’s well that ends well more or less. Twenty four hours after the bike catastrophe, my kitchen now houses a “new” FUJI Crosstown comfort cruiser, purchased for $95 from one of those outfits which rents bikes to tourists. It’s actually superior to my Cannondale in many ways (like it stops better and is waaaay more comfortable).

Having accomplished that mission, I then went back on Craigslist and bought a Kryptonite lock for $30 from a guy in Chinatown. Previously, I assumed that an American padlock (it’s a brand name) with one of those heavy link chains was the way to go until the guy at the rental joint informed me differently. U-locks are more difficult to break than a padlock of any kind. I took his word for it because I got the idea that he’s a dude who’s stolen a few bikes in his time.

Plus…a real sliver lining (as opposed to the reclaiming of my kitchen rationalization from yesterday) reared its gorgeous head when I called my super (he was out of town) asking for a new mailbox lock to discover that he himself has an extra mountain bike sans wheels that he is willing to give me. That’s where keeping old wheels and tires in my kitchen might really pay off. I actually have a complete set of mountain bike wheels, tires, tubes and a cassette in inventory! One glitch though: By the time the guy returns it could be several subway rides later!

And thus, I decided to go the big spender route and get the bike I purchased yesterday…and then frankenstein a second at my leisure after I see Jose (supposedly today) to get the frame. Once pieced together in the comfort of my kitchen, I can then sell either the bike I just purchased or the new Frankenstein job for a hundred bucks…easy. And Jose says it’s a good frame he has so who knows? I could clear a profit on the deal if the frame comes from a premium bike!

Now here’s a funny story: I asked Jose how he came by an extra bike frame and get this: Some knucklehead locked up his bike to the same parking sign as did Jose and mistakenly locked his bike to Jose’s as well. So Jose called the cops and asked them what to do and they responded to simply cut the guy’s chain. So Jose did exactly that and took the guy’s bike while he was at it! (I’m not sure if the police told him to do that as well.) Anyway, at a later date, Jose locked his bike without securing the wheels (a common error) and had the wheels stolen. So he took the set off the liberated bike to resurrect his own and that’s how he came by a wheelless frame.

OK! Enough about fucking bikes! Let’s talk about da goils! The old phone girl has resumed her employment at ASIAN PARADISE (347-256-8137) and called to say hi and request that I feature their current staff. So here goes with ELISHA, IRIS, and SOPHIA. Enjoy! All can be reached at the Asian Paradise number.

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My apartment is a whopping 250 square feet…a small portion of which is occupied by my bicycle and attendant accessories (spare wheels and tires). And that several square feet conceded to the bike stuff comes out of my kitchen area. This morning I tell y’all with significant ambivalence…that that area has been reclaimed. That’s the silver lining. Here’s the thunderstorm which preceded it:

Yesterday morning was like every other Saturday morning in my boring life. At noon I hopped on my bike and rode ten blocks south to feed the homeless. It was a rough day down at the soup kitchen. We were short volunteers…it was hot…and I got the predictable food prep gig running the line from behind a steaming hot tray of meaty loaf. With a short staff of not particularly good volunteers, I barely had time to wipe my brow what with jumping back and forth to help newbies do their job – in addition to mine!

Regardless, I stayed till the bitter end of clean up and left with the last of the crew to discover that my keys were not in my pocket! First, a moment of panic…and then the realization that I’d locked the bike but somehow left my key ring with all my keys in the bike’s lock. Oy with a capital O! Not only was my Cannondale history…but all my keys were too! Double oy vey! My first thought was “This is how God repays me for working like a dog on a sunny Saturday to feed the homeless?” But then again…I’m not a big believer…and what happened yesterday certainly didn’t turn me into one!

But as bad as it was…it could have been worse. In my backpack, I keep a spare set of keys for my apartment door…though not the front door of my building. And so slightly bewildered, I walked home with bike helmet in hand to stand in front of my building’s front door awaiting one of my fellow tenants to let me in. That took maybe 10 minutes (I did ring a few buzzers but nobody was home) and the guy who let me in was nice enough to lend me his front door key so I could run to the hardware store and successfully clear hurdle 1. And within half an hour I had duplicates of my apartment door keys and one for the building door as well.

Then I drew a deep breath and logged on to Craigslist to find a new bike – preferably one being sold within a mile so I could just walk over and ride away with somebody else’s bike whose owner more than likely wanted to reclaim his or her own kitchen. The pickings were (and are) fair. For between $100 and $200, I’m going to be able to replace the old bike with one that’s not as good…but maybe more comfortable this time. Ya know…something with fat tires and shocks! I’m willing to concede the speediness but rough ride of a Cannondale hybrid for something a little slower but a lot more comfortable.

So as soon as I hit the publish button on this post, I’ll be off by train (drat) to one of those guys who rents bikes for tourists who want to ride around the Central Park Drive. He’s selling his old bikes for $95 and guarantees they’ll be in perfect working order. I’ve done this one before and it worked out fine for the week I had the bike before it got stolen.

Whether I buy one of his beasts or another from the East Village Craig ads, I will then be faced with replacing all those fucking locks which actually worked very well provided I didn’t leave my keys in one of them and then walk away! Retail, that deal goes for about a hundred bucks! But if I sniff around, I might get it done at a discount.

I liken this stressful mess to having your computer crash and die in mid ad design. I’ve had that one happen too and just as with my bike, Craigslist came to the rescue. Whatever…you’ll find me on the L train and the A or C in a few minutes in pursuit of my new iron horse. For the moment, I have reclaimed my kitchen but the real truth is…I can’t wait to give it back to my next two-wheeled steed. And I won’t be happy until I do.

o-PATRICK-MOOTE-570This is a repeat from a couple of years ago which I republish because the movie was on last night once again. I liked it as much the second time around as I did the first. And the subject is so relevant, the post bears repetition. So here goes.

For those of you high-rollin’, easy come/easy go, shoot-from-the hip, spendthrift mother fuckers like me who subscribe to Showtime on the cable…and loved the legendary Seinfeld “shrinkage” episode…there’s a movie you gotta check out which to my knowledge can only be seen on Showtime. It’s called “Unhung Hero,” a documentary about a guy who proposes marriage to his girlfriend on the orgasmatron (or whatever they call the big scoreboard) at a UCLA basketball game only to be rejected in front of the entire crowd. Worse, the video of this train wreck goes viral on You Tube so the guy is even further embarrassed. And finally…to ice the cake…upon asking his girlfriend why she won’t marry him, she responds (at least this was in private) that his dick is too small! 

Crestfallen (as you might imagine), the Unhung Hero decides to film a documentary which researches the over-asked question of the ages “Does size matter?”…and reveals the many tried and untrue methods of enlargement almost all of which he embarks upon to rectify the situation. Enroute, the viewer actually does learn a thing or two, most of all that while this guy might be lacking between his legs…he’s a got a big heart. By the end of the doc, you can’t help but like the guy having witnessed his quest for the truth…especially… how he can reconcile the humiliation this girl dealt him. Beyond the entertainment and informational value of the film, I had two magical moments which have led me to pen this post. 

On his path to enlightenment, the Unhung Hero talks to several prominent people in the sex and/or enlargement field…and I couldn’t help but laugh when I actually got to see what Dr. Kaplan, the US of A’s self-proclaimed foremost penile enlargement surgeon looks like! 

I actually had the good doctor as a client when I worked as a salesman at Action Magazine and spoke with him on a number of occasions about renewing his ad. One day while detailing exactly how he accomplished penile enlargement, Dr. K got pulled over by a California cop and had to hang up the phone as he pulled off (couldn’t resist) the road so the officer could give him his ticket. I guess he got so involved in describing the process that he ran a stop sign or something. Too funny!

The second magical moment came from the segment in which the Hero interviews Dan Savage. If you’re not aware, Dan Savage is a gay sex columnist who was once syndicated in the Voice…and a guy I really like (though I don’t know him personally). He just makes so much sense when he talks…especially with Bill Maher… that I can’t help but admire him though I have to admit that his Q & A columns are a little too fetishy and gay for my tastes. 

Whatever…during the interview, Dan reveals that he once had a boyfriend with a small dick – a fact of life that didn’t really bother Dan. He liked the guy and didn’t care that he was on the diminutive side. But what eventually broke them up was his boyfriend’s constant preoccupation and compensatory personality flaw that made it such an issue that it interfered with their love affair. And I could totally relate.

There’s a girl who used to be on this blog with whom I had a long FWB relationship. I was hot for her body (though not really her personality) and she considered me her best friend and mentor. Before this girl began advertising with me, she was knocking around escort services and strip clubs not really making that much money. But then one day when I offered her an ad in exchange for a roll…and she took it…her life changed forever. Suddenly, the girl was making like 10 grand a week and to my knowledge still does ten years later! So of course, I became a hero for showing her the way to millions while I made like $100/week on the ads that brought thousands upon thousands to her pocketbook.

Well anyway…this woman had the only phat, round, and solid booty….but smallish (though nice enough) breasts about which she constantly obsessed. I must have told her 100 times not to sweat it…and that she had plenty of other stuff to turn a man into a quivering mass of fetal jelly 

But that didn’t bolster her ego at all. She absolutely yearned to have big, natural tits! One day after sex, I absent-mindedly said something like “Oh, honey! We have to find you some big tits.”

What I was really saying was “we need to find you some big tits because I’m tired of hearing about your insecurity” and not “we need to find you some big tits because I secretly feel you’re not woman enough for me with those little joints you’re sporting.” And that was the beginning of the end of our relationship. She shot me a look and there was just no going back.

The funny thing was that there was actually something about me that was a deal breaker for her. And that was…I’m not Italian and thus don’t look Italian. And she’s totally into the Italian look! I understood this and never obsessed about my deal breaker while she herself, did obsess about something that wasn’t a deal breaker for me. I guess she was afraid it might be for some Italian guy in the future – or present – who knows (or knew)?

Anyway…so when I heard Dan Savage relate his story, I flashed back to this girl many years ago. I’d never heard anybody articulate my feelings about his experience which so mirrored one of my own. And that’s what I like about Dan Savage. He always has something relevant and relatable to say. 

When it came time for me to opt – or to not opt – for Showtime, I spent the big bucks to watch “Inside The NFL.” But there have been several bonuses along the way. And Unhung Hero was definitely one of them. Ya got Showtime? Go to movies on demand! Definitely worth an hour and a half of your leisure time! I’m out!

stacy58No, there’s no typo in the title. It’s spelled that way for a reason! Allow me to explain. And trust me…this one is a real doozy!

Several years ago when I was a significant contributor at SCREW Magazine, the editor of the publication and I used to get sessions in exchange for giving individuals or houses free-of-charge guide listings. The tradition had been a perk for the editorial staff for as long as the paper existed. Al would fire anybody who sold the listing and put the money in his pocket. But a little “fun” in exchange for a word ad? That was fine. After all, the editors deserved a little time off from dealing with the boss’s insanity.

I myself entered the privileged circle when a guy named Steve became editor. Once he realized I sold a lot of ads and knew a lot of people – and that I could write in the style of the paper, he assigned me a weekly column and gave me the office phone to hustle my clients for sessions in exchange for guide listing. Almost everybody bit. The listings were effective enough so that the subject would make thousands over time. An excellent deal for both parties was virtually ensured.

So anyway…I had this client and friend who was half owner of a successful escort agency as well as a partner in GHETTOGAGGERS, a streaming website whose program is pretty much self-explanatory. Bernie knew about the guide listing hustle…and he knew I liked black girls. So he called one day to offer one of the new just-videod gaggers for an hour in exchange for the listing he knew would bring him business.

Sure enough, the girl called to get the directions and even offered to stay the entire night for an extra twenty five bucks. I thought that a little strange as she really knew nothing about me. I mean…I could be repulsive…demanding…rough…or really anything that nobody with half a brain would want to deal with for an entire night! So I balked and told her “We’ll see”…knowing that I like to sleep alone and the chances I’d want her to stay all night even for free were minimal.

Anyway…the girl arrived on time…almost as physically attractive as she was mentally dim. But who cared? I wasn’t looking for Albert Einstein. I was looking for a pretty girl with a beautiful body. And that…I definitely got. So we did our thing and I dispensed with the lady. But not until she cracked on me for a job as an escort. Bernie’s customers weren’t really into black girls and he welcomed me getting her a job as she was pestering him for work as well.

The girl wasn’t that fantastic in the room, but she did have an awesome body and would surely be a welcome addition for a ghetto madam who ran ads with me even if in truth, she wasn’t really the escort type. Yes, she was born with the body…but she didn’t know how to use it. This became apparent to her new employer when the clients began complaining about her performance in the clinch. And it wasn’t long before the boss was calling to say stuff like “This girl ain’t gonna make it. I’m getting complaints from the guys.” But because of her physique, she moved on to gain employment with another client of mine who welcomed almost anybody if she looked like anything. But once again…the complaints about her performance began.

Disappointed that she wasn’t cutting the mustard, the girl with the million dollar body and 50 cent head picked up a New York Post and began looking for work in the mainstream to escape all the criticism. And when she hit the proofreading ads, the girl just knew she’d found her new calling. Excited about the impending adventure into a new line of work, she called me all enthusiastic to froth “Billy! I’ve been reading The Post and I want to become a ‘proofredder.'”

Now, you know it was all I could do to not bust out laughing. I mean…come on, girl. I think you need to know how to pronounce the word correctly before you march into the office and tell them you’re looking for the “proofredder” job! But I took the high road…encouraging her to become the world’s greatest “proofredder” if that’s what she wanted to do. I even oriented her for a second explaining that the best way to “proofred” a piece of text was to read it backwards so she could concentrate on every word individually rather than risk passing over an error. (This is actually true).

Well anyway…the girl found a boyfriend to love her (not that difficult…she was built like crazy and pretty enough) and faded away from the business. But her memory lingers as a prime example of one of the most sonorous dumbbells I’ve ever met on this beat. I don’t think I’d ever met a proofredder before…and I don’t expect to meet another one anytime soon. “They” broke the mold when they made that girl! No doubt! And by the way….the picture accompanying this piece is actually the girl. I’m sure we can all agree that the body is slamming. But if I’d shot her profile, you’d be able to see in one ear…and right out the other. Nothing in between. What are ya gonna do? Sometimes it be’s that way – especially in the escort world. That’s not to say that all my clients are dumbbells. But if you wanted to find an escort as a paragon for stupidity, this was the girl.

 

Before today’s repeat begins, let me explain this morning’s outage. My host had a big problem and thousands of sites were down for a few hours because of it. I could not post or even access my site on Chrome but for some reason I can’t explain, I could see my site using Safari although I still couldn’t post anything.

Anyway, three hours later, everything is back to normal. On to today’s post: an analysis of the pros and cons of an escort working for a boss versus going indy.

A few days ago, a member on a leading review site asked “Why go solo?” referring to a crowd favorite’s decision to leave her place of employment and work on her own. To me, the answers are obvious…but I’m getting the impression they aren’t to others. So here’s my take on the deal:

I can compare this decision in a parallel world – that of driving a taxi. When I drove, a guy had a similar choice to make. Should I work for a garage owner…lease a medallion and own my cab…or (god forbid) own the cab AND the medallion? I worked for a garage because I didn’t want to toil daily – or on a schedule – and I certainly didn’t want to own one of those yellow internal combustion stinkpots. So if I were an escort, I’d probably end up working at a house – or for an outcall service – rather than go it on my own.

Whatever….here are the economics of going independent versus working for an employer: With a boss, you get half the money plus all of the tips. In exchange for his or her take, your employer answers the phone, runs ads, and pays the rent. As such, the employee bears absolutely no financial risk. The worst thing that happens is the girl shows for work and sees nobody the entire day. But she’s only lost time – and not money.

If she decides to work on her own and thus take care of the phone, lodging and advertising…the girl starts at a significant minus and then actually begins to make money only after the first or second guy of the day (depending on the cost of ads, phone and housing). She also may opt to have someone else answer her phones while in the room to (hopefully) keep the clients coming while she’s indisposed. And that is yet another expense.

I know it’s starting to sound like “Why would anybody go solo?” I don’t know. Why do some cabbies opt for ownership? Same thing. Both independent girl and owner/cabby value their independence enough to take the risk. They work when they want and in the case of the girl…see who they want to see. And that’s a big one. When a girl works for somebody else, that somebody will usually insist that she introduce to all the clients – not just the ones she likes. As an indy, the girl can pick and choose. And if she’s hot enough, the girl can effectively weed out all the fat, disgusting slobs that make the job so brutal sometimes.

And as an independent, the girl can also avoid ugly work situations…like women she hates to be around…or managers who tilt the table in another girl’s direction or really…a myriad of botherations which constantly remind the girl that she’s a fucking employee.

If the girl is popular enough, the decision to go independent can be a good one. But not always. Take an escort named BRANDY for example. She worked at a leading house for a long time and then decided to go independent. One day, an owner I knew got a response from a help wanted ad she’d run on Backpage in which the applicant admitted she’d gone independent but wanted to return to the employment fold as the responsibilities of running her own show were wearing her out and adversely affecting her performance in the room. That respondent WAS Brandy. Clearly, the grass is not always greener on the other side!

In closing…I deduce that going independent is a personal choice. If a girl has a few bucks saved and is an organized individual, it can be a good way to work. But if she’s a slob with very little money in her pocket and a minute to minute throwaway phone, it rarely works.

Often, the “selfish factor” is what propels an escort to go independent. A girl will have a $2000 day (half for her and half for the house) and begin to fret about all the money she’s giving up in the process without considering all that the employer does to attract that two grand. In their minds…the boss is a fucking pimp but the reality is the employer is more a business partner. The girl just can’t see it because the universe revolves around her and only her. THIS is an all pervasive reality in the escort world. Almost everybody “gets above their raisin'” in this business. And that’s when the problems start.

Generally, I reserve my disdain and criticism of escorts for those of the American hoochie mama variety…and generally exclude my Korean buddies from the crosshairs of my literary rifle. But lately…I’m not so sure.

Virtually the day that Master and Visa decided to stop processing payments for Backpage, I got a call from a Korean phone girl asking me about my take on the situation. And I distinctly remember citing that for the moment, the ads were free…and that the girls should call their posting slaves to renegotiate the rate of compensation given that the ads didn’t cost $17 anymore.

It is now some two and a half weeks later and guess what! The owners are still paying their posters the full price as if the ads still cost seventeen bucks! I’ll tell ya! I’d be envious if I didn’t know that the  law considers Backpage posters money launderers.

Anyway…leave me not go off on some useless bender on the legality of what escorts and their support staff do for a living and just get to the nitty gritty. BLUE SKY (646-321-4321) has a new girl on staff named BONNIE. And here she is! Looking pretty good if I do say so myself.

bonnie_bn_2_fs copy

killer-escprtWell…I’ve seen better-looking crackers. And I’ve seen worse. But I’ll tell y’all one thing. If I were looking to murder an escort, this isn’t the one I would pick.

In case you guys were away over the weekend and missed it, the woman you see to the right somehow managed to kill an armed trick she lured to her home on guess which recently-embattled website. Yup! Good ol’ Slackpage.com in the news again!

I have nothing but admiration for this woman. How many escorts have I met who made up bull shit stories after becoming victims of a crime to cover up what they themselves were doing to become involved in that crime in the first place? Answer: Many.

But not this chick! Cracker power! Not only did she somehow kill the killer who clearly was a serial murderer  (at least to me given what was in his car) with his own gun…but she admitted how she came to let this scum bag in her house to begin with. Wow, honey! Would a proposal of marriage be too premature?

Whatever…what I want to know is where is Liz McDouchebag (Slackpage general counsel)  in all of this? Shouldn’t she be front and center claiming that Slackpage ads help the law find serial murderers and without her boss’s site, this guy would still be out there killing? That’s about the way that eye soar sees reality.

In the meantime, her strategy to sue Tomas Dart, Cook County Sheriff, for convincing Visa and Mastercards to stop processing payments for Slackpage has been successful. Guess what will be coming next: They’re gonna sue Dart in civil court for all their lost revenue. And they’re probably gonna win! Unfortunately (for Slackpage), his yearly sheriff’s salary probably equals three minutes of Slackpage’s former revenue. So how much can they really extract from the guy?

On another matter…Slackpage is becoming something of a free speech champion. Kind of like Al Goldstein was. The only difference is that Goldstein had something to say. Slackpage is nothing but a pimpish hustle…a rip-off format designed to relieve the girls of $17 on an hourly basis by virtue of its rolling real time design which by the way, wasn’t Slackpage’s in the first place. It got ripped from Craig!

Well anyway…how much worse could the publicity for Slackpage become? They’re already under the gun. So what if some flatbacker who advertises on their site killed a guy? Business as usual. Life goes on…except for the schmuck who managed to walk into an escort’s house and get killed by that escort with his own gun! As Bugs used to say…what a maroon!

imagesOn more than one occasion, I’ve talked about the infrastructure of advertising people and their role in the escort industry. And of course, I’ve pontificated endlessly about the girls who provide the service itself. But I’ve never divulged any insider info on the guys who drive Miss Daisy. A lot of this business is outcall…and a lot of those outcall women are delivered by guys (or girls) whose job it is to ferry the girls to and fro.

In Manhattan, the girls stay in the boro mostly and hail yellows or use car services to get where they’re going. But in the outer boros and Jersey, Long Island and Westchester is where escort services have drivers on shift. Usually, each car has two girls who stick with the same driver for the duration. On a $150 call, the girl will make $60 plus her tip. The agency gets $55…and the driver $35. If the girl goes on a multi-hour call, the split stays the same whether the driver is actually doing anything or not. Long distance calls will cost more – and everybody in the equation is compensated commensurately for the travel factor along more or less the same percentages.

Driving Miss Daisy is not a gig without its perils. With some agencies, the driver is on the front line of ensuring the girls’ safety. And so…almost anything can happen! And then there’s the law. If a driver is delivering a girl to a client who happens to be a policeman, he’s been known to get arrested with the girl – and in some cases, have his car impounded additionally.

But then there are the perks. Girls can take a shine to their drivers and before you know it, the chauffeur is getting blown – often by several of the agency girls! One guy told me that one night he even got paid $75 by the client so he could watch the driver “perform” with the girl. Nice work if you can get it!

Often, driving Miss Daisy is the springboard from which guys become agency owners. They watch the boss, checking out how he operates. He knows the girls and then one day realizes “Hey! I got a few hundred bucks stashed. Why don’t I run an ad…take off with my two favorite girls…and I’m in business, too?”

My favorite driver worked for one of the Brooklyn mafia style agencies. Even though the agency wasn’t my client, I took pictures of several of their girls for a friend while I worked at Action. So this big, friendly dude shows up with two girls and settles into my easy chair to watch Monday Night Football while I shoot the ladies. And as I’m snapping away, he asks “Dude! You’re the guy who takes the pictures and runs the ads, right? Can I run a picture of my ex-wife with my mother-in-law’s phone number?” Toooo funny! Talk about a diabolical way to exact revenge. And a twofer as well. You get to mortify your ex-wife AND her mother in one shot!

Anyway, I was never a driver for an escort agency. But it seems like it could be a pretty good hustle…with room for advancement! Like you could run the show and experience just how aggravating the job of scheduling irresponsible reprobates who often don’t show up for work can truly be! Whatever…in this economy, a job is a job. And driving Miss Daisy wouldn’t be so bad when ya think about it!

imagesGetting back to yesterday’s post, I now review my three hour trip to China. First, I have never seen a dirtier more disorderly doctor’s office in my entire life. Not even close except maybe when I was sent to a chiropractor by a personal injury lawyer after a cab accident. I was so unsettled about that hustler’s place of business that I dropped the whole lawsuit right then and there rather than let that quack “adjust” my neck. Back to China.

My trip to The Orient was actually a bike ride to 39 East Broadway, where I saw only a fancy and very full Chinese restaurant/dining room upon arrival. It took some considerable detective work to find the correct entrance to the doctor’s office – a pursuit which included  walking past a bunch of vendors until I finally found the elevator to the upper floors.

The reception room itself had just one small couch which was virtually covered with old Chinese newspapers! Apparently print is not dead in Chinatown! Only one of the girls spoke any English and when she didn’t understand a question I asked of her, the doctor’s employee responded with the old ghetto “Wha’ happened?” I laughed and asked her how she liked hanging with hood rats. The girl checked me up and down and then laughed “You’re a smart guy!”

Moving on…for some reason I don’t quite understand, she thought I was there for some physical therapy. It was then that I discovered that my insurance allows me 20 PT visits per year free-of-charge and 6 acupuncture treatments. I knew about the latter – but not the former. So I figured “What the hell!”…let’s go for the whole ball of wax.

Once past the reception area and through the hallowed treatment portals, I walked into what looked exactly like a cheap Asian whore house sporting numerous little cubicles with homemade massage tables covered with linens that clearly were not changed after every patient. Detritus of all sorts (old light fixtures for example and even crumpled pieces of paper) littered the floor and cheap green curtains sectioned off one patient from another. I don’t think I saw one computer anywhere in that office and my physical therapist (my first stop) almost laughed when I told him I’d brought the MRI disc of my lower back.

Now here’s the good part: I really liked my Filipino PT. And his treatment was excellent. First I got the buzz box (TENS unit if you’ve never experienced that. Not an Asian thing. PT’s hook you up and electrify the patient routinely in American offices as well). After 15 minutes of that routine (one with which I am very familiar after my shoulder therapy), dude gave me a massive massage in the area that hurt (lower back). I’ve had escorts rub me down but they couldn’t hold a candle to this guy. The dirty office notwithstanding, I was totally encouraged. Then it was on to the doctor who incidentally, was dressed almost like me (shorts and sneakers).

In his defense, ol’ sawbones was very friendly. He even brought in the “what happened” chick to translate. But then when he lay me down and began pressing where it hurts and started sticking pins right there, I started to wonder. I was experiencing all sorts of new pains from his treatment. For almost 30 minutes I lay on my stomach with pins sticking out of my back wondering what the fuck I was doing there in the first place…but still hopeful this bizarre treatment was going to help me.

Finally, an attendant came in to pull the needles and I was out the door to score some dumplings (I was very close) before arriving home from my 11:30 appointment at 2:42! Whoa! Almost 3 hours at the doctor’s office (I only spent ten or fifteen minutes waiting before I saw the PT)!

Anyway…I’m happy to say that this morning, I am back where I was before going to that quack! But yesterday? I was significantly worse than before the guy stuck me and I am extremely happy to be back to my familiar amount and type of pain. At least, he only fucked me up for one day. It wasn’t permanent.

This was my second experiment with acupuncture and essentially, it’s two strikes and you’re out! I’m confident that in 200 years, humankind will look back on the practice in the same manner as we in the 2010’s do with respect to early 19th century doctors applying leeches to sick patients in an attempt to suck the bad blood out of their bodies. I’m glad acupuncture brings some people relief but I’m confident that for whatever reason, I am not one of them!

However…I will return for the Filipino guy. My back felt really good after his TENS and massage treatment and I’m hopeful that with him…and without the pins and needles guy, I’ll find some relief. Maybe I should go find an Apache and let him chant and sprinkle powder on my back to replace the acupuncturist. I’d have more confidence in him than that dude with the filthy office. I have no idea how this guy got a five star rating on Google. Maybe it like a TER thing. Ya know…all the reviews are fake!

Enough with my bull shit. I think I’ll go ride around the Park Drive and then feed some bums. Maybe I can score a quick BJ from my buddy on the Upper East Side. She owes me one for a few favors. That’ll probably do my back more good than any acupuncturist.

imgresForget about pot, blow or heroin. Some of the most abused drugs in the USA are legal. People are prescribed these drugs by medical professionals for pain and before long, the patients find themselves addicted.

I’m not the type to take a lot of pills. It’s just not my style. But after fucking up my back big time in a silly little bike mishap, the doctors put me on 30 milligrams of hydrocodone and 10 milligrams of tramadol daily. Right away, I wasn’t really buying their palliative care. I was more in tune with “Let’s find out exactly what the fuck I did to my back and cure the problem rather than doping me up to mask the pain.”

So for literally 9 months, my pain managers addressed the pain – and not the root cause – with pills, branch blocks and epidurals…none of which did a mother fucking thing. Finally, they actually took a measure to fix what was causing the pain and guess what! It didn’t work either!

In the meantime, I didn’t like the idea that I was taking all these painkillers. Too many people have gone from 3 a day straight up to as many as 40! And once you get to that level, you’re fucked! You need rehab, a wing and a prayer. I went out with an opioid addict and trust me…she’ll die before she gets off the shit.

Fortunately, I am not an addictive personality. For starters, I only took 2/3 of my dosage. Again, I didn’t want to be on the shit. Plus…it really wasn’t doing all that much for the pain. When I took it, I’d take two at night – which would give me a pleasant and gentle high and help me forget that my back was hurting.

About a month ago, I decided to see what would happen if I stopped taking the crap. And sure enough, after about 24 hours, I started to fill light-headed and lousy. I had a mild addiction! So I’d take one to feel better. Slowly, I took one every 30 hours. And then every 35 hours…and like that. And now I’m off it. I take 5 milligrams of tramadol every morning when I get up. And tramadol isn’t physically addictive like hydrocodone – as it’s a synthetic opioid. And the best thing about all this? I crap like a champion again. Anybody who’s ever been on this shit knows it jams you up like a mother fucker. Constant ingestion of fibrous food notwithstanding…it’s still difficult to pinch a meaningful loaf!

There is a problem though. My back hurts! And being clean and sober (almost no beer or weed either) isn’t helping! The next move is acupuncture. My Korean buddies swear by it. And my new medical plan gives me 6 yearly visits free-of-charge. Why not give it a go? Granted, acupuncture doesn’t address the root of the problem. But at least it attempts to relieve or eliminate the pain without the use of addictive drugs. So wish me luck. I figure it’s gotta be better than taking hydrocodone and turning into an addict for the rest of my life.

Looking at a bigger and more significant picture…the sad fact is that Western medicine failed me miserably. It’s time to turn to the East. Only time will tell. But for free…with a guy who has 5 star reviews? I’m definitely going that route before I return to the original practitioners to get more pills – or more invasive surgery which may or may not work! I’d tell you that it sucks getting old…but I don’t think this is about getting old. It’s about riding a fucking bicycle. As I’ve said before “Riding a bike is really healthy until you fall off. Then…not so healthy!”

P.S. Funny story! I went to my health plan’s provider book…arrived at the acupuncture page…and immediately found a guy in Chinatown who googled out at 5 stars. That was good enough for me! So I called and got a receptionist whose English reminded me of Korean phone girl’s from 15 years ago. He asked me where I live and how long it would take me to get there. And when he found out I was 15 minutes away, the dude scheduled me for 11:30 this morning! OMG! I called the guy at 10 and he’ll see me an hour and a half later? That could be a good – or a bad sign! Whatever…I drove a cab once upon a time – and I had Fantasia as an advertiser. So I know how to get to East Broadway! Ooo! I’m on pins and needles (couldn’t resist).

After receiving numerous phone calls asking about my take on the new Backpage from not just the phone girls employed by the sidebar houses of this blog – but old friends for whom I do nothing at all anymore in the way of advertising – I now have something to write about this morning. This might not be of particular interest to the guys who read this blog…but it will be instructive for the girls.

Backpage has become a free-for-all not just literally – but figuratively as well. The number of ads posted has gone up in the order of 300 – 400%  now that they’re free. Predictably, the girls who had hired help posting along the lines of 4 ads per day for them are not happy. The response has gone down dramatically. Not only that…their ads are getting deleted from the site within a few minutes.

One woman called me in a panic about all this and asked what I thought she should do (beyond getting a real job). I suggested that she make a new account and see how that worked. So lesson #1: If your ads are getting deleted constantly…build a new account. That will apparently cure the problem.

But here’s the next issue: All a girl really needs in the first place is that first 15 minutes because after that, the ad is worthless anyway – owing to the rapidity with which the ads move down the list…and the viewing habits of consumers.

Now here’s where this gets interesting. With my Google analytics tracking software, I can tell a lot about what’s going on with my own site – which includes how many people are on the site…and where they came from! So I placed an ad on Backpage with a link to this blog and watched the real time analytics! And the bottom line is that once your ad descends from the top 25, it’s over! And that means if a girl really wants to make the site work, she’ll need to post no less frequently than every half hour! Yes, girls…it’s free now – but maybe you were better off with the $17 price tag. What you save in money, you more than lose in labor as it turns out. Oh well! Nothing for nothing in this world.

Now for the guys! What I’m seeing is a lot more bait and switch and a lot nastier girls (hey, it’s free) along with the significantly increased roster of women to choose from. A veteran viewer can suss all this out and in fact, Backpage is on balance an improved venue. But if you’re a novice trying to navigate the free-for-all? It can be a gantlet.

Whatever…that’s the way of this brave new world…at least until they start charging again. Have fun whatever happens.

 

imagesA repeat for today – at least until I think of something to say.

Don’t get me wrong. I like big juggs and a phat booty as much as the next guy. But there are other less tangible characteristics I also find seductive. Ya know…like a really sexy voice. I love a girl with a sexy voice. But that’s not what I want to talk about today. Today’s subject is the scent of a woman.

Most women wear some sort of fragrance or other which in combination with her own natural scent can run the gamut from downright seductive to utterly disgusting. I tend to not feed back negatively on a woman’s choice in perfume, and either shut my mouth or just move on figuring if we were really compatible, she would pick a scent that turned me on. Same way with a blow job by the way. Instructions never seem to work. Either the girl’s technique appeals to me – or it doesn’t. And coaching only serves to undermine the woman’s confidence.

So back to the point…a fairly recent ex-FWB was not a woman I would ever pursue. Not only did not I love her…I didn’t even like her. She pursued me (go figure) and after the first blow job, it was hard to say no. Predictably, her perfume and scent were a turn off. And that’s not to say she was a stinkerooney or anything like that (because she wasn’t). It was just her choice of fragrance and her personality were equally unappealing. And when she thankfully left after the “event,” I always had a nasty olfactory reminder of my indiscretion.

I mention this today because after hanging out with a different woman recently, my t-shirt smelled like heaven. So I texted her that the lingering scent was giving me a phatty all over again and she answered back “You mean my Victoria’s Secret?” 

Now I don’t know if her perfume cost more than the first girl’s or not. I prefer to think that I just like Jazmine’s perfume more because I like her more. And because we’re much more compatible…we both like the same fragrance.

So I guess the moral of the story goes like this: If you like how a woman smells, you’re with the right girl. And if you don’t? You’re incompatible. You can turn around and walk away right then and there. That’s my message for today! I’m out.

 

If racism is finally in our past (which I don’t think it is), stereotyping goes on and on outdistancing the energizer bunny by a country mile. The proof of that came in an email yesterday in which a friend of mine explained her disappearing act with the following words: “I was white girl wasted.” The absence itself wasn’t really of major concern – nor was her use of an expression which I’d never heard before. Yet it did give me pause. Let’s see. Exactly what is the meaning of white girl wasted?

I imagine the term implies that when it comes to drinking too much liquor and getting really sloppy a la Snooky from Jersey Shore…nobody does that quite like a white girl. Yeah, a black or Asian girl can drink too much and act the fool as well but still, they can never quite approach the level of slovenliness that only a white girl can achieve. Kind of a dubious realm in which to excel if you ask me.

I wrote back a few of my observations to which my buddy defended herself saying that she’d heard it “from the kids”…and then pointed out that she’d actually gotten white girl wasted with a black friend. Oh boy! Isn’t that a first cousin to someone defending him or herself with the old “a lot of my friends are black” after they use the n word?

Whatever…I think the significance in this little anecdote lies in the fact that this is a youth expression – and not your father’s racist vernacular. The reason I’d never heard it before is simply that I’m a geezer and more familiar with stuff like “free, white and 21” and calling Afro-Americans spear chuckers or jigaboos.

Well…what are ya gonna do? Racism and stereotyping live on in not just geezers – but youth culture as well. And “white girl wasted” is the proof of the pudding. Snore! So what else is new?

Talk about a trifecta of delicious Korean titans of titillation…check out today’s three new K-girls. And i gotta say…Sunday’s sundaes sure do hit the spot!

We begin at ROSE HOUSE (347-624-3305) where not one but two new girls have joined the staff. Meet LUCY in her sexy maid outfit…and all natural CANDY, whose so hot she even heats up the hot tub!

Moving due west, we arrive at HIYAKO (212-679-3681), a house which seems to be on a roll of late as far as attracting sizzling newcomers to the scene. And YUKI is the proof of the pudding. A round of applause, fellaz. Show a little respect. Here come da goils!

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Here’s one from a few years ago which could just as easily have been written today. The story is about a girl named BLUE. And a similar one could have been told about HEIDI as well. The theme is simple: be you American or foreigner, one must always pay their tickets. The computer will catch up with you!

There’s a lot of folklore, gossip and supposition when it comes to Asian girls…the manner in which they work…and especially, the infrastructure that gets them here in the first place. Mostly it’s perpetuated by people who may not necessarily understand how the whole deal works. And while I’m not an authority on the subject, ya gotta figure I know more than the average Joe.

Coming to the USA is a lot easier than it used to be for Korean girls. Once South Korea decided they didn’t want to buy American beef, the meat lobby screamed bloody murder and our government lifted the visa requirement for Koreans emigrating to The States in exchange for Korea resuming its beef imports from the US.

So yes, it’s less of a hassle to gain entry to The Promised Land than it was before but still, the problem remains that the girls are only allowed to stay for a designated period of time. But to the ladies’ relief, when that period of time ends, there’s no government agent knocking at their door to tell them they have to leave. And rather than return to Korea as the rules state…and then stay for a while before they can come back, some tend to overstay their welcome. Nobody gives a crap really…even when they get taken in! NYPD generally does its own thing and doesn’t concern itself with a girl’s immigration status. After all, she’s hardly a threat to national security.

But add an outstanding warrant from another state into the mix and then ya got a problem! Enter a certain crowd favorite who found herself in the wrong place at the wrong time recently. She would have been released hours later except for one unfortunate fact. She had an outstanding warrant in another state! Not good! And…she had overstayed her “welcome.” Really not good! Bottom line? Bye bye, baby doll! It’s my understanding that if she hasn’t been sent home yet…she’s on the way.

I feel for the girl but at the same time, I know that if I get a speeding ticket and decide to ignore it, my indiscretion will come back to bite me in the ass when my license comes up for renewal. I guess Blue thought she’d never have to pay the piper and could simply flee the jurisdiction and get away scot free. Guess again, honey! Ouch! You fought the law – and the law won! Now if she wants to come back, the girl will have to fly into Canada and cross the border by moonlight…always an iffy affair.

For once, I’m on the side of law enforcement on this one. Ya can’t just come to the good ol’ USA…get arrested…run away…and overstay your welcome. It’s some sort of privilege to be allowed entry into this country and abusing that privilege just doesn’t wash. We all have to abide by some rules. And in a K-girl’s position, I’d have acted differently than Blue and Heidi. Unless I’d had enough of the United States and didn’t care if I got shipped back to Korea.

 

I’ll be the first to admit that generally speaking, I’m not impressed with the average escort’s brainpower – or work ethic. The combination of stupid and lazy is a powerful combo which I unfortunately see all too often in the pay for play set.

Enter a woman named APRIL ADAMS (nom de plume) as an exception to the rule. I first met April 15 years ago when she was working the phones for one of my Action customers. Let me correct that. I didn’t really meet her so much as she was there in the office while I conducted business with her boss. Hence, I had almost no impression of her. She was just a cute phone girl…one of many I ran into in the course of picking up all the advertisers money for the magazine.

Well anyway…a few days ago, April emailed looking to use me as a source for some article she was writing. And in the correspondence, she provided a link which led to April’s previously published pieces, many of which have appeared on Vice.com…and The Daily Beast. I started reading and quickly realized that the girl is a talented professional in the writing realm…and now, an escort as well! In fact, that’s part of her writing hook. She addresses issues from the point of view of actually being part of the netherworld as opposed to observing it. Regardless, I was impressed! An escort who is  a published writer, too? You don’t find that too often!

Continuing…I returned the email two days later…didn’t hear back…and then discovered that her piece had already run in Vice. With many sources in the article, it was clear that my contribution wasn’t indispensable. Not a problem. Sourcing isn’t usually my favorite thing to do. Often, the reporter is writing on a subject and working an assignment that I myself could do just as well if not better. So really, what’s in it for me?

I didn’t expect to hear back from the woman – although in her initial email, April had said it would be nice to see me again. I mean…come on. She’s a journalist who didn’t need me as a source anymore and an escort. So a return email didn’t bode well on two fronts.

Surprise surprise…April wrote back and still wanted to interview me! As it turned out, she had pitched her editor at Vice on doing a story about Dollar Bill and his blog. Now I know how all this works. Freelance writers pitch ideas to their editors and if he or she is receptive, it’s a go – and a payday for the writer.

Regardless, the situation had changed. With the feature being about me, there were certainly significant benefits to be derived from doing an interview (and being a source) not just for me…but the girls on the sidebar as well what with the traffic the prospective feature would garner. Suddenly, I was willing and even enthusiastic to meet up.

Wouldn’t you know it…her editor went for the idea provided an historical perspective on how the industry has changed in the past 20 years was included. And who better to shed light on that subject than yours truly?

Thus last night…I went on a date (not really) with a cute girl who asked me a bunch of questions while the tape was rolling (or the phone was recording) in anticipation of April writing a feature about Psycho Bill for a leading website. Go figure! Here comes another of my few and far between 15 minutes in the limelight.

Equally astonishing was the reality that I’d found an intelligent, opinionated and accomplished escort who thinks I’m worthy of a feature…and also (by the way) likes to go mountain climbing. Can you believe this shit?

However all this turns out…it sure is remarkable on a few fronts. Go figure times 3 – at least! Of course when published it could happen that the piece is really about the change in the business over the last 20 years with me as the main source. Stranger things have happened. I’ll just have to wait and see.

Finally, I want to inform the three readers who’ve come this far that I’ll be switching hosts in the next few days and there might be a few hours of downtime in the process. Like everybody else who runs a web site, I’m going to do the switch at 3 AM and more than likely, very few people will even know. But I just want to mention it in case somebody tries to log on and can’t get here.

You remember a couple of days ago I talked about somebody who was advertising on Backpage offering to orient Internet-challenged girls on how to buy Bit Coins?Well…I was seeing the world through rose-colored glasses apparently. What I assumed was a woman seeking to help her colleagues climb the learning curve so they wouldn’t have to go work for a sleazy agency or worse…slave for a pimp, is in actuality a dude seizing the moment. Altruism is certainly not part of his consciousness. For $130, he’s offering the Internet-challenged $100 worth of Bit coins. The extra thirty bucks goes in his pocket.

Pretty slick if you ask me. What one person saw as a tragedy and a breach of free speech… another viewed as an opportunity to turn a buck on the backs of girls who are either too stupid or too lazy to figure the Bitcoin program out. And in fact, he’s doing Backpage a big favor in the process. What a way to meet the girls and make some money! Only in America!

I discovered this via a friend who was about to fork over the $130 to the guy until I admonished her “Either learn the Bitcoin deal or just send a money order in to Backpage in advance of when you need ads. Right now they’re free. As soon as they begin to charge, fire off a money order overnight mail for a few bucks. You’ll have your credits within a day or two at a fraction of the cost this guy is charging you.”

She agreed with my assessment and so I saved her money. Will she take my advice? Who knows? The point? There’s an opportunist every 4 inches in the good ol’ USA. It’s built into the system and virtually defines our country. Hustle, hustle…the American way for sure!

Moving on to more interesting stuff…VIP ASIAN (646-391-2639) has a returning (KARA) and a brand new to the USA girl (COCO) now in attendance. Coco’s photo is amazing – as you will see. Make some noise fellas! Here they are!

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It’s amazing what’s happened to Backpage since the highly-publicized credit card crunch. At the outset, Carl wanted to be Craigslist – and now he is. At least adult adwise. Unfortunately, the site has failed miserably at generating the $80 million in non-adult revenue that its predecessor has. But it seems appropriate given that Carl ripped off Craig’s idea – virtually cloning his intellectual property.

Anyway and if you haven’t noticed…all the Craigslist casual encounter chicks have moved over to BP…all of which is good for the consumer. There are literally hundreds of new ads on the site. And the rate at which they are posted is alarming! Kind of reminiscent of the old Craig!

In the meantime, BP is scrambling to save the company what with offering girls the opportunity to pay for their ads via sending money orders and even personal checks to the company via snail mail . One woman posts on the site offering to orient anybody who calls on how to navigate Bitcoins, which still processes payments for the site. Gotta give BP credit (on pun intended). They’re not going down without a fight.

On the type of current events enquiring minds really want to know about SCARLET has returned to LOVELY ASIAN (212-470-0409)…another girl who’;s brand new is coming tomorrow…and BLUE ANGEL (917-615-3281) has  cute new staffer named AMY. And here are their pix. Enjoy!

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For those readers of a certain age (like at least 40), who can forget the senate confirmation hearings  concerning the appointment of Clarence Thomas to the Supreme Court? There sat Anita Hill, once an employee of Mr. Thomas’s, describing the sexual harassment she’d dealt with at the hands of Big Clarence…which included among other specifics, his description of a “movie” starring one Long Dong Silver, a black man who made Ron Jeremy look like a peanut. To be fair to the hedgehog of porn (Ronnie), Donger probably made Seabiscuit look like a peanut!

Whatever…The Donger has reappeared as a reader and (I guess) a fan of this blog! Go figure. And he sent me an email yesterday of a video y’all just have to see. I showed it to a female visitor who came to my apartment last night. First, she looked a little intimidated by how young and cute the girls are. And then she gave me an extree good blow job to reassert her dominance. Gotta thank The Donger for that!

Anyway…check it out. Japan has a game show in which two girls compete for which can make her subject cum from a dextrous hand job first. I kid you not. And somehow, the entire presentation comes off as good clean fun – and not like a nasty and sleazy American porno.

Moving on to some New York City stuff…HIAYKO (212-679-3681) has a new girl named SOFIA who looks supersonic and believe it or not, is all natural. I’m lovin’ her photo!

And OLIVIA once of Asian Paradise fame has now moved over to ASIAN FLOWER (646-639-1195). Again…an excellent photo of a pretty girl! Here they are!

Finally…check out MIA, the new girl at ROSE HOUSE (347-624-3305). ALSO VERY HOT!

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P.S. In his email, Donger has a suffix which indicates his real name and employment. I googled him and it turns out the dude is white…which makes me wonder if he’s the real Long Dong Silver after all!

As we all know, Korean girls move around from place to place with a frequency that spins the eyeballs. But what many guys don’t consider is that the phone girls are just as nomadic as the girls who work in the room.

One girl who’s worked for virtually everybody on this blog at one point in time was answering the phones at VIP ASIAN (646-391-2639) yesterday and told me that VIP ASIAN has the prettiest girls in New York – and that’s why they’re the busiest place. And this individual is very experienced and knowledgable. I’d take her word for it. So here’s VIP’s current roster. Enjoy!

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