How many times did your parents tell you to eat everything on your plate because somebody in the world is starving and would kill for what you were about to discard? I know…too many times. Well if I haven’t discovered anything else via volunteering, I am now well aware that nobody starves in New York unless they want to.
I don’t think I’ve mentioned this on the blog…but I have a new volunteering oasis where I help feed the homeless 4 to 5 days a week. It’s called “The Catholic Worker”…and , conveniently it’s only a half mile away from my apartment (which is why it’s my new oasis). Yesterday, one of the lieutenants dispatched me to the cooler (a big walk-in refrigerator in the basement) to fetch a crate of green beans for the dinner menu. Continue Reading
Enter WWII in HD, one of my favorite AH2 shows. The format is simple: endless footage shot in color with narrators reciting the contents of letters sent home by the combatants – or correspondents who were there describing the action. The series is hours and hours long with each minute more gruesome than the next. I don’t know which is more horrible: the footage of dead and mangled bodies from the beaches and battlefields – or the piles of emaciated corpses the allies found when they liberated a Nazi death camp.
So right in the middle of the brutal spectacle, the presentation switches gears for an hour and examines the “oases” of Pearl Harbor, complete with two vice cops…one now 101 years old…telling the story. And quite a story it is! Continue Reading
Predictably, the summer doldrums have hit the escort business hard. Everybody is telling me how slow it is! This is what I tell them: “Try running a Backpage ad in the Long Island section and list your location as ‘The Hamptons.’ If your phone rings 100 times, you’ll know exactly where all your business went…and where to go if you want to recoup it.”
“You smart,” said one Korean girl when I made this suggestion. “I have to be. I’m not that good-looking,” was my response.
From there, the girl next to her appraised me unabashedly: “You tall. Long legs. Face not bad. But your hair. All gone!” As quick, mostly accurate, and brutally succint opinion as hers wasn’t really what I was after. But still, I answered without missing a beat. “Wow! I feel like I just got a TER review!” The girls all laughed and then one teased “you do GFE?” “Only for some girls. Not all!”
Wanna get your very own review? Maybe you can hit the jackpot while I didn’t! Intelligent readers will understand the obscure reference. Continue Reading
Yeah, all of us guys know about chick flicks – and even the Chick Channel (WE Network). But there’s another female-oriented medium you might not have considered. And that’s chick books! In my unending quest to understand women (yeah, right) and fill my day with something to do, I’ve taken to reading chick books. So what’s a chick book? Answer: It’s a book written by a chick…about the trials and tribulations of being a chick. Talk about fascinatin’!
Last week, I read a too-long-for-me (considering the subject) study about chicks anchoring the news titled “The News Sorority.” Basically, it traced the biographies and career paths of three chicks…Katie Couric, Diane Sawyer and Christiane Amanpour.
Consider the old joke about there being only two kinds of sex workers. One admits to childhood sexual abuse and the other doesn’t…the implication being that all sex workers were sexually abused during their formative years. Not everybody subscribes to this theory. But one person who does is an old time client of mine who was quoted in a recently-published book thusly: “When we have sex with a client, we get to take the power back” (or something like that).
This is something I always thought played into a sex worker’s psyche. But I never heard it articulated by a practitioner until I read the passage. And I sort of wanted to stand up and cheer. Finally, one of the girls “got” her MO! Continue Reading
Having just finished “ST. MARKS IS DEAD,” a new book glorifying the iconic East Village strip, I feel compelled to tell my very own story on a related subject, the first night at CBGB, an event you could probably guess I actually attended. But here’s the rub: As you might additionally surmise, I was not a downtown hipster on the cutting edge by any means. So how did I end up in the legendary spot to bear witness for posterity? Continue Reading
The other day I visited one of my favorite playmates. As per usual, we followed a familiar routine. Ya know…a little catching up on gossip…a little physical foreplay…a little of this…and a little of that. And then it was time for the main event.
I whipped out the rubber…opened the wrapper…and checked to see in which direction to unravel the sheath. From there, my fiance took over. With fingers from both hands, she unrolled the bad boy a couple of inches…stretched out the condom…and then slapped it audibly over the head. From there she unfurled the raincoat down to the base and beckoned me forth. The entire activity took maybe 10 seconds from start to readiness. We (and she) got it down! Continue Reading
Once upon a time the acronym GOP referred to the Grand Old Party, the republicans who are currently convening in Cleveland to officially nominate DONALD TRUMP as their candidate for this November’s coming presidential election. But not so anymore if an article in our New York Post has any credibility. According to the not-always-to-be-trusted tabloid, male escorts are doing a landmark business in Cleveland, while their female counterparts are at once sucking wind – and not much else. Thus the new meaning for the old acronym.
I’m not sure whether the article’s author really made a scientific survey or not. I kind of doubt it considering he didn’t talk to any trannies – who would be the section of the biz that would profit most handsomely at the gathering – assuming the conventioneers do have gay tendencies. Continue Reading
At this point in time, we all pretty much know that marijuana usage is pervasive on all levels of American society – and certainly not the exclusive domain of the lower strata. Just for example, I used to know a guy (25 years ago) who earned 75 k per year selling weed to doctors, lawyers, architects and the like. He established a $75 minimum to keep away the “trash” and still made a handsome living.
While people from all walks of life smoke pot, the manner in which they smoke it differs. Back in college, we rolled joints and/or smoked in water pipes. While on vacation in Europe after college graduation, I briefly traveled with some Danish guys who smoked out of a chillum – an apparatus which looked more like a trombone mouthpiece than paraphernalia with which to get high on reefer. And then there’s the segment of society which eats its pot in the form of brownies, cookies, and even candy. One Christmas, the owners of Somad gifted me with all manner of edibles I could get high off! I gave them away. I prefer to smoke my weed…not eat it! Continue Reading
On numerous occasions, I’ve met girls in this business who’ve bragged “I could write a book” – meaning their bizarre experiences would be so fascinating that if ghost-written by a professional, the narration would be of great interest to the general reading public. Exercising my altruistic affirmative action initiative (or maybe I was just looking to get laid), I’ve responded with “write me something halfway decent and I’ll help you get it published” only to discover that the girl was completely full of crap. Only once in 20 years did somebody call my bluff and actually deliver something worthy.
The author’s name is Brianna, a superbusty feature dancer who once graced the pages of Score and Gent…in between working as a buck private escort for the bitch she summarily defecates on in this sordid jewel. The following is that effort, a long and entertaining piece about her trials and tribulations slaving for a gross-out owner who I can tell you first hand…was no walk in the park.
I don’t have the original as submitted – and having reread the article in its entirety – can tell that the first 500 words are ghostwritten. But after that, it’s all Brianna. And some of it is pretty fucking entertaining. Her story was inserted as the first feature in April 2002’s Escort Magazine – along with her photo on the cover – and brought what Brianna described as an “overwhelming response.”
Clouds of marijuana smoke under the bridge notwithstanding, there are a few things I remember about my first shift driving a cab. In fact, I can remember a lot of things about that first shift – even though it was 34 years ago. Like just for example, I recall that my first fare was a suit going to La Guardia. He offered me 20 bucks to get him there as fast as I could. Why he offered that much money (the fare was more like $13 at the time) eluded me until I realized I hadn’t even flicked the switch on the “off duty” light before leaving the garage. Duh! That’s why he made his generous offer.
I remember that later that first night, a woman asked me to take her to the Waldorf…to which I responded “Where’s the Waldorf?” Getting a hack license back then didn’t require much more than a guy having 20 bucks and a pulse – obviously. She asked me what kind of cab driver I was if I didn’t even know where the Waldorf was located?!?! I answered “a new one! This is my first night.” She laughed and told me where to go and I got her there like a pro. Hey! I could drive! I just didn’t know where anything was. I even got lost on the Lower East Side! East Broadway? I didn’t know there was an East Broadway! And Madison Street? Get the fuck outta here. There’s no Madison Street – or so I thought! Continue Reading
Psycho Bill moniker notwhithstanding, I’m actually one of the most level-headed people you’d ever want to meet. And given that I operate in a world full of let’s just say…not so level-headed women…there are times when I become a confidant of sorts to some of the girls who will tell me the most intimate details of their life. Now I’m not talkin’ lovers who divulge their innermost secrets during pillow talk. I’m talking platonic friends who have known me for years and have come to trust my judgement, discretion and friendship to the point that they will tell me almost anything. So…I was on the phone with one of these individuals a couple of days ago and somehow and why I can’t remember, she described the where and when of her first orgasm. Continue Reading
Despite my advancing age, I am not yet a dinosaur when it comes to technology. Mostly, I’m down with computers, smart phones and texting even if Facebook and Twitter leave me flaccid. But there’s one thing I’ve had enough of. And that’s people strolling down the street bumping into shit because they have their noses buried in a smart phone. Sorry! This I find completely fucking retarded.
Exactly what is so important on that stupid phone that an idiot can’t wait until he or she is stationary before they delve so deeply into their contraption? What the fuck? How many times have I been cruising in a bike lane when some moron steps off the curb and right into my path as he or she stares intently at their iPhone? Answer: Too many times! Continue Reading
You’ll recall from a week or two ago that an actor of some renown contacted me to say he’s a long time reader who thinks there’s a screenplay in this blog somewhere. So we got together for a few drinks recently and lo and behold, the guy is who he says he is! (Go figure!) And once again, he suggested I try to write up my surreal life (boring life to me, lamentably) in some sort of treatment for the networks.
So I took an hour of my listless life to take a crack at being a screenwriter. Obviously, I don’t know a lot about the field but hey…it’s not like I spent half my life writing a book only to be rejected summarily. So I gave it a shot. I’m not sure he was overly impressed with my effort, but the man did give me some constructive feedback…and suggested I write the intro three different ways. I get that. Kind of like submitting three different songs to a publisher hoping one will be of interest. Before I begin, I should say that he likes the idea of a guy riding a bicycle to our favorite oases. So that explains the opening. Here goes with my virginal effort: Continue Reading
It should come as no surprise that girls talk about the guys in their life to other girls all the time. And they don’t leave out the gory details! Ya think guys can be indiscreet about girls? That door swings both ways. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard escorts talk about their customers. And mostly, if there was a site devoted to escorts reviewing the guys they see, you probably wouldn’t want to read your reviews. The girls can be very unforgiving!
As for me…I try to be as nice and easy-going as I possibly can where and whenever I fool around. I mean…for real! Who better for the girls to snap on than yours truly? Pin the tail on the honky would be a great game for them to play – especially given some of the stuff I write about on this blog. It stands to reason that if I can dish it out…I ought to be able to take it as well. Continue Reading
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.
“UP ON CRIPPLE CREEK” by THE BAND is probably my favorite tune by the ensemble. But up until yesterday I didn’t fully understand the meaning of the lyrics. Cripple Creek was not a creek at all as it turns out, but a mining town in Colorado where gold was struck in the late nineteenth century.
Predictably, the area experienced a rush of adventurous young men hoping to strike it rich. And even more predictably, “sporting women” (talk about a ridiculous euphemism) followed in their wake to relieve the guys of their stress and of course, money! In its prime, Meyers Avenue boasted over 300 working girls of all strata, ready, willing and able to satisfy the miners. Continue Reading
Forty years ago I quit the road band I’d been touring with to come back home with an eye toward pursuing a more meaningful music career path! At the time, I knew nothing about The East Village – or the world of “escorts.” All I knew was I couldn’t stand staying with my mother and given that I had a few grand saved from the road, it was time to get an apartment. So I found a joint in The Voice and moved in for $160/month, figuring “This will do for the moment.” (Yeah, right! I’m still here!) All I needed was $320 to get the key. One month rent – and one month security. That was it! I remember taking my bank book to the realtor to convince her I was worthy. She stopped me before I could even open it to show her I was solvent. “No problem,” said she. “You have 320 bucks and you’re in. I don’t need to see your bank book.” Try that now! Continue Reading
I’ve talked about the infrastructure of advertising people who work in the escort industry. And of course, I’ve pontificated endlessly about the girls who provide the escort service. 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 girls 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. Continue Reading
For anybody who’s ever taken Econ 101 in college, you’re well aware of the supply and demand curve. The following video sent by a reader gives the old concept a brand new meaning. The guy in the shirt and tie looks like a dork, true. But if you can get through the first 30 seconds, I promise you’ll laugh your ass off for the rest of the video. Or at least I did. Check it out:
Viewing the movie “AMERICAN GANGSTER” over the weekend brought to mind a small piece of SCREW MAGAZINE history of which very few people are aware – and even fewer care, probably. Still, I tell the story if for no other reason than to occupy myself. Why the aforementioned film brought Screw Magazine to mind I’ll explain later.
By 2001, Screw Mag was a small fraction of what it once was. With the invention of the Internet and the implementation of display ads for escorts in the city’s free-to-the-consumer alternative weeklies, the new age had effectively rendered publications like Screw and Action dinosaurs from a long gone era. If you could find your receptacles free-of-charge in the alternative weeklies or Internet, what was the point of buying Screw? For the articles? Gimme a break! Thus, the magazine’s circulation descended from a high of 140,000 every week to just a few thousand bi-weekly. Continue Reading
While it’s true both Great Britain and the United States share English as their native tongue, there are several words unique to each country. And today I want to mention my three favorite from the other side of the pond. (Ya see…there’s one right there. Brits call the Atlantic Ocean “the pond.”)
The first is “pufter.” Or puff. The “u” is sounded somewhere between “u” and “oo” to give the word a softness. And that’s for a reason. Pufters are homosexuals. And what do homosexuals do? Hello! They suck cock (among other things I’m sure)! And nobody wants a rough blow job nor a harsh sounding word to describe what gay men do to each other. Blow jobs are to be soft and toothless. And that’s why I like that word. It sort of sounds like what it is. You wouldn’t imagine a pufter kicking ass on the gridiron. He lovingly and gently tends to the male organ. You get the idea. Continue Reading
July the fourth turned out to be a serene day for reading, pondering, and a ride on the waterfront for a geezer named Bill. We’ll take all three in order.
Reading my favorite author’s (BILL BRYSON) newest effort was the second high point of my weekend. That should tell you something right there about me and my weekend. There’s nothing quite like sitting in your apartment…or alone on a park bench and laughing your ass off to yourself to convince anybody watching (while I was out) that I’m certifiably insane. But not really. Bryson is a laugh-out-loud writer. Something that’s very hard to be. He’s my idol. When I grow up I wanna be just like Bill – for making my holiday weekend if nothing else. Continue Reading
As I mentioned before, last week was a study in whirlwind activity for yours truly. Two days hiking…two days visiting…and then three days volunteering and one most splendid reunion with a pretty girl…and it was almost time for this old guy to take a 77 year snooze. So when the big weekend arrived, I found myself with nothing to do when anybody with any kind of life has a non-stop itinerary designed to maximize their time off.
But right there’s the thing. All I have is time off. And my itinerary is designed to do my stuff while everybody else’s time is on. Ya know…so they won’t be around interrupting my solitude and reverie. Regardless, I felt the lure of societal pressure…and the resultant need to do something yesterday. But a bus or train ride to do a hike I’d done before many times didn’t make any sense given the repetition factor and the hated throngs of holiday weekend revelers. Continue Reading
Since the beginning of time, the most iconic symbol of a woman’s sexual attractiveness has been her cleavage. Look at those old English dresses from centuries ago. Royal ladies got all trussed up so that their waistlines were cinched down to nothing while their breasts literally popped out of all the lacing on top. The entire style was designed to make a girl’s juggs look as big and delicious as possible. Centuries later and in our modern times, our replacement is the wonder bra. It doesn’t matter in which era you lived, breasts have always been in. And they still are!
But(t) in recent years, the booty has been giving a woman’s tits a run for their money. Rear ends, traditionally hidden behind flowing garments reaching down the floor, are now featured in low rider and/or tight-fitting jeans. Yup! Phat booties are all the rage. Girls blessed in the area are now called “bootylicious.” The word has become so mainstream that it can actually be found in Webster’s!
Getting to the point…often guys will ask me something retarded like “Who’s the hottest girl on your blog?” That is subjective – as there’s no accounting for tastes. But “Who’s the most bootylicious?” Now there’s a question I can answer.
As a guy reputed (by both American and Korean girls) to be crazy for booty, I take notice of such epic and “weighty” affairs. Personally, I’ve decided it’s all in the shape more so than the size. Smoothness is nice. And whether jiggly or rock solid, I’m a great appreciator of both persuasions. Basically, I’m not that difficult to please. Book an hour with me and I’m likely to want to play with your booty!
But some guys are size kings. They’re all about that “badonkadonk!” Ya know…the biggest most mind-boggling booty in the land. Chicks wanna know who’s the “big kahuna”…and dudes similarly quiver in the face of the “Great Badonkadonk!” It’s in the culture. So given that it’s July 3 (and almost the 4th), let us celebrate BADONKADONK DAY today. And then we’ll blow some shit up tomorrow – as both are the American way!
So I was on the phone with one of the girls yesterday when during the conversation I acknowledged my own advancing years in what context I can’t really remember. Taking up for me and my mojo, Serenity (fake name) fired back “you’re not old!” I beg to differ but anyway…I offered a happy medium: “Well…I’m a primary source.” Ya know…like if you want to know what it was like in the Stadium the day Roger Maris hit his 61st home run back in 1960…I’m your guy. I was there. Ditto for the 7th game of the 1955 World Series between the Bums and Yanks. Check the videotape. I was there! Continue Reading
It should be obvious that virtually none of the girls use their real name in any of the ads they run. Everybody has an alias. And what that name is…is of virtually no importance in my humble opinion. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t sat for literally 20 minutes while some lame-brain ruminates over which fucking name she wants to use.
I remember sitting with some giant-breasted black tranny several years ago who took what felt like hours going over name after name in her mind for some stupid $250/month ad. Finally, I screamed at her “Give me a fucking name for Chrissakes. I’m getting old here!”
But even if the name means almost nothing, there have been instances when they were so good…or so bad…it just might make a difference. I mean…Beulah or Bertha? They definitely wouldn’t work! It sounds like a joke but one dumbbell owner in the latina community actually ran an ad for one of her many aging broads and named the old girl MAUDE! Fucking hilarious. “Meet Maude and her moron madam!” Continue Reading
Deep in my closet is a piece of my past nobody would ever guess! No, I never dazzled trannies with my magic wand or anything juicy like that! In high school, I lettered in two sports…track and of all things…riflery! RIFLERY?!?! Get the fuck outta here! Yup! I was Pea shooter Bill…or Bullseye Bill! This is a talent I’ve only put to use on rare occasions – usually to win a bet (and not kill something or somebody). Continue Reading
The past few days have been a whirlwind of activity for me, a guy who generally spends the day watching grass grow. Big hike on Friday. Double shift volunteering on Saturday. Visit family on Sunday and Monday during which I swam and hiked again. And then yesterday to ice the cake, a train ride to the old hometown with “the professors” (my high school buddies) to check up on our ALS-stricken classmate.
You’d think that the three of us (one couldn’t make the usual 4) might act with a little discretion in the presence of a man who can barely smile and move his eyelids. But guess again. The program isn’t to hold back in Ed’s presence. It’s to make him feel alive. And Ed’s wife agrees. She loves when the boys come out for our semi-annual visit to throw down old school. Continue Reading
I know exactly how many people come on this blog every day. I know how many times a reader clicks “continue reading.” I know how many individual sessions there are and how many page views. While I can’t identify anybody individually (fear not…your anonymity is safe), I have to figure that there are some influential (and maybe even famous) people who come here.
More than once in the past, I’ve had “eureka” moments while watching something on television in which I had a feeling that either a writer or speaker had been reading my blog and using me for material. I had this feeling many years ago after I’d written an editorial in New York Newsday which was eerily reflected in a line on “Law and Order.” And I had it again with David Letterman and his monologues. Continue Reading
Forget the front ho…or the side ho…or the on top ho. It’s time to ban the fucking back ho’s. I ride down 2nd and up First Avenue way too often. And I’m sick and tired of construction – and especially back ho’s backing and filling as I ride by in peril. And what I wanna know is when the fuck the city is going to finish all that construction on Houston Street? Like how many decades does it take to do the goddamn job? We’re already into several years!
Here’s the city’s official explanation for why the Houston Street project is now in its sixth year: “Extensive utility facilities were encountered that interfered with the city work and which led to delays.” Does that sound like total bull shit to you…because it does to me?!?! Jeez! The gov is quick to dispatch other types of hoes and wrap up their business. How come six fucking years with these hoes?
So I say ban the fucking back hoes! Enough already. Finish the goddamn job for chrissakes! And by the way…I don’t need no fucking flower bed in the middle of Houston Street. WTF? What ever happened to used condoms and syringes? This is the East Village. Not the New York Botanical Garden! Fuck the aesthetics. How’s about finishing the effing project so I don’t fear for my life every time I ride my bike through those two intersections? Is that too much to ask? Apparently, it is.
In keeping with yesterday’s thematic material criticizing men who think it’s appropriate to treat escorts like garbage, I offer a tongue-in-cheek video with a story for a sunny Sunday. In a nutshell here’s the plot of SHUT UP AND FISH: City dude tries to seduce country girl and ends up in the drink for acting like a dick.
They have their message – and I have mine. If you visit a girl and don’t know how to treat her with respect, do not mention my name. I want this blog to have the reputation that it brings decent/respectful guys – and not knuckleheads like those slobs from yesterday. Now here’s the video!
Yesterday, as I blogged relatively benignly about cops who date escorts, I had no idea about the nuclear explosion that was at once detonating around One Police Plaza. The details of the “meeting” between the police mile high club and their hired hand GABI GRECKO are pretty gamey as it turns out. Apparently, our heroin (allegedly) serviced everybody more or less at the same time as the jewish businessman who set up the whole deal called her a slut and smacked her ass – at least, if you believe her testimony (which I do). Continue Reading
You probably think this is going to be yet another entry about escorts and their boyfriends (snore). And you’re right. It is…but with a new wrinkle.
Not every escort hooks up with a rapper, thug, or sugar daddy CEO type. There are a few who buck that stereotype to go off on their own…and end up with professionals who jeopardize that profession by being with a pay-for-play head-turner. Yup, you got it. Lawyers and policemen better halves are not that uncommon among the escort rank and file. Lawyers are a subject for another day. And so we turn to policemen and their predilection for escorts (and vice versa as well). Continue Reading
I’ve written about this before. Ya know…like when a woman is complimenting you but somehow, it comes out all wrong. Well, it’s been a while but once again, it happened to me last night.
Regardless of from what walk of life she comes (as in escorts feel it, too), many women harbor a maternal instinct. If I didn’t know before, I found this out years ago when one of my FWB’s asked me if I wanted to go halvsies on a baby. She wasn’t in love with me…that was for sure. But she liked me and apparently, thought my genes were worthy. Continue Reading
Ask any incall owner “what’s the worst part of your gig?”…and he or she will inevitably answer …”dealing with irresponsible girls.” Apparently, it’s a nightmare which haunts everybody who decides to open one of these places. With Asian establishments, it’s not quite as bad. Not that the girls are any more prone to show on time (or at all)…but at least once they’re there, they’re there for the duration (like a week). That’s the way Asians work. The ladies stay on premises for a week at a time unless said girl is an A-lister with a boyfriend at home. Then she gets to commute back and forth on a daily basis. But that’s the exception – and not the rule. American places on the other hand – are different. The employees come and go every day. And with some bigger houses, they actually run two shifts – which only serves to compound the problem. Continue Reading
It happened one night as the dispatcher at Emperors Club VIP was on the phone with one of the girls when the latter asked of the former “who am I?”
Escorts are famous for living in the moment. Considering the present, future and especially past is not in their repertoire. Introspection isn’t their game. So what had caused this one girl to ask the age old question. Had she suddenly experienced an existential moment in which she finally faced all those out-of-body experiences she suffered every time the woman gave herself to a stranger? Was this the eureka moment when she woke up and said to herself “no more! I can’t do this!” Continue Reading
Of all the bull shit euphemisms in the escort business (ya know…like monger, provider, client, companion and and on and on, I have to hand the gold medal to one I heard from an old acquaintance a couple of days ago. Asked what she does for a living by a guy who picked her up in the supermarket, she responded “I’m a caretaker” and then added “and a designated shopper.” Wow! Talk about creative! Gotta hand it to the girl.
She went on to say that the would-be lover took her out to lunch and when asked why he was acting nervous, confided that he was married and hadn’t had sex for 7 years! If that’s not a testimonial to the virtues of bachelorhood, I don’t what is! Continue Reading
Some guys have all the luck…and then some guys don’t. When it comes to being a collector, experience has taught me that I clearly don’t.
So I was sitting down to lunch with the volunteers at St. Joe’s when Bud began to relate a story from his youth. As usual, it was boring. And as I tried to pay attention, my mind wandered to a time in my youth which led to today’s equally boring entry. Humor me for a minute. Continue Reading
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