url copyI’m a guy who prides himself on being responsible and organized. I mean…I had to be as a once-upon-a-time one-man advertising agency – and even now just running this blog. But when it comes to the girls? Not so much. One realm in which my clients manifest their carelessness – and I my sense of responsibility – is photo filing.

“Picture” this if you will: A girl pays a significant amount of cash to have her photos taken…pictures which help her make money. One or two years after those pictures were taken, who would you figure would have those photos on file and at the ready? The girl who depends on those images to make a living or me, who at the time of uploading one of the photos on this blog, filed the picture where I could always find it if need be.

Well…you already have your answer. And not once…but twice this week, I received requests to forward photos of girls who had somehow misplaced their own pictures. After the first e-mailed her thanks when she got the long-lost photos, I answered back “You’re welcome. When can I come in for my free session?” I’m still waiting for her response.

With the second, I don’t think I even got a thank you! Am I surprised? Not really. Am I angry? Not at all. I have nothing to do anyway. I can e-mail a few photos in between feeding the homeless or reading a book. It’s not that big of a deal.

But still…how the fuck do you lose your own photos? And how is it that I, who doesn’t give a crap about those images, end up being your backup? And the answer is…I’m a pro. Stuff always gets filed away and even backed up – as was the case the last time I had a computer crash.

The funny thing is that there have been occasions when girls thought it was stalkerish for me to keep their photos on file. But the real reason I do that: Because I know that girls are going to lose pictures that they need later. So I keep them and get labeled a stalker for the favor – until they need them at which point, I’m lucky if I get a thank you for saving their asses.

Sometimes people ask me if I have sex with all the girls on the blog. Clearly they don’t get it. They’re my daughters! They fuck up…and then I help them clean up their mess.

And to wrap it up…here’s one of the girls who lost her photos: NICOLE from BLUE ANGEL (917-615-3281). Enjoy! I’m assuming these are of the correct Nicole as I found 193 images in my finder with that name! Talk about too many Nicoles and too little time! See the next post. This turned out to be the wrong Nicole!


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e0df4117940a85e2It seems unlikely that I would know anything about punk rock music let alone win a contest via that knowledge. Yet somehow, I did just that late one night while listening to a hard core punk rock radio station with my then friend with benefits.

Her name was…(fuck! I can’t remember her name! Doesn’t matter. Let’s call her Lisa!) Lisa was a really pretty white girl I met at either Downtown Beirut or the Aztec, both equally punky dungeon type bars in my neighborhood. We were the oddest couple ever. I mean…guys would come up to her when we went out drinking and say shit like “nice boyfriend” as if to imply “What the fuck are you doing with that square?”

I didn’t give a shit. As far as I was concerned, they were even bigger losers in my eyes than I was in theirs. And the only reason I hung out in those bars in the first place was to get laid. Whatever…our MO went like this: We’d hook up at the bar and be each other’s wing person. Mostly, she got laid more than I did (not a big surprise) and when nobody struck our fancy, we’d simply go home with each other.

So one night we’d done the bars and returned to Chez Dollar whereupon Lisa tuned the radio to some radical punk rock station. Bear in mind that Lisa had bright red spiked hair which rose two feet above her head and listened to deep punk exclusively.

I pretty much tuned out the music until Lisa turned to me and asked “What’s the name of that song playing?” with a sort of urgent tone. I centered my attention on the radio and immediately recognized “Music To Watch Girls By,” a hit instrumental from my youth and matter-of-factly told Lisa. In an instant, she picked up my phone and within seconds almost shouted into the receiver “Music To Watch Girls By!” The next thing I know she screams into the phone “We won?!?!”

Lisa stayed on the phone for another 15 seconds…long enough to hear the DJ say “I can’t believe somebody actually knows that song!” By now, I caught on. We’d won a call-in contest via my expansive music knowledge of all things not punk rock – as it turned out! I could see why the DJ was surprised given his playlist. Nobody over the age of 21 without hair up to the sky would be listening to his station at 3 AM unless of course, it was a relative geezer abiding his thrash rock presentation in the interest of getting laid.

So anyway…now I’m getting excited because we won something. Cool! A trip to the Riviera? A hunded bucks? What?!?! Not quite. We won two tickets to see the BUTTHOLE SURFERS at the RITZ! The Butthole mother fucking Surfers?!?!” WTF?!?! Jeez! Can we trade it in for a free night’s stay at the Bethlehem PA Holiday Inn? Too fucking stupid!

Bottom line: Neither of us went. Lisa had to work at the hospital (when she wasn’t a punk rocker, Lisa let her hair down to work her RN gig at Cabrini)…and I drove my cab. As far as I know, she didn’t even give the tickets away to a friend.

And there you have it: PUNK ROCK BILL! Contest winner supreme! The Butthole Surfers! The story of my fucking life. I finally get lucky and win something and look what it is! Shoot me now!

Elastic-DemandIf I’ve never mentioned it before, check it out: I have a BA in Economics. And one of the very first things I learned in the curriculum was the concept of elastic versus inelastic demand. Basically, here’s how it works: Let’s say you’re currently selling a service for $100… but you’re thinking about raising the price to $150. Will you make more or less money?

If you raise the price and do make more money, the demand for your service is said to be inelastic. People tend to want your service more than they’re worried about a price increase – at least to a certain extent. Let’s say once having upped the price and made more money, you decide to raise the tab again – up to $200! Suddenly, you’re making less money! The demand for your service between the prices of $150 and $200 has become elastic. You’ve upped the price 33% but lost more than 33% of your business.

Enter ASIAN SUPERSTAR and SWEET ASIAN VIXENS! The former began advertising on this blog a month ago – and the latter just recently. Oddly, the lead girls at each agency are almost twins. It’s uncanny! Both are very beautiful, tall, lanky and A-listers all the way. Just one major distinguishing factor: For the same service, the former is charging $150 more than the latter.

With the more expensive girl, the customer would be more likely to get a fresher servant given her elevated price. Would that make a difference? Well..here’s how it went: Sweet Asian Vixens is ecstatic with their response…and Asian Superstar is dropping their ad (at least I think they are. They haven’t confirmed that yet.) Conclusion: the demand for escorts and their service is elastic. At $200, a girl will earn x number of dollars. At $300? The number will go down more than 33% and she’ll end up making less money – though admittedly, she’ll work less for that money.

On many occasions,  independent girls have asked me how much I think they should charge. And my answer is always this: “The less you charge…the more you’ll make – and the harder you’ll work.” Of course, I usually have to repeat that statement 23 times before she understands! But that’s a subject for another day! The bottom line is….the demand for escorts and their services is elastic. You raise your price? You make less money. Lecture over. Professor Bill is out!

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.

DM_angels1-686x1024Every so often I actually get a gratifying day running this dog and pony show. It doesn’t happen often but somehow, today was that day.

The day started off on the right foot when the phone girl from SWEET ASIAN VIXENS (917-434-5707) called to verify me that after just over a day on this site, they’re already significantly in the black with their ad. And the angels sang!

It’s good to hear that your erstwhile advertising vehicle actually works for the customers though admittedly, if it didn’t work for EMMA, it wasn’t gonna work for anybody (meaning Emma is very beautiful).

After receiving that piece of upbeat news, it was time to plan my day. I decided to forego a trip south to apply for my individual half fare Metrocard (I’ll do that tomorrow) in favor of two stops in the Midtown 40’s – and then to St. Bart’s to feed the homeless. (One thing about St, Bart’s: the volunteers are unabashed about claiming their share of the grub. Downtown at the University Soup Kitchen, the volunteers rarely grab food for themselves – at least until the end when they – or we – see a surplus. But the St. Bart’s crew doesn’t roll that way. Literally all the volunteers commandeer their evening meal + before the “clients” descend and devour everything in sight. Maybe it’s because the food is so good uptown.)

But I digress! I time the trip out to hit the church last. And what greets me at the first stop? Not only the house payment…but a $200 tip in an envelope from one of the girls! Here here! And the angels sang!

Apparently, I’d placed Ms. Thang on the top 10 list (where she clearly belongs) and even recommended her to write-ins as a paragon of Korean hospitality. Now I should mention that nobody pays (or plays) to be on the Top 10 list. And ditto if I recommend them and a guy actually shows up and spends based on my advice. Thus, you might think it would be appropriate to in some way hook the guy up (me) who’d helped beef up the revenue stream. But it rarely happens. What are ya gonna do? And that’s why the angels sang.

At the next stop, I rode the elevator with a GQ-looking guy who was ascending to the same place I was. He was the kind of dude you’d look at and wonder “Why the fuck is this hombre buying a girl’s time? He could just go to a bar and wait for chicks to circle around? I don’t get it!”

Whatever…we got off…I let him go in first…and then enter myself. Upon seeing that it was an old friend who was about to join this individual, I offered “Your guy is very handsome, honey.” “Not as handsome as you,” she countered and then wrapped her arms around me. And the angels sang!

Normally, that would mean nothing. But I’ve known this girl since the first week she came to New York at which time, the boss threw me in the room with her so I could write a review. We bonded spiritually and at some point several years later, she actually proposed marriage to me. Again, that would mean nothing as well were it not for the fact that her proposal came in two forms: $25,000 was door #1…ya know…the usual green card overture. But door #2 might have been an even better option: No money but “we’ll really be married!” And you know what that means (boom boom in the room room for two years)! Wise ass that I am, I answered back “I thought I was getting both” and then made light of the entire proposal implying that it wasn’t for real anyway. Which it might not have been.

Regardless, the way in which she said “not as handsome as you” was in some way genuine. As I’ve said before, rarely do I get a vibe from any of my clients that they find me physically attractive. But I always did with this girl – which I found hard to believe as she’s super cute and a woman I consider to be way out of my league in the looks department.

And ya know now that I’m through with JEWELS INC. (where I had my lay of the land), maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to break my fast with Korean girls and return to where I was 8 to 10 years ago (fooling around with Korean girls). Just something to consider.

Anyway…it’s not likely that I’ll do anything about it but that’s not the point. Today, I got paid and complimented by two beautiful women. And….St. Bart’s had some nice sausage and peppers and…a few cute girls volunteering. But that’s where the angels stopped singing. None of the girls jumped into my arms. Not that I didn’t try.

Well…back here on Earth, it’s one day at a time Sweet Jesus. Hopefully, tomorrow will be half as good as today was. And maybe the angels will sing once more. Who knows? Stranger things have happened!

First order of business today is a thank you to the guys who called over to SWEET ASIAN VIXENS. The whole deal is a big happy face! I’m happy…the SAV’S are happy…and from what I hear, the guys who took the plunge were happy as well. And soooo…the big happy face!

On to the new lovely Asians at LOVELY ASIAN (212-470-0409). Two new girls have arrived. First is SHINY (gotta love that name), who is currently brightening the metropolis for the first time ever! – which means she’s new to NYC (and the USA as well for that matter). So I know all you guys who live for “the new girl” will heed the call of the wild (and new).

Additionally, CIEL (who looks familiar) has joined the lovely crew. And now that I’ve done the telling part…it’s time for the show part (ya know…as in “show and tell”). So without further ado…da goils!



2015-04-17-11-22-42_decoBelieve it or not, there are several Asian phone girls who I would count as friends – and not just people I deal with as part of earning a living. One of my all time favorite Asian phone girls goes by the name of Chris…and today, she called to announce her return to Manhattan after leaving a good and high payin’ job 6 months ago to spend more time where she lives.

The event which brought her back was employment with a brand new place appropriately named SWEET ASIAN VIXENS (917-434-5707). And Chris called knowing I could hook them up (or at least hoping I could).

So I checked out their ads and site and more or less came to the conclusion that this new place wasn’t a lot different from all the other houses whose girls adorn the sidebar of this blog. But when I arrived at their spic and span/clean as a whistle place of business, I knew this house was special.

First, I met CRISTAL, who even though she was lying on the mat dressed in flannel pj’s in the “girls only” room, struck me as facially stunning. “Now here’s a pretty girl Asian style,” I thought to myself – and actually more or less stated out loud. A good start for sure. But then (and taking nothing away from Cristal), in walked EMMA, a Korean princess oozing sensuality!

Wow! Talk about the “it” girl! Emma is about 5′ 8″ in her heels…with a gorgeous face, long wind-swept style hair, and a perfectly proportioned body from head to toe. And…she was sweet and flirtatious as well. Talk about a winning combination! Unfortunately, Emma’s photos do not do her justice. I mean…when was the last time you went to see a Korean girl and found that she looks better than her pictures? I don’t know if that ever happened! But it will if you go see Emma!

Chris reports that Emma is fantastic in the room and that guys have already doubled back to see her again – even though they opened only two days ago! Talk about a testimonial!

Anyway…the program at SAV (what I’ll call them) is similar to that of HIYAKO! Eighty bucks gets you in the door and everything from your standard body rub right up to a honeymoon experience is on the menu! And that honeymoon thing is a very reasonable deal (though you’ll have to talk to the girls for particulars).

I know this blog has its share of paid political announcements – as that’s part of the reality of me making a living. But in all candor, both the girls I met at SAV are A-list material. If you go see either one, I’m 99.99 % sure that you’ll leave with a smile on your face and a spring in your step. These girls are top notch all the way. Now here’s their pix. Hubba hubba!



And here’s an amateur shot of EMMA obviously taken with bad lighting and a bad camera. But this is exactly how she looked when I met her. you get the idea!


Operation_Upshot-Knothole_-_Badger_001Too often, the objects of our extreme affection are here today and gone forever tomorrow. Just when you think you’ve found your perfect girl? Bam! She vanishes – leaving many a red-blooded male in the lurch. If I had a dollar for every guy who e-mailed me or commented about his separation anxiety concerning somebody or other’s disappearing act, I’d have a pocket full of dollars.

So anyway…one reader recently requested that I repost an old photo of his paramour Sunny, who has (to his chagrin) just recently exited the fold for greener pastures. And once I went searching for Sunny’s picture, I figured I might as well include a few more as well. No doubt, these photos (all taken by yours truly I might add) will leave you with some bittersweet memories – hopefully more sweet than bitter. There were a few others as well – but the images weren’t captured by me. And given that the guy complimented my meager photography skills, I decided not to include anything shot by anybody else.

So here goes with the mammaries. Enjoy!


12635604-mmmainIf you were to read a book only 20 years ago, once you were done the experience was pretty much over. Yes, you could go to the library and research the author to discover anything that had been written about him or her. But you probably wouldn’t come up with much for a lot of effort. Nowadays, it’s a totally different ball game.

If I’m curious about the author whose book I’ve just read (and I usually am), I’ll google him or her and generally find the author’s website – which will tell me all I ever wanted to know about the person. Additionally…if he or she is really famous…I might find something on You Tube as well – which is that much better as you get to see and hear the person after reading his or her work.

So getting to the point…I found “How To Make Love Like a Porn Star” (Jenna Jameson’s biography) at the local library and couldn’t resist checking it out. For those unaware, it was a best-selling book written 11 years ago and published by Judith Regan, the woman I met at Hof’s party – and who rejected me as an author. I figured it might be entertaining and instructive at the same time to read the gossipy biography.

Well…I ripped through the 577 page train wreck in a day and a half (not exactly “heavy” reading) and typically, hit the computer for more info and perspective on Jenna after I was through reading. So first, I went to xhamster to watch her in action as believe it or not, I’ve never seen any of her movies. And I can’t tell you that there was anything special about the girl. A blow job is a blow job…and unless a woman can swallow a sword (or something as long), it’s generally just not that big of a deal.

Not particularly impressed, I busted my next move on You Tube – which is where the golden nuggets the multimedia experience can occasionally provide lived. There were many Jenna Jameson interviews to watch and listen to and of course, the most revealing were the uploads from the HOWARD STERN SHOW – and a mess of  a morning show interview during which Jenna could barely speak she was so fucking high! (Way to show the world that you aren’t an idiot, dumbass!) I’d read the paid political announcement the book surely was. But with the help of You Tube, I really got a feeling about the woman – much more so than I ever could have just reading the book.

Clearly, Jenna is a trashy trailer bimbo. There’s no doubt about that. But the girl is (or was) really cute and just smart enough to not be a total eye roll – at least on The Stern Show. (I’m grading on a steep curve here but I think you get the idea.) I wouldn’t discuss foreign policy with Jenna, but we’d have enough common ground to make a conversation that wouldn’t totally bore me – if she wasn’t totally high (and I gather that would be a crapshoot). Whatever…it was via the multimedia experience that I discovered all this.

As far as the book goes? Nothing earth-shattering. It was more or less like all those rock star biographies I’ve read before. Ya know…lots of money…and excess…and dysfunction…and drugs. Snore! Not exactly a trend-setting tome. But it was just light enough…and had enough insider info on the porn business…to keep my interest. On a scale of 4 apples, I’d give it a 2 or 2.5. Why it became such a hit is obvious: The protagonist…the subject matter…and Judith Regan’s marketing acumen. Hard to miss with that trifeccta!

p6uwu05gfb9ogwc7cwjuPretty much everybody who reads this blog knows who DENNIS HOF is. He’s that big guy with the HBO show which depicts the life and times of Dennis and the girls who work for him out in Nevada. But here’s some stuff you didn’t necessarily know about Dennis: He doesn’t own just one legal house in Nevada! He owns five…and is in the process of building two more! The dude is a major entrepreneur.

Among his holdings are THE MOONLITE BUNNY RANCH, THE SAGEBRUSH RANCH, THE ALIEN CATHOUSE, and THE LOVE RANCHES NORTH AND SOUTH! Scattered around Nevada – but mostly near Carson City or Las Vegas – Dennis is providing oases for the guy-in-need all over the state. He even has a place (The Alien Cathouse) which abuts AREA 51, the infamous far-off desert location where supposedly, an alien spacecraft landed 50 some years ago. Talk about not missing a trick!

Well anyway…Dennis has become the newest advertiser on this here train wreck. So if you’re a guy looking to visit a legal place while you’re out in Vegas losing all your money…check out one of Dennis’s houses of “chill” repute.

And girls! Are you tired of dodging the police? Are you played out in New York and nobody wants to come see you anymore? Do you have the wanderlust and a sense of adventure? Well then, go west young lady! Just think! You’ll never be in a compromising position when all of a sudden, there’s a sharp knock on the door and the voice on the other side commands “POLICE! Open up!” Maybe it’s time to heed the call.

Following are six prime examples of Nevada’s best. This is what awaits you the next time you hit the state. Enjoy!

Here’s the lowdown:




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condoms_3Like guys, girls can be very judgmental of a prospective partner. Like just in the area between his legs, chicks will harp on the length, width, shape, angle of the dangle and hardness of a guy’s unit. Does the candidate ram too hard…or conversely, have no power to his stroke? Does he last long enough? or does he go on forever and wear her out? Does he want sex too often…or not often enough? And we haven’t even gotten to ball size!

Well..with all these, there’s still one I haven’t mentioned…the “tip of the rubber” test. Guys! Can I get a witness here? After you’ve mounted, made love to (or whatever), and then retreated from the Promised Land with satisfaction, what does the girl do? She looks and reaches down to feel the tip of the rubber to accurately how much you came – seemingly judging you and the entire experience on how much ejaculate she finds swishing around the tip of the condom. Yup! It’s not enough that you get a big, phat hard-on and gave the girl an orgasm! She wants to know that you shot a major load as well!

I get the idea that this is a self-esteem issue with women. The more cum they see at the end of the rubber…the more attractive and virile they feel about themselves. It’s almost as if they go to their friends and say “Wow! So-and-so fucked me really good and you should have seen how much he came. Dude was like a geyser!”

And so…just when you thought there were no more requirements to fill on a woman’s endless checklist, there’s another one! The tip of the rubber test! Wonderful!

Pornography is what it is (sex on camera) and not too much more. Which is to say while the action is almost always hot…the plot and the acting are not! So to find anything in the genre entertaining on any other level than the obvious is a rare treat indeed. Still, I somehow found this thoroughly stimulating softcore scene while doing a “black lesbian” search today on xhamster. The big sorority sister doing the hazing is waaaay cute. This “short” is a diamond in the rough for sure. I know it didn’t win any AVN AWARDS but check it out! It’s unique in its own way.

BoringMeetingBannerBLUAfter laboring away on my income taxes, I’m not in the mood to write something new today. So I went into the big blog file (almost everything I’ve written in the past 6+ years), and did a search on the word “skank.” For some reason, searching a particular word seems to help me find worthy ancient entries to republish. I’m not sure how that all works but whatever…here’s the second post that came up. It’s an insider’s look at the one day every month I had to rise and shine at 6 AM to fulfill my duties while selling advertising for ACTION MAGAZINE. Enjoy!

As I rapidly approach the traditional retirement age (65), I sit here this morning thinking back on how many “straight” gigs (ones for which I had to get up in the morning Monday to Friday) I’ve suffered through in my life. At one point in my early adulthood, I remember my mother observing that it was my life ambition to never have to get up in the morning. Ha ha! And whether that was true or not, an impartial bystander might agree with her given how few times I actually had employment that required I set an alarm clock.

Let’s see…besides those silly summer jobs I used to work during high school and college…there was that 8 weeks as a preschool teacher…6 weeks as a taxi top salesman…and one week at the Village Voice. And that’s it…unless you count my 3+ years at Action Magazine. But that wasn’t a job for which I needed to rise in the morning – except for 1 day a month. And on that day, I did endure multiple humiliations pursuant to my earning a legitimate paycheck. Ah…the sales meeting…Action style. Those were the days!

It may not sound like much of a burden to some but bear in mind that the Action offices were in suburban Philadelphia – and everybody at the company lived there except me. So you know who did the commuting!

Initially, I would make a two hour trip on Amtrak – and then another hour on SEPTA (the Philly version of the LIRR) before I’d finally arrive at the Action office/warehouse. Well that wasn’t working so I did a little research to discover that alternatively, I could ride to Trenton on NJ Transit for an hour and 50 minutes where my homey and fellow salesman Howard would be happy to pick me up for another 45 minute ride to the office. The train was kind of skanky but overall, that commute was better than the Amtrak/Septa deal – which was like 5 times as expensive as well.

Getting picked up by Howard had a special appeal all its own. The first thing he’d do was light up a phatty for the ride. Howard was a serious pothead….and a juggler of sorts, too. He could drive fast, talk on his phone, check his pager, and take a drag off the doob all at once without for one second being distracted from the main mission at hand: driving us to the office safely! The guy was totally in control even through all that multi-tasking.

Almost without fail, we’d arrive right on time (9AM) at our little suburban oasis…a set up which consisted of a big warehouse filled with endless smut rags all of which the boss distributed, and a pre-fab office area up a flight of stairs.

So we’d walk in to say “hey” to the distribution slaves and then hike the flight to the corporate offices where the bean counters and bosses hung! And there at a big table in his big office sat Joe Rose  – Philadelphia’s version of Al Goldstein – ready to intellectualize the sales function ad nauseum. But while Goldstein was an artist type who valued a good writer more than a good salesperson, Joe was exactly the opposite. His book was all ads and almost no editorial – save phony stories about girls the writers had supposedly bedded though mostly, we’d never even met the objects of our lust! Whatever…all his energy went into how he could get his sales people to up their numbers – and not how he could get the writers to submit better stories and features.

Obviously, this was not a good fit for me who was (and is) all about writing and couldn’t give a crap about sales even though I was hired to write and sell! But I’ll credit Joe with one thing: He willed me to become a salesman. And by the end of my employment at the firm, I stopped writing for the magazine and concentrated solely on selling – and the numbers that would prove I was doing my job! And if I did write, it was for Screw or the Voice, or Oui Magazine where I became the Managing Editor while still collecting a weekly paycheck from Joe. Naturally, none of this met with his approval.

Anyway…the sales meeting would go on for hours as each salesperson chronicled collections, leads and which publication (like NY Mag, The Press or Voice) he’d been telemarketing to beat the bushes for new revenue. Gaaag! If there was one thing I hated more than cold-calling escorts who were advertising with other publications and not ours, it was reporting the results of this fruitless pursuit to a boss who lived 100 miles away – and all at 9 AM! All I could think was “I could be out drumming up new business instead of coming down here to listen to this bull shit!”

But it wasn’t all bad. Inevitably, all the sales gab degenerated into blow job gab…and who was best at that! The boss’s son was fucking (and getting high with) everything in sight so there was no shortage of anecdotes – as you might imagine with a magazine whose advertising base consisted solely of escorts or dominatrixes.

Finally at 12, we’d take a lunch break and Joe would order out to an Italian joint for everybody. That was the best part! You can guess what I ate. Yup! An eggplant parmy hero! I’m predictable if nothing else!

Once stuffed to the gills with some red lead, it was downstairs to the production room where all the mistakes were made. And trust me…that crew specialized in fucking everything up. They were so bad that eventually, the sales meeting more or less morhped into the production meeting, a function that ensured every ad got in the paper – and every phone number was correct! Things got so bad with all the errors that I had to admit to Joe and myself that what was once a useless sales meeting became the most important and essential day of the month. Without it, I was sure to suffer multiple headaches from people whose ads hadn’t run…hadn’t run correctly…or had an incorrect phone number.

Well…I’m starting to ramble so it’s best that I wrap this thing up for the day and somehow pull this stream-of-consciousness mess together. So I’ll say this: Sales meetings are for squares. They’re for salesmen – and certainly not me. That I ever got into sales demonstrates what a whore I truly am because selling is the last thing I ever wanted to do….right next to getting up in the morning to an adrenaline rush caused by an alarm clock.  The funny thing is that having said all that, I’m usually up very early nowadays. Go figure!

grid-cell-23762-1407247056-3It seems like just yesterday that I was a pubescent 13 year old eagerly awaiting the day I would turn 18 so I could go see what passed for a “dirty” movie back in those days. Then I blinked and the next thing I knew? I couldn’t wait to be 65 so I could ride the subway and go to the movies half price.

Well, fellerz! That day has arrived. I was over at the Gem Spa scoring a pack of fancy smokes for my paramour – a simple purchase that would ensure my trip out to the frontier would be a fruitful one – when I stopped by the subway station…displayed my Medicare card…and got my first half price round trip ride on the MTA.  SUH-WEEET! Welcome to the Golden Years, Dollar. You’ve finally arrived!

And ya know…it seems only fair that us geezers should get a 50% discount at our favorite oases as well. Ya feel me, guys? I mean…how much damage can we really do at this point? It ain’t like we’re gonna put a lot of mileage on a youngblood. More likely, we’ll just lecture somebody 1/3 our age about the good old days as she nods in approval and then turns her head to roll her eyes at an imaginary colleague.

Anyway…every minute I spend blogging is a minute I delay the reward for my pioneering spirit! The fiancee says she has a headache and only I hold the cure!

Ain’t I the lucky one! Actually, yes! And now it’s time to take a shower…brush my teeth and hop on my conestoga wagon for the promised land where I shall be slow-hand and deliberate Bill…and I will live to fuck another day. Yee-hah! My eager partner awaits.

1339188912848_3163321We’ve heard the following question a thousand times: “What do you look for in a mate?” The predictable responses run along the lines of “nice body, good parenting skills, intelligent, stimulating conversation, sense of humor, a best friend”..and on and on. You might occasionally hear “a good lover” but almost never does somebody respond “a lover with an oral fixation.”

I’ve had my share of girlfriends with oral fixations – and some without. Which is to say some blew me with a passion and alacrity that boggled my mind. And others weren’t down at all. Maybe we fucked up a storm…but in the suck department, we barely or didn’t even exist. Personally, I go for door #1. It’s not that I want my partner to be servile. I just like the feeling.

Anyway…my point is that the power of a good blow job is underrated – or often unstated. Whichever way, I think we (as men) should “own” the fact…and state it in response to the age-old question. “Yes, I’d like my dream mate to be smart, funny, good-looking, stacked but above all….(drum roll) give a great blow job – and love doing it!”

A lot of people I know will tell you that Dollar Bill likes black girls with big asses. But if they saw my current “gf,” they’d look at you and say “No fucking way! Billy’s with that girl?” The answer to why I’m with her is pretty simple. She likes me and…she gives an insane, endless and very enthusiastic blow job!” I mean…what more could a meaningful schmuck like me ask for?

MV5BMTQ4OTk3NDI2M15BMl5BanBnXkFtZTgwODcyNzE4MjE@._V1_SY1200_CR85,0,630,1200_AL_The recent revelation that Sandra Bullock is now in court prosecuting a stalker who actually broke into her house while she was asleep brings to mind some old posts from this blog about guys who stalk escorts – as well as a new development in the stalker game I’ve discovered via a reader’s emails. This form I would label “information stalking.” And frankly, I find it a little spooky.

Just for example…before I ever posted You Tube videos of my old records (which obviously has my name on them), guys would either write in or send comments addressing me by my real name. This I viewed as a form of intimidation. Ya know…like they were gonna dime me out with the authorities anytime they felt like it. And how did they get hold of my real name? By using google…or actually finding somebody who knows me. Whichever way, I call that information stalking.

Switching gears, it is not an uncommon occurrence for guys to write in relating tales of what they’ve done in the room with which girl. And with one particular house, it can get very graphic. None of this affects me as I have no feelings for any of these girls and have not been in the room myself with the great majority. Whatever complaints, admonitions or fears they have are theirs – and not mine.

But recently, a guy’s correspondence has indicated that he really knows a lot about the inner gossip of one of the places. And it’s a place with some very malignant inner gossip. Ya know…stuff that I might know but really, nobody else who isn’t part of “the family” should!

When I asked him where and how he came by all this information, his response was that the organization has a mole…and that all the dirt and gore is being shared “back channel” on one of the review sites. Interesting, but it didn’t strike fear in my heart as all the 411 isn’t about me (although I’m sure there is some about me on different subjects). But then he started coming up with real names of girls who work in the organization! That I found a little sick and intrusive. Escorts give themselves fake names and blur their faces for a reason: They don’t want their private lives intersecting with their downlow existences. And the realization that customers are researching their identities wouldn’t make me happy if I were in their shoes.

Whatever…all this drama is very foreign to me. I mean…the last time I stalked somebody was in high school. And really…all I did was drive by the girl’s house a couple of times after she dumped me.

Many years ago (and recently now that I think about it), I broke ties with one of the advertisers – several of whose girls I had some sort of “relationship” with (if you get my drift). Breaking up with the owner pretty much meant that I was breaking up with all her girls at the same time. It didn’t occur to me that standing outside the house at shift break to talk to the girls I liked would be appropriate behavior. And I didn’t. Regardless of what any of the girls had said to me in the privacy of the room – or how many times we’d been in the room privately…I knew them as pros and fully expected to hear nothing from them once I was no longer servicing their boss. And that’s what I got. No expectations…and thus, no disappointments.

Guys who patronize these girls should understand that. Whatever it looks like…it isn’t! You’re a customer…and she’s providing a service. Period. Any expectations beyond that is pure folly. And stalking of any kind (information or otherwise) is inappropriate.

A word to the girls: Guard your identities. And do not have an Instagram page with your real name and picture. You’re in a dirty business. And the guys who see you are just as dirty as you are. If you’re not careful, they’ll discover your real name. And they’re not looking to recommend you for New Yorker of the Week with that information! Be apprised.

And before I go…let’s lighten up the mood with what we’re all here for in the first place: The cheesecake! Check out the new girl AMI at BLUE SKY ASIAN (646-342-7253). Lookin’ pretty hot to me!

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1338268436_WEEDAt 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!

So anyway…we arrive at the MO of American pot smokers of color – and their white or Asian wannabe friends (wannabe as in they wish they too were people of color). Their method is one of buying a cigar (known as a blunt)…emptying its contents…and then replacing the tobacco with what is often an entire 20 bag of weed.

This is not my preferred way of smoking. In fact, it’s my least preferred way. First, I gave up tobacco literally 44 years ago. The last thing I want to do is smoke a fucking cigar tobacco leaf. Blccch! It makes my head spin! And second, it’s a very expensive and inefficient way to smoke. If these girls would just get a one-hitter…or even a little baby pipe (two more ways to smoke), they could make that twenty bag last ten times longer and then (hello) have the fucking money to buy an ad on this blog (you knew I had an agenda here)! Yet, that’s the way they roll (pun intended) and often, American escorts can blow $50/day on fucking weed. Amazing! No wonder they’re always broke! If they can spend that much on marijuana, imagine what they can waste on coke or heroin!

OK! And now to the title of this masterpiece! Way back (like at least 10 years ago), I knew a project Puerto Rican owner of a house full of ghetto hoochies. The joint was a hot mess! Girls would rob or “set each other up” (tell boyfriends where, when and how to rob a colleague). Fights (and I mean brawls) would break out all too often. And periodically, the ladies’ pimps would show up to beat the girls or break windows to register their discontent about something or other. Soooo charming!

The boss, who somehow operated with a modicum of discretion (though not much), mandated that the employees be careful with the Mexican deli deliverers who used to bring them their order-out meals from the local corner store. She didn’t want the guys knowing what they were doing! Makes sense to me! Why would you want some dude who doesn’t have the money to partake in the first place telling everybody in the neighborhood about the house across the street?

So one night I was up there doing something or other when I actually witnessed the group pool their cash to call the deli and order (drum roll) blunts and rubbers! Whoa! Like…could you dildesses be any more profligate and indiscreet? On what planet would any delivery guy with an IQ higher than 40 not know what you’re doing when you order out for something like that?!?!

Whatever…it didn’t really matter. Just a week later, the boss got all fucked up on multiple drugs with some douchebag from her project…started an argument which ended in a free-for-all…had to go to the hospital with a broken jaw…and was subsequently thrown out of the building as the fight itself was conducted at about 130 decibels on a Saturday night!

Aah! The Ballad of Blunts and Rubbers! Classy, girls! And you wonder why mainstream society looks down their noses at escorts!

St._Bartholomew's_Church_Summer_StreetsBig day today. Morning brought my LMBB (lumbar medial branch block – see “acronym” post). Nice! I lay face down on what amounted to a massage table (complete with the hole for my head) to be tended to by an Asian. That’s the good part. Here’s the bad: The Asian was a male armed with a weapon – a xylocaine-filled syringe with which he punctured me no fewer than 6 times! Gasp! Not fun but as I told him when it was over…”not 1/100th of the pain I experienced when I had the accident.”

Back home I went to recuperate for a couple of hours only to remount and head out once again to visit Russia – or actually, ALLURING RUSSIANS (646-234-2794). The girl I met (CHRISTINA) struck me as so Russian I almost felt like I was in Moscow! Which is kind of cool! Ya know…very blonde…and with the accent…and a great midriff which was exposed by her halter top. And all without the plane fare!

And finally, the last stop was ST. BARTHOLOMEW’S CHURCH, the scene of my new volunteer gig. I’m still with THE MEATLOAF SOUP KITCHEN every Saturday but now with St, Bart’s, I have an opportunity to feed the homeless six days a week. That ought to test my commitment! 

Honestly, if St. Bart’s was located in my neighborhood, I might make all those days if for no other reason than the the food is amazing. Unlike downtown’s generic meat loaf, St. Bart’s boasts some premium grub! I mean…the church gets donations from the Waldorf (just a block away) as well as several caterers in the area. And you know caterers in Midtown are serving up some of the world’s tastiest food if they’re working parties in the Central Business District of what is arguably the greatest city in the world. All I can say is yum! The lemon chicken was awesome! Not to mention the mac and cheese, chicken and paella, spinach salad, and pulled pork. You get the idea!

One thing for sure in New York: Nobody goes hungry unless they want to – as there are so many places where an indigent person can get a good meal free-of-charge. And it’s interesting that there are so many institutions interested in feeding those people – as well as volunteers to serve the meals. I guess not everybody is as self-absorbed as the escort biz’s rank and file. I’m sorry to say that I’m still waiting to find one escort who will volunteer with me.

Moving on…BLUE ANGEL (917-615-3281) is proud to announce that BECCA (formerly of DREAM GIRLS and ASIAN FLOWERS), has changed her name to JENNA – and will be arriving (halo and all) in the next day or two along with HEAVEN (also formerly of Dream Girls and Asian Flowers). Check with the phone girl for details.

And for my readers who love to “hate”…Judith Regan (or her Editors) rejected my book proposal in a very diplomatic email which cited that I’m a “great personality” but left out the part about me being a “great writer.” Oh well! What are ya gonna do? Nothing ventured…nothing gained, right? At least I can still fuck pretty good…so I’ll count my blessings wherever they lie…even if my appeal as an author is a little lacking.


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It wasn’t that long ago (or maybe it was) that when you thought TOP 5 K-GIRLS you thought YONG…or KELLY…or SUNNY…or PINKY. Well, they’re all gone now but guess who’s back for all you connoisseurs of Asian cooze. I’ll give you a hint: She’s really sweet (stupid, I know) and her name is (drum roll)….S-U-G-A-R! Yup! After a false start (not atypical for Sugar), she’s back! 

Checking the ASIAN PARADISE (347-256-8137) site, I see a set of photos I’m really not that crazy about. So just for fun, here we go with one of the new photos…and one I took when Sugar was at ASIAN RAINBOW. Asian Rainbow! Holy Crap! Talk about “back in the day,” Dollar!

I know…I know. But actually, I kind of like my old picture. I hope the phone girl doesn’t call up and say “What the fuck, Billy!?!? I know you’re getting old but Jesus!” You be the judge! And now without further ado….it’s SUGAR!

And check out the other new girl at  PARADISE. It’s DANA! What a photo and outfit!


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bubble_pin_pop_Small-262x300While I’d have to give the Korean community a GRADE OF A for punctuality of payments, I can’t say the same for Americans. Just for example, one place who used to advertise here insisted on paying me at 1:30 AM even when they had the money all day, citing some silly superstition which dictated it’s bad luck to pay anybody at any time except the end of the shift. Like…what the fuck is that?!?! But really…that’s not bad compared to this week’s episode.

An American girl who wanted to advertise sent me an email. “Uh oh! An American! Be on guard for the hustle!” I thought to myself. Still, I sent my reasonable rates to which she answered “Awesome. Can we start on Monday?”

From that response, you’d think that I could drop by on Monday to pick up the ad money. Yeah, right! With a Korean, maybe. But an American – and a single girl at that? Beware! Regardless, on Monday, I emailed back presuming it was OK to come over for the money. Not quite! The girl wanted to know if she could pay half at the beginning – and the other half later. Oh boy! Here we go!

First, there is a significant amount of time and effort involved posting all the materials. And I’d rather not do the job for a modest two week payment if the rest never comes – which was a distinct possibility. Additionally, who wants to double back for a second installment? That’s like an outcall girl commuting to her customer twice but only getting paid once! Try that one with the girls or an agency and see what happens!

Still, I said OK and asked if I could drop by to pick up the half payment. Seems reasonable, right? As it turns out, she was hoping to get the ad posted first before she paid. Nice try, honey! To this I of course referred her to the hand as in “How would  you feel if I asked you to give me a session today and I’ll pay next week?”

Call me crazy but I figure that being an escort isn’t the most dignified of jobs. And if your’e going to be one, you’re supposed to have a wad of cash in your pocket for the trouble. In the Korean world, the girls’ knowledge that they make and have more money than most of their clients is what keeps them going. Not so much with Americans!

And so…the bubble burst on this individual. Before she e-mailed, I thought she was the one American girl who might have her shit together. But I was kidding myself. I’ve heard her talk among friends about “eight balls” and what not. Thus, I have a fair idea of where the bulk of her money goes. I knew it at the outset. I just thought that maybe she wouldn’t insult my intelligence. Silly me! What are ya gonna do? I’ll tell you what I’m gonna do: Deal with Koreans, schmuck…and leave these broke-ass American hoochie mamas alone! Too bad it has to be that way.

Moving on to AMY on the ROSE HOUSE (347-624-3305) front! I wasn’t 100% her photo was real and apparently, I was right. I received a text this morning telling me that Amy has “new”  pictures. As in real pictures. Here’s my favorite. Amy in hr K-pop gear. Totally cute!


I got a call today from the phone girl at HOT LIPS (646-309-0453) telling me they have a new girl named KELLY (who I believe was Evelyn once upon a time)…and that I hadn’t posted CHANEL’S new photos. I assured her that I had but upon inspection, discovered that Chanel has taken yet another set of images after the original new set! Hard to keep up…let me tell you! Anyway…these pictures are astounding! You know I didn’t take them! Here we go!



Flipping through the free movie channel on Time Warner, I happened upon the iconic film TAXI DRIVER and couldn’t resist watching it for what must have been the 10th round. But it had been a while…and I’d almost forgotten some cool stuff about the flick.

TAXI DRIVER isn’t just any movie for me. As an 18 year veteran of busting a hack in the same city as the character, I can more than relate. But that’s just the beginning. The month I moved into the East Village, my friend Josh’s apartment (on 13th Street) was lit up with movie cameras several nights in a row. We’d smoke a joint and watch the crew film what turned out to be (drum roll) TAXI DRIVER!

As I watched last night, it all came back: The bodega scene with my bandmate Nat Grant as the Stick-up Kid! Nat almost got fired from the job when he took off a day to do the filming. We all thought he was full of shit when homey told us he was getting paid $1000 to do a movie scene. Haha on us!

But what I enjoyed most about seeing the movie again was the street scenes. The Variety fucking Photoplays! How many dirty movies did I watch in that joint before videos were born? And the hotel with the metal “rooms” sign outside! Right across the street from Josh. And “Fascination” in Midtown with all the games! And the Belmore Cafeteria, famous cabby hangout! I was transported back in time!

CBS Sunday Morning had a segment about Cybil Shepherd today. She’s looking a little long in the tooth now – but not back then! And how about Bobbie D? “You talkin’ to me?” Oh man! And his apartment! Gasp! How many cabbies have I known who lived in a place that looked exactly like Travis Bickle’s? Answer: Too many!

In closing, Here’s a treat: You know Deniro did his research and drove a few shifts to prepare for the role. Check it out:


cheerlederIf I’ve seen it once in an adult directory ad – or heard it once out of the mouth of a woman – I’ve seen or heard it 100 times. Nobody likes a man with poor hygiene. And similarly, no man likes a woman with a smelly you-know-what! The stink or filth to which both genders refer generally comes from a few important places: mouth, armpits, crotch, or “taint” area.

Skid marks are especially onerous in this realm. What could be more emblematic of a person with poor hygiene than poop stains at the bottom on one’s underwear? This is a phenomenon more identified with men than woman. For whatever reason, the consensus prevails that when it comes to people who don’t know how to properly wipe their booties after a good dump, it’s a man!

I remember it like it was yesterday. I was in some Pennsylvania tank town playing with the Marvelettes when after the show, the band retired to the dressing room to change. “Dressing rooms” in that low-budget venue generally consisted of anything from a corner in the kitchen…to some sort of storage space…to maybe even a bare-bones dressing room for real. Whatever…the feeling was that you weren’t just 20 feet from stardom – you were like 20 galaxies away!

When we went on stage, the dressing room was ours. But by the time we got back, the house cook was fast asleep on a crappy makeshift bed…on his stomach in his underwear…and displaying a prodigious skid mark right in a strategic area. I don’t even want to tell you what brand of humiliation the band put the guy through. For a second there, I thought there was gonna be a brawl. The cook was not happy.

So anyway…this indiscretion is not the sole domain of a dirty dude – as evidenced by this photo. It’s embarrassing enough when a burly sailor displays a stain of this sort. But a blonde cheerleader? Simply mortifying! Check out the following photo. Nas-tee! How would you like to go down on a hot woman and then get a snoutful of that? Wicked.


The cautionary tale? Wipe your ass after a good dump, dudes. And when you think everything is copacetic? Wipe again, mother fucker. I wouldn’t want to be in this girl’s shoes – or anything – I’m sure we can all agree!

916961-acronymsAcronyms acronyms…as far as the eye can see! So what’s an acronym good for? Acronyms serve a different purpose – depending in which context they’re being used. In war, it’s quicker and easier to say RPG than rocket propelled grenade. Or in government…likewise for the CIA (Central Intelligence Agency) or FBI (Federal Bureau of Investigation). For texters, they’re a time and finger-saving must! And in the escort world, the acronym isn’t just a time or finger or breath-saver, it acts as code and euphemism as well. But the last use of the acronym is its saving grace. The acronym functions as a learning tool!

I’m about to have a procedure whose name I could not remember – a point that frustrates me as I always like to appear learned when describing my medical conditions. I don’t have thrush…I have candida. I don’t have a frozen shoulder…I have adhesive capsulitis. I guess it’s because my family has so many doctors that I feel the need to sound like I know what the fuck I’m talking about.

So the new procedure’s name is “lateral medial branch block.” And as I said, I could not for the life of me remember these fancy four words. I needed a learning aid! Maybe an acronym would do the trick! Searching  my cob-webbed brain, I remembered an old advertiser I named Little Miss Big Butt, and shortened to the acronym LMBB when describing the ad to my rep at The NY Press. Bang! There was my learning aid. All I had to do was think about Ebony and her big booty…and then let my mind fill in the dots. It worked immediately! Go figure.

One story about acronyms and full-of-shit American escorts. I just can’t resist. So I meet this woman maybe 3 years ago. She’s cute and sporting a prodigious rack and a phat booty. I mean…what more could a meaningful guy like me want? So we enter into conversation…and it’s only a few minutes before the girl tells me she has an architecture degree from Columbia University. I don’t argue. I’m thinking more about her PHD thesis research in “Russian!” You get the idea.

Fast forward a few years and I’m in the same girl’s company at a “pleasure factory.” There are many ladies sitting around asking me the meaning of some acronyms that have them stumped. After answering the questions to the best of my ability, I think back to my youth and then ask the girls “OK! SOHCAHTOA is an acronym for what?” Now, I don’t expect anybody to know what the fuck I’m talking about. I just sprung the question on the supposed architect to verify how full of shit she is.

I pause for a second as everybody looks at me like I’m crazy and then continue speaking directly to the “architect.” Ya know….SOHCAHTOA. It’s a an acronym for the trigonometric functions? In response? Nothing.

OK! Maybe you never learned this acronym in school to help you remember sine = opposite over hypotenuse….cosine = adjacent over hypotenuse…and tangent = opposite over adjacent. But I got a problem, honey. Exactly how do you have an architecture degree from an Ivy League school yet aren’t even familiar with the trigonometric functions? That’s like the grammar teacher who doesn’t know what a noun is. Or a doctor who can’t name the biggest muscle in the body. Or an ad ho who never heard of Craigslist.

Girlfriend! Why you wanna front like that? Say it loud “I’m an escort and I’m proud.” And do the best job you can at what you do. Own your station in life!

Then I remembered how this girl is in the room. Totally detached and disinterested. And she wonders why even with that phat booty and 36DD chest she’s not making money. Full-of-shit-itis. That’s why!

Anyway, she ain’t the first bull shit artist I’ve met and she won’t be the last. And people of her persuasion can be found everywhere – not just in a pleasure palace. Try people in the arts! Everybody is full of crap in that field.

That’s enough for today. Oh wait a minute. TAMMY (my favorite Chinese cutie) is back at HIYAKO (212-779-3681). There! I knew I had something of value to say today! And….CELINA will be back next week!


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imagesIn the beginning, this blog was both an emotional outlet and a labor of love. Selling adult ads was never my calling. Writing – or anything which involves expressing your soul through your art – has always been my driving force. And so…I took time out from being a highly compensated ad whore to write and manage this blog.

And that (having a blog with which to express myself while selling ads the other 90% of the time to make the real money) was great until all my ex-friends went to the pokey for selling (drum roll) the very same ads that I was selling. Commissioner Kelly didn’t have to tell me more than once! I stopped “middlemaning” between escorts and media outlets immediately. One small problem: That reality suddenly turned my emotional and artistic outlet into (almost) my sole means of support! So not only was the blog my emotional and artistic salvation…but it became my monetary salvation as well!

Then today happened. DENNIS HOF is considering hiring me to work for him to essentially…go around to his 7 places of business…take pictures…and blog away in much the same fashion I blog here. Now this would be a pretty sweet deal for an aging douchebag the likes of yours truly. Just driving around the desert all over Nevada…visiting the oases…taking pictures…and probably staying over. SUHWEEET!

One problem: this blog! I can’t be in two places at the same time! Theoretically, I could spend two weeks here and two weeks in Nevada every month. But the plane fares would eat into my paycheck substantially. And I’m not that crazy for flying in the first place.

Or I could simply mail in the Hof blog and do it all from here without ever meeting anyone. But then it would just be a freelance gig…which isn’t a bad thing – just not a fun adventure which having this anchor precludes. Talk about raining on my own parade!

But if I didn’t have this blog? I’d blast off in a second. Who in my position (loser retiree) wouldn’t? Well anyway…you never know about a job until you actually have it. And you never know if you want it until you do it for a while. Look what happened with me and the Village Voice. I quit after one week!

Moving on…my old friend KOREAN INDY KANA (646-255-3203) called yesterday to announce she’ll be vacationing for a while after April 10th. So for fans…be apprised. Strike now while the fire’s hot. Kana is really a sweet girl. And a cute one, too! Enough said. Here’s her pic!


ASTRO ZOMBIE ISSUE 1 THE ACID TEST LOGOOne good thing the old print media (Villiage Voice, New York Magazine, New York Press) which accepted ads from not only restaurants, retail outlets and other “legitimate advertisers”…but from escorts as well: The ad rates really schooled you on who was making the money!

Back when I was selling ads for the Village Voice, there was a rare occasion when one of my customers wanted to run an additional ad in a different section (the hair salon section mostly). So I’d call over and negotiate a rate and what not, and whichever the section the girl wanted, the price was always way cheaper than it was in the bodywork section.

I never inquired about this bias because I was well aware of what time it was: The paper knew that escorts make mad money and they simply charged them accordingly.

So if you want to know who’s cashin’ in…just call a newspaper or magazine and find out how much real estate costs in each neighborhood (so to speak). And then you’ll know who’s making the money. There’s your acid test.

Moving on to a little Page Six stuff…ROSE HOUSE (347-624-3305) called to say they have a new cutie named AMY. This picture looks a little suspect but I tineye’d it and it isn’t anywhere on the web. Feedback would be great!

And I neglected to post (actually they just called to tell me about her) another stunning staffer at HOT LIPS (646-309-0453) by the name of JACKIE! What a picture! check it out!



miriam-wowI actually had something new in the can for today’s entry but decided to run this blast from the past instead after telling this exact story to a friend over the phone today. It just seemed like it would be much more entertaining. Bear in mind that it was written at a time when I was selling ads for the Voice, Press, NY Magazine and several websites.

Fifteen years ago, I knew a lot of trannies. It wasn’t a class of trade that interested me all that much…it was just that the week I got hired by Action Magazine, the boss decided to run a full court press on New York’s she males. SCREW Magazine had 72 of them advertising within its pages – and Action had 2! And Joe wanted the salesmen to bum rush the other 70! Pursuant to that effort, he hired a she male telemarketer who called all those ads and then dispatched either Howard or me to make the sale.

It was a serious clusterfuck! We found ourselves traveling all over the 5 boros trying to convince freaks to advertise in our wannabe sex rag. Action was clearly Avis and Screw Hertz…and it wasn’t that easy selling to a subculture steeped in advertising in SCREW and SCREW only – to cough up a measly $250 for my boss’s paper. Regardless, we were a sales-oriented outfit and a lame attempt wasn’t going to cut it with the boss. We had to make some sales. Fortunately, the paper actually worked fairly well for the “girls” and eventually, we peaked at 35 or so tranny ads. And in the process, I got to know most of the she male advertisers who worked the SCREW beat.

Our crowning concept for corralling the trannies came from yours truly at a corporate sales meeting one day. Reasoning that we were spending too much time traveling to the ass end of the boros to make these itty bitty sales, I proposed that I simply hang out in front of SCREW Magazine for 4 hours every Wednesday (where virtually every she male escort in NY would convene) and crash on the girls as they entered the building that housed the SCREW offices. I figured we could get more done in 4 hours than we could in days and days of navigating subways and buses.

Smitten with the idea, Howard (my homey) chimed in “I’ll bring the van and get a few dozen flowers from the wholesale joint down the road from where I live. We can give every tranny a copy of Action…a card…and a rose!”

And so…the next Wednesday, Howard and I spent half the day sitting in front of SCREW busting moves on incoming trannies. It was as ridiculous as it was surreal. I was writing occasional features for Screw at the time and knew the staff pretty well….well enough for the Assistant Editor to stop by and say hello when he exited the building for lunch.

“Hey, Billy! What are you doing out here?” asked Ivan. “Stalkin’ trannies for Action Magazine! It’s a hoot. Wanna watch us in action?” I answered honestly. “Cool! Let me buy  lunch. I’ll be back in a minute.” And so…Ivan scored a sandwich and watched Howard and me alternately chasing she males as we recognized who they were and ran up to them before they reached the front door.

It was all fun and games until Ivan ascended after lunch and told the staff what Howard and I were doing! And shortly thereafter, I got a call from The Editor: “Billy! You can’t sit down there and steal our clients like that!”

“Really?” I responded. “We’re on a city street and sidewalk and not in the SCREW office! But we’re done anyway. Howard and I are leaving in five minutes. It’s a moot point.”

I think Howard and I went back once more and were then satisfied that our mission was accomplished. While we only made two or three direct sales from the effort…the initiative did serve to introduce Action to the tranny subculture. And our she male section grew by leaps and bounds.

Well..to sum up…that was a long time ago, and my elite list of clientele is now predominantly Korean and not she male. And that’s a good thing. Trannies can be wacky and difficult. And they are always low profiit and high maintenance given that the girls work independently and not in houses. Indies are always more work than houses regardless of their gender or sexual orientation. Whatever…I still have a few trannies from way back who run ads with me…but nothing like the old Action days when I knew them all!

P.S. The woman pictured in this entry is actually a transsexual named MIRIAM, once my client for Action, The Voice and the Press…and widely renowned as New York’s most beautiful tranny. So gorgeous was she that Miriam got her own reality show in England titled “There’s Something About Miriam.” And you know what that something is! Just google the phrase and you’ll get an eyeful.

guideJust in the past 18 years, the adult advertising business has seen a complete metamorphosis. When I got my job at Action (18 years ago), the print medium garnered 99% of all adult advertising revenue. The other 1% went to a fledgling venue called the world wide web. And now? Vice versa. Yet some things remain unchanged –  like the value of a good guide listing.

OK! So what the fuck is a guide listing – or the guide listing section? Answer: It’s the section that lists and gives particulars about all the area’s “oases.” And early on, it was explained to me the value and importance of this section! In fact, part of my original job description (at Action) was to call places that didn’t advertise with us pretending I wanted a session…only to show up, look at the girls and the place…leave saying none of the staff attracted me…and then write an accurate guide listing. Kind of a devious way to get the job done – but indicative of the value the magazine placed on the section.

Guide listings weren’t just an effective way to generate revenue for the advertisers. They “hooked up” the editors of a contact tabloid as well. Many years ago, I wrote a column for SCREW (“Bordello Beat”). And to my editor’s delight, I would get on his office phone to call people in the guide listings I already knew and tell them “we” needed to “refresh” their listing and “When can one of the editors come in for a session to do just that?”

It worked like a charm. SCREW was the shit back then and almost nobody refused. They knew how much money those listings were bringing in! In fact, Steve (the editor) and I made a quick deal. I’d use his phone (with the SCREW MAG caller ID) and we’d split the sessions (one for him…then one for me…then one for him…and on and on). It didn’t take long to set them up. Not at all like cold calling (which I used to do and hated at Action). My batting average was phenomenal. Enough. Now we know the value of a guide listing. What does that have to do with the title “The Fundamentals Still Apply?”

Well, if you haven’t noticed (though most readers have)…this blog has a guide listing section which can be seen by double-clicking the “$ Bill Roundup” button under the header. And trust me, just like back in the print era, that section works!

By the software, 20% of this blog’s daily readers click on that button. And that’s considerable in my estimation. But the exit links are even more revealing! Let’s say a house gets 50 click-throughs in an 8 hour period (50 guys click from some link on this site which brings them to the house site in a new window). How many do you think come from guys clicking the sidebar pics versus the link in the guide listing section? I’d have thought most from the photos. After all, you expect men to respond to visuals much more than verbals – unless they’re intelligent and value the written word equally with an image akin to something you could see in the Sports Illustrated swimsuit model edition?

Well from a combination of this blog’s readers being intelligent – and the value of a good guide listing section still being relevant…40% of the click-throughs come from the guide listing. So you see…the fundamentals still apply. Print medium or the Internet notwithstanding, never underestimate the value of a good guide listing.

Thank God it’s Monday! Wait a minute! Wrong! Thank God there are girls in New York who’ll make Monday tolerable. Now I’ve got it! Me? I’m recovering from an all-nighter out on the prairie (see “Pioneer Bill” from last week). One door closes – and another one opens, I guess. Hey! My karma’s pretty good. If I get into a hassle with one source of fun, another one will come along to pick up the slack.

Speaking of good karma…the muslim babe in the burka down at the soup kitchen told me Coalition For the Homeless needs drivers – like yesterday – for their outreach trucks. When I told her I drove a yellow cab for 18 years, she went crazy! “They’re gonna love you!” said she.

Apparently, the truck is a rolling kitchen which hits designated corners to feed the hungry. Cool! I’ll have to see if I can hit 70 mph on Houston Street like when I was a cabby in the good old days. Some of those converted state trooper cars my boss bought at auction and then painted yellow could really go!

Anyway…if I get the gig, I’m sure I won’t go hungry myself. Not that I ever do…but sometimes I come home with meals I wouldn’t normally fix for myself. But enough about Volunteer Bill. Onward and upward – to the cheesecake!

I’m happy to announce the return of CLARA and CHANEL to HOT LIPS (646-309-0453). Some of y’all have noticed that Chanel is being advertised on Backpage as working at ASIAN PARADISE. In fact, that ad is totally bogus! It is not run by the Asian Paradise you know, but rather some busted joint around the corner from Hot Lips which features only lumpy milf types.

I actually know the numbskull who runs those ads and he just won’t stop stealing photos and headlines (he uses a headline I wrote many years ago). A word to the wise should be sufficient. Chanel works at Hot Lips. Period! The ad that has been running for weeks is totally counterfeit! Moving on…Clara is at Hot Lips today and Chanel will be returning in a day or two. Just check with the phone girl. She’ll have the most recent updates!

And speaking of A-list beauties, followers of AQUA (from VIP ASIAN – 646-391-2639) will be ecstatic to hear that she will be working (at VIP) until Friday – and will then be going on a 3 month vacation. So for lack of a better expression…it’s “last licks” time for her fans. Aqua is very beautiful. I can tell you that having seen her multiple times with my own eyes. And finally, JUNE, an alumnus of VIP ASIAN, has now moved to BLUE SKY ASIAN (646-342-7253) no doubt making the sky even bluer.

And so it goes with the Asian musical chair game. Round and round they go…and where they land nobody knows…unless you read this blog. Then you find out!




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imagesFor today…a moldy oldie. Actually, I’ve been looking for this expose for a while! Apparently through all the platform changes, it got dropped from the archives. But I had it in an old file as it turns out. The piece is probably 10 years old by now but still relevant. Enjoy!

Wandering the city visiting all kinds of houses like I do, I like to observe the modus operandi of each culture and ethnicity as they work their beat in their own distinctive fashion. And probably the most interesting is the Korean take on running and working a place of business. It’s what I call the firehouse mentality.

Most non-Korean houses are open 8 or maybe 12 hours per day. But with Koreans? 24/7! They’re there to make money. Sleep deprivation is a reality with which the girls are all too familiar. As an ex-cabby who had no problem working 18 straight hours with almost no break, I’m completely on their page. Work hard and play hard was my ethos – and that of the Korean escort as well.

This is how it works if you’re a K-“massage” girl: First, the girls calls everybody they know to ascertain which house is busy. Then they try to get a job at that house. If you look good enough – or they know you’re dependable or good in the room – you get hired for a one week minimum.

During that week, the girl will essentially stay on the premises. All her food, towels, sheets, alcohol, and everything an escort could possibly need to pull her firehouse shift is provided by ownership in exchange for which the girl pays a fee. Yes, you heard me right. It’s like driving a cab. They pay a lease fee for the week and then hit the road in search of fares.

For the next 7 days, the girl is on constant call! If a Wall Streeter comes in at 7:30 AM and he wants to see her, the phone girl wakes her ass up and she goes to work. If a guy arrives at 4 AM after a night of partying? She goes to work. If Ms. Honey had a heavy meal and is ready for a nap but a guy comes in to see a girl? She goes to work. It may sound a little callous but then again…they’re bankin’.

Work for a Korean girl is different from work for say a latina. Mostly hispanas are about providing a hot time – and not much else. Koreans are about bathing, massaging and then giving the customer a hot time.

In the course of 24 hours, an attractive K-girl working in a popular place can see 10 (or even more) customers. With the split being 50/50 (house/girl) – and the ladies keeping all their tips – these girls can make a lot of money. And with the amount of money and work involved, K-girls don’t work 52 weeks per year. They go “on vacation.”

Vacation for a K-girl can be anything from an actual vacation (though rarely), to a gambling junket in Atlantic City, to a shopping spree on 34th Street, or a drunken binge at a host bar to find a new boyfriend.

When on “vacation,” the girls too often seek situations in which they can role play in reverse. They want to party (and not provide the party as in when they’re working) and they want to choose. The host bar is the perfect setting in which to exorcise all these demons.

A host bar is basically a karaoke joint separated into small rooms with their own karaoke machines. A group of girls will take a room to party and will then be introduced to all the waiters in much the same fashion as they introduce themselves to their clients. And each girl picks one waiter she will have the opportunity to sexually harass all night as they get blind drunk and sing their guts out to the machine – all while ante-ing up over $1000 a piece for the world’s most expensive liquor! This is all good except that too often, K-girls hook up with host bar waiters who turn out to be nothing but gigolos. Not good!

Girls can get caught up in this lifestyle for months and years on end. It’s almost like commercial fisherman or oil-riggers working insane shifts and then blowing off steam in a bar or at a whorehouse on their off time. I had a friend who was a merchant mariner. And every time he came home from a voyage, he couldn’t wait to get a room at The St. Marks Hotel and then get drunk and find a hooker to rob him. Whatever, it’s a zero sum game. Work hard, play hard and end up with some beautiful memories – but no money in your pocket.

Working the K-girl firehouse life isn’t a dead end for all K-girls.They’re often very entrepreneurial and many will actually save up to open their own houses. This may sound like a huge undertaking but consider the amount of money a k-girl can make and you realize that within a relatively short period of time, the dollars can be saved and the wheels of progress set in motion. (That or there’s no shortage of Korean loan sharks – a costly mistake silly girls make too often.)

And really…opening a house is just another form of gambling for a K-girl. And we all know (or I do) about K-girls and gambling! Too many of them live for that shit! Anyway…some thrive and some go bust – just like when you hit the black jack table in AC. Actually, I think that’s part of the appeal.

And ya know…I kind of admire them. I always wanted to be a fast and loose kind of guy but alas…I’ve spent most of my life as an under-control and calculating nerd. Thus, I live vicariously through them. It’s a wonderful life K-girl style. What more can I say?

Although the debates are separate, the legal issues concerning compensated surrogacy and prostitution can be viewed as one and the same because whether a woman enters the world of prostitution – or surrogacy – she is essentially renting her womb for a price. Predictably, there are just as many people against legalization of the surrogate business as there are the sex-for-sale business.

Conservatives cite both enterprises as unnatural and immoral. No functional woman would let a man she doesn’t like insider her. And no functional woman would carry another couple’s baby to term unless of course, she needed money! And there’s your root of all evil: the golden idol. But what if that money pays for rent and food as opposed to Dolce and Gabana outer wear or a Prada bag? Where do you draw the line…and should you even draw a line? After all, shouldn’t a woman be allowed to do with her body what she wishes unless doing that hurts somebody else? You would think so. But just like with prostitution, compensated surrogacy is illegal in almost as many places as is selling ass!

Again, the right will be four square against legalization of both industries. They’ll thump the bible and proclaim the innate immorality in both businesses. But there are guys who are better at making money than they are at seducing women. And buying sex is the answer. It’s downright therapeutic! Men will be more peaceful and productive with that therapy. I know it works that way with me! And what about potential rapists? Maybe if sex weren’t for sale, they might just go out and get their fix the old fashioned way…with a club and a cave in which to defile his quarry. It’s a good thing prostitutes do what they do – or the stats on forcible rape could go way up without them and their services. I happen to be one person who believes in that theory.

Compensated surrogates have similar pluses about which to boast. You could make the argument that couples (be they man-woman, woman-woman or man-man) willing to pay deep into 5 figures for a baby will be better parents than say parents who hooked up for a few weeks or months and then had a somewhat unwanted baby in the process. C’mon, man! Which baby has a better chance at life?

All this brings me to one conclusion. The business of a woman renting out her womb should be a private matter. And a woman should be able to make that decision without the government stepping in to tell her if she can or can’t! I don’t get that! To me, the term “victimless crime” is an oxymoron. And given that compensated surrogacy and prostitution are victimless crimes, criminalization of either is as moronic as the term victimless crime.

Now I’m not a total liberal. In fact, I can be as rednecked as the next Bubba. But when it comes to this stuff, I see legalization and regulation as much better alternatives than criminalization – and the whole deal should be a matter of choice not government edict.

6113024_zps83902ae6Normally when I hear the expression “make some noise,” I think of a rapper on stage beseeching the crowd to do just that as a function of him or her wanting the fans to get heated up and in the proper mindset to enjoy the show! It’s part of what I call the hip-hop lexicon – a set of words and expressions which includes the likes of “Let me give a shout out to…,” “fresh,” “def,” “fly,” “Ya feel me?’ and on and on. For hippies, it used to be “groovy,” and “far out.” You get the idea. Just stuff that identifies somebody with which pop subculture they belong.

Well anyway, “make some noise” found a new context a month or so back while I was discussing the unacceptable amount of noise that comes through the walls at a certain place we’ll call “the factory.” Ownership regards their employees as precious gems, and they may well be. But when it comes to the award for The Noisiest House In New York, no place else is even close! Of that there can be little doubt.

I pointed this out while socializing with a few of the girls – which is when one of them gave me something to write about today. Acknowledging the veracity of my statement, the girl commented that during one session while the couple in the next room were making a racket, her customer actually asked her to make some noise, I assume because he felt inadequate next to his neighbor. Too funny!

Maybe some people like all the noise. Who’s to say? But I know from personal experience that the girls I’ve been with at this place didn’t like it themselves. One complained to me (to which I responded “Hey, Look where you are! Go work someplace else if you want it quiet!”). And another actually shouted through the wall “Keep it down.” So I’m guessing that the majority of the world prefers quiet to a racket going on outside the room. It was never a huge issue with me though I’d be lying if I said all the noise enhanced the experience.

In fact, when I go visiting places currently featured on this site, I rarely hear any noise coming from the rooms. The environment in virtually all of the Asian houses which decorate this blog is extremely discreet and quiet. It’s as if the customer is all alone in the place with his girl.

The question as to why the aforementioned noisy place is so noisy is one you’d have to present to ownership. But really…they do a myriad of things to fuck up their own business. So it comes as no surprise that they would adversely compromise their revenue stream by building walls so thin you can hear a pin drop through them.

Anyway…back to the guy who asked his girl to make some noise. I offer this advice: Wear noise canceling headphones in the joint or better yet, just find another place to hang out. It ain’t as if they’re the only show in town.

In summation, you could ask me why I was there if the situation was that bad. And the answer is I wasn’t paying! Case closed. Otherwise, I think the chaos would have deflected me to a quieter and more discreet location.

yuki5_fsYup! The worm has finally turned. While I was panting over YUKI from ROSE HOUSE (347-624-3305) being all natural, I forgot to tell y’all one thing: I photoshopped the picture. Or to be more accurate I UNphotoshopped it!

With my keen eye for detail, I immediately noticed upon going to the Rose House site that Yuki looked natural. So I called the phone girl to verify what my eye was telling me and she responded that indeed, Yuki is all natural. I got off the phone to label and put a border on the pic when my discerning eye caught something else. It looked like the girl had like a 16 inch waist!

“This will never do,” I thought to myself and then whipped out my trusty liquify tool and fattened up her midsection to where it appears natural. No sooner had I accomplished the task and posted the photo when I mused to myself “Dude! You just UNphotoshopped a photo. How bizarre is that?”

I have a confession to make. All those JEWELS and GC pix I used to take? Most of them were photoshopped to a certain extent. But not so much so that guys would find the girls unrecognizable when they arrived. This is apparently an art lost on the pro photographers the Korean girls use. Ya know…as in the art of subtlety!

Well anyway…with me no longer taking photos for any of the sidebar girls, that art will no longer be in evidence on this blog unless somebody else decides my brand of photography is worthy. And while I did unphotoshop Yuki, I don’t picture myself making a habit of that. What are ya gonna do? It’s an imperfect world.

Moving on…I received a phone call today from an old friend who told me one of her longtime buddies had met me at Hof’s party and found me “charming.” Really?!?! I thought she was bullshitting me until I realized that the girl she described was the girl I walked to her car! Will wonders never cease? Me…charming! Go figure!

Back in the 19 the century when photography was first developed, a “real” picture was in fact a real picture. No photoshop…no breast implants…and really no plastic surgery whatever (plastic surgery didn’t come to the fore until after WW I when so many disfigured soldiers came back from the war).

But that was then…and this is now. The term “real” has become downright penumbral given all the changes a girl can make to her body and the photograph she posts to represent herself! All of which brings me to the point.

I was browsing Squackpage in “gallery” mode a couple of days ago when I saw a photo of a piece of paper which said “I’m real.” Sufficiently seduced, I clicked on the pic to check out the ad and the first image I saw was of a clearly fake set of juggularzz! I shook my head and pondered “What the fuck is the meaning of real nowadays – what with the woman advertising what was clearly a real picture of fake tits?” It put me in a state of utter confusion! But I’ll tell y’all one thing! I would never go to see a girl who advertised “I’m real” in front of fake breasts! Just too much of a turn off.

Now to Page 6 stuff! If maturity is your thing, then  LEAH (347-357-8211) is your thing. Leah is a Jewish American princess hell bent on proving to each and very customer that she is the best – and that they should forget the rest! Some say maturity has its perks. I agree…but you can be the judge.


And speaking of LEAH…here’s a photo of Korean Leah (from two days ago) that isn’t on her site – but I found in my archives. I think it’s her best! While it might seem impossible, this is exactly what Leah looks like! Check it out. BTW…she can be reached at 917-664-7879.


4273961356_047e49ccdbDon’t blink now or you might miss it. Yesterday was the 25th anniversary of the release of PRETTY WOMAN, that iconic piece of crap which supposedly pealed back the layers of the hooker game! Yup! Believe it or not..it’s been 25 years since Garry Marshall schooled us on the subject.

But I’m not buyin’ it now…and I wasn’t then – even though the actual release of the film predates my involvement in the escort business. It was just too shiny and rose-colored for me to believe. Hey! I’d seen East Village hookers standing on the corner. And they didn’t appear to be even distantly related to JULIA ROBERTS.

For the 25th anniversary, a few fun facts have been revealed I would assume to renew interest in the movie and turn a few more bucks. Just for example, Julia Roberts was like the 5th choice to play the role. It was offered to MEG RYAN and DARRYL HANNAH both of whom turned the part down presumably because they knew the project was a plastic piece of shit. Ditto for the male role. AL PACINO rejected involvement as well.

But more telling of what a misrepresentation of “the life” the film truly is came as a minor surprise to me. Roberts’ part was cast as a coke fiend. But then the powers had a change of heart. Apparently, it was too dark for the light comedy/romance production. Reality took a back seat to crass commercialism as very few people find an addled coke head (and that includes me) sympathetic.

The sorry truth is that the great majority of girls who walk the street (and American girls who work incall to a lesser degree) are drug addicts. And they’re hardly as appealing as was Julia (though she didn’t do that much for me in all honesty).

Sociologists attribute various factors which lead a woman to hop the chasm and “provide” for a living.  And unfortunately, very few if any of them would be appealing to your average movie-goer. And thus, we get sugar coated horse shit not representative of reality. That’s Hollywood. It shouldn’t come as a big surprise.

If you want the real deal, you’ll have to watch independent films where occasionally art rules over avarice. The fact that of all the hooker movies that have been produced out of Hollywood, Pretty Woman is the one that rose to the top is a testimonial to Hollywood’s obsession with money…and the media viewers’ desire to escape rather than be informed.

Well…what are ya gonna do? Dogging that stupid movie is about as popular as condemning people for trying to get rich in a capitalistic society. Talk about rowing against a very strong current. That’s just the way it is. What are ya gonna do?

OK! Enough about that. On to the natural beauties! First we have new girl YUKI over at ROSE HOUSE (347-624-3305). Viewing her pictures, it actually looked like she’s not just busty – but all natural as well! So I called over and indeed, I do have an eye for this stuff. The phone girl promised me that she is all natural – and very shapely as well.

Often I hear complaints that the girl pictured doesn’t look a lot like the girl in the flesh though the photo is of the correct girl. But in HEIDI’S case over at DREAM GIRL (646-276-0229), she looks exactly like her photo. I’m partial because Heidi looks a little like Pam Tills of country western fame…for those who know who Pam Tillis is!

Anyway…here’s da goils!


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SuperstarITVWe all know that there are a lot of cute Asian girls in the escort business. You need only look at the sidebar of this site to verify that statement. But cute girls are one thing…and superstars are quite another!

Enter the girls of ASIAN SUPERSTAR (917-664-7879), the latest addition to this blog. I’ve actually visited the apartment out of which they work and I can tell you it’s plush. But this incarnation met me at Starbuck’s in their street clothes and I gotta tell y’all…these girls are hot! Now I only saw LEAH and the phone girl; I didn’t meet CL. But I can tell you that the phone girl herself could be an A-lister. Tight pants? Leather jacket? Long and straight brown hair she was flipping over her shoulder every few seconds? Hubba hubba. And Leah? Stunning! Best of all…she looks exactly like her photos!

I’ve seen some of the owners’ girls walk outside in their street gear and I can tell you…they ain’t all that without their war  paint, high heals and wonder bras? But Leah? Way out of their league. She is a premium type aristocrat descended from royalty. And….she wants to be your girlfriend! One hitch, though: Not for ballers on a budget.

I told the girls at the rates they’re charging they should do outcalls. Whether you can convince them of that will depend on you. I planted the seed in their mind. Now it’s up to a seductive dude to make it happen. In the meantime, the girls (all 2 of them) are located on the East Side in the 50’s, which is where they’re currently doing incalls.

One other detail worth mentioning is that essentially, these are two indy ladies working together – and not a house as you know it. That means quiet, discretion and the sort of tender loving care you associate with a single girl as opposed to someone working the floor at a spa.

Hey! The price is a little higher than some. But with Leah and friend, you’re flying first class. This little group of hotties are the kind of girls you see at an Asian club and know you would never have a chance with. So step up to the big time. Move over Becca, Tera, Chanel, Cherry and Aqua! There’s a new girl in town and she’s going to give you a run for your money! And her friend CL looks pretty hot as well.





conestoga_wagonAh! The lengths to which men will go to score a little “companionship” are considerable. I know that after a pioneering expedition I myself made last week!

The situation was this: Up until the very recent past, I had worked out a deal which provided for that companionship with just a simple phone call and then a brief commute. For reasons too boring to retell, that deal went south! So where would I pick up the slack?

Well, for weeks, an old client and friend had been inviting me out to a relatively faraway neighborhood in Queens for a little fun. But duties and deadlines were making it difficult – that is – until I got fired for doing my job. Having those duties lifted from my everyday routine left me available for the fun I’d been missing in the hinterlands.

And so…I called up to accept the running invitation citing that anytime “starting now” was directly in my wheelhouse. The date was set for that very night and the girl gave me directions which involved a ride on the L train to 6th Avenue…a ride on the F train to the end of the line in Queens…and then a bus ride! Ouch! There had to be a better way! It was time for PIONEER BILL to take over.

I knew from previous experience (trips to Tri Star Offset, the outfit which printed Action, Screw and my paper…and commutes to the office of Yedioth Ahronnat, a shitty Jewish paper for which I sold ads at one point – also located out on Metropolitan Avenue in Queens as was Tri Star) that I could take the L just two stops into Brooklyn and then grab the Q 54 to accomplish the same mission.

With a little studying of maps and such (that’s what pioneers do), I embarked on the voyage on what as luck would have it was a very cold night. The first glitch came after I ascended from the L train Lorimer Street station to discover that the 54 did not take the same route as it had those 5 to 10 years ago when I’d last made the trip. After some fucked up advice from a pedestrian on where the hell the 54 ran, I finally (after a mile or two of walking), found that the bus now runs along Grand Street – and not Metropolitan as it had years before.

Still, things were not out of hand. I’d left 30 extra minutes for the commute figuring something might go wrong. But once I’d located my bus route, I damn near froze waiting for the son-of-a-bitch to arrive. It wasn’t that late (about 8:30 PM); It shouldn’t have taken that long.

Finally, the bus appeared. And at certain points along the way (like when the bus veered off Metropolitan and I asked the driver if I was on the right bus), it became apparent to the driver that I hadn’t taken this ride before.

“What? Are you from out of town?” he asked realizing that I was one of the few and far between passengers who wasn’t familiar with the route he was taking. I figured “What the fuck! Let’s go with this…” and answered “Actually, I’m from Atlanta…and visiting an old girlfriend for a little reunion!”

That started the conversation flowing…big time. And suddenly, I was the wide-eyed tourist…and the driver the sage tour guide through the bowels of Queens.

In the meantime, I was getting erotic texts from the girl who sounded like she was playing with herself while awaiting my arrival! I’d promised to show between 9 and 9:30 PM and actually just made my deadline. Responsible Bill if nothing else!

After maybe 45 minutes of verbal foreplay (about 44 minutes too much by me), my buddy uttered the magic words: “I’ll be right back. And I expect you to be comfortable upon my return!” And we all know what that means!

Generally, my interactions involve roughly 15% oral and then 85% boom boom in the room room. But not with this girl! Ever since she set eyes on a straw, she knew what her life calling would be (her words – not mine)! And so, I got the endless royal treatment during which I asked a few times “Can we move on?”…to which she answered “I’m not quite done here yet!” I barely argued.

Eventually, we got to the main event which as usual (with her), didn’t take long…as this particular individual doesn’t have the problem some of her gender do. (You get the idea! She can bust in like 3 to 5 minutes.) And I was obliged to follow suit. No problem there. She’d virtually totaled me with her mouth for the previous 45 minutes anyway!

Now for the tough part. Was I staying over or did she want me to go? Answer: A driver was coming to pick her up. Better if I go! So the girl walked me out into the cold and promised to stay with me until the bus arrived. With the time being a few minutes after midnight, I didn’t know what to expect from the MTA. But surprisingly, within 4 minutes? Here comes the Q 54!

This time around, I knew how to get the subway – even though the MTA was doing track work and the train route had been altered as a result. Incredibly, I got the L to Manhattan within like 3 minutes of arriving on the subway platform and a scant 50 minutes after leaving her apartment door, I was back at First Avenue and 13th Street wolfing a slice at Venezio’s. Lewis and Clark like a mother fucker! Trail Blazin’ Mother Fucking Bill.

I called my buddy to hit her with the good news (I was already back in Manhattan – and had discovered the overland trail to the city which the girl should use whenever she comes to “town” in the future.) Fuck the F train. As if!

“I had a headache before you came but now it’s all gone,” she cooed indicating her satisfaction with the long-awaited rendezvous. “Ah! I’m a therapist if nothing else,” I oozed back.

I might not be a legend in my own mind but at least, I am in hers! And so…one door closes and another one opens. It’s just that this door is farther away. But with the old pioneering spirit, a trailblazer can make do.

originalOnly in a perfect world could you do something on the down low and not get outed. Even in a city the size of New York! One second you’re an anonymous individual doing your little clandestine thing…and the next you feel like you live in a small town when BAM! There’s your boyfriend’s friend…or a relative…to out you!

Two perfect examples: When I was a musician, I really wanted to drive a cab on the side to fill in when I was sitting by idly. I had a college friend who’d hacked and he made it sound very romantic and like huge fun. But…I was afraid somebody would see me and I knew that would kill my reputation in the music biz. Mind you…I wasn’t broke at the time. Just bored on off days.

So after losing 4 grand gambling in the stock market, I decided to pull out cold turkey and drive a taxi on off days until I earned my 4 g’s back. Call it self-imposed penance if you will. Well as it turned out, I didn’t have to worry about all that hiding bull shit for long because within the first week, my cover was totally blown! I ran into old girlfriends…people from high school…and at least 3 dudes who viewed me as a solvent studio musician – that is – until they saw me behind the wheel of a yellow cab. Cover blown. Rep blown. Calls for work almost vanished!

Another example: Grand Jury duty. Week #2…the guy sitting to my right pulled me aside as we exited during a lunch break to ask “Do you have a blog?” And there was but one picture of me on this site. And I was wearing sunglasses! Talk about a lesson in big city = small town…and you can’t live life in a vacuum! Damn!

And now to the point. I read on some review forum a comment from a guy who’d been lusting to spend time alone with a certain girl when one day, he saw her pic on Backpage. He knows her boyfriend (or whatever) well and considered going to see her without considering how she might react when he arrived.

Picture this scene to give you a clue! I’m up in the attic (of all places)  at GENTLEMAN’S CHOICE a Saturday ago. The place was busy at closing time and guys were all over the place and obviously, I had to be out of sight. So there I was sequestered away from the madness when in walks one of the popular girls to join me.

“What the fuck are you doing here with all those lonely, companion-seeking guys downstairs?”…I asked. Answer: “My ex-boyfriend’s best friend is down there. NO WAY I’m gonna let him see me!

Escorts live in fear of this shit. It’s the rough equivalent of me running into a guy who was courting me to produce a record while I was out on the streets trolling for fares (yes, that happened to me)! To the guy who was thinking about seeing his friend’s gf who it turns out….is an escort: In a million years, she would not see you. The girl will run and hide under a chair and not come out for days on the off chance you get a gander at her while she’s down-lowing it at an incall!

A girl decides to be an escort and she hopes to live life in a vacuum…undetected by her “real” world. But New York ain’t nuthin’ but a small town. And when the bubble bursts and she’s outed, the only option left is for her to lie like a sailor – all in denial of the obvious.

So if your best friend’s girl is hot…and you always wanted to “hang” with her…and you see her advertised on Backpage? Forget it. She’ll die of a fucking heart attack if you walk in and request her. Don’t even think about it…because it won’t happen.

OnBlackShirtsA couple of months back, one of the managers at JEWELS, who actually reads this blog, suggested I apply for employment writing for a site she reads frequently. So I checked it out…saw it was relevant…and sent them an email. Not surprisingly, I heard nothing back. But I proved a point. If nothing else, I have the wherewithal to follow through.

Well this week, I saw opportunity once again in the Hof invitation. Beyond the reunion factor with all my fellow SCREW losers, I knew there might be gold in them thar hills. So I switched into ambition mode and called my DAILY NEWS editor friend to invite him to the party (he couldn’t attend), figuring to kill two birds with one stone. I could impress Harry (the Daily News guy) with an invitation to a private porn party…and HOF as well that I actually know an editor at the Daily News! Plus…I cracked on Harry to follow through on introducing me to somebody at the DAILY BEAST – something he volunteered he’d do a while back. And if that don’t classify as “blind ambition,” I don’t know what does! The beautiful thing about writing your blog every day for 6 and a half years is that if you can squeeze through a slightly ajar door, you sure as hell have enough ammo (in the form of 4000 plus written pages) with which to  impress whoever you’re trying to impress. But that was only the beginning of this week’s appearance of BLIND AMBITION BILL.

The day after the party, I set out to research JUDITH REGAN…and find out exactly what she’s about (I didn’t really know). OJ’s “I Did It?” JENNA JAMESON’S “How To Make Love Like a Porn Star?” These are just two of Judith’s media attention-commanding titles. Enough said right there. She is the publisher for me!

First, I emailed Dennis with a 1000 word proposal on how we could do some business together, a part of which requested that he rep me to Judith. I’d met her at the party…but she really didn’t know anything about me. Dennis responded immediately with just a few words: “Who is the hottest 2 or 3 Asians on your blog?” (Consistent if nothing else!) From there we emailed back and forth several times…the subjects being (again) the hottest 2 or 3 girls on the blog…and his endless upcoming media appearances. Zero acknowledgement on the business front! Oh well.

Time to shift gears! I googled Regan Arts…found the contact number…and called over with this sales pitch: “Hi, I’m Dollar Bill, NY’s premier escort blogger” (a statement I feel confident in making by virtue of being the only escort blogger in New York).

The girl came back with “Oh hi, Dollar Bill. I’m the girl with the list who let you in the door for the party!” So far so good, right fellaz? I continued…”Judith must have a talent scout whose job it is to look for (drum roll) new talent. And when he or she finds it…he scores point with his boss.”

“I don’t think we actually have a talent scout,” responded Tara (her name)…”but I’ll send you to Judith’s assistant.” And so I pitched  Judith’s assistant (whose name is Bill – good omen) and he told me to email him something he could work with.

Now a lot of people would have thought about what they were going to write…procrastinated…thought some more…and then maybe hit the road with the rubber…and submitted something.

That’s somebody else…that’s not me. Within 30 minutes I had written and edited down 1000 words of background info – and why Judith should take me on as a fledgling author. What took a little longer was choosing among the 2000 or so posts worth forwarding.

An hour or so after getting off the phone with Bill, I’d sent the entire hype. And best of all…six hours later after smoking a joint, I revisited what I’d submitted and found it crisp, clean and inspired. )Sometimes I review stuff I’ve written a day later and shake my head in disgust with how lame it is. This wasn’t one of those times. I’d hit the ball right on the bat’s sweet spot. If it went in the alley for a double that would be great. And if it went straight at a fielder and bombed out? Well…at least I’d done my best. What more could I ask of myself?) Whether she chooses to deal with me or not…I’d done a cracker jack job of repping myself.

And so this week I morphed into Blind Ambition Bill…and it reminded me of back when I was in the music business and what I used to term to my old man’s applause “the fantasy of the week.” He could totally relate. The fantasy of the week is that fantasy which keeps you going…and hoping for that lucrative deal which will give you a hit record and the recognition you so deserve. When that fantasy dissolves, you need another to pull you through. And on and on until you reach that pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

Anyway…I’m proud to say I took my shots this week. And even if I get rejected and it all comes to naught, I can say I didn’t just talk…I walked as well. Guess I ain’t dead yet. Even at almost 65, I’m loaded with blind ambition! Go figure!


"In The Land Of Blood And Honey" New York Premiere - Outside ArrivalsYeah, all of us guys know about chick flicks – and even the Chick Channel (aka Lifetime Television). 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.

A quick review of the three protagonists:

1. KATIE COURIC – Who decided it would be appropriate to turn a cheerleader into a news anchor? Katie’s only claim to fame (in my estimation) is revealing an even shallower and less-informed douchebag than she (Ms. Palin) as just that. No sale, Ms. Couric! Did you know that Katie earned $15 million per annum while tanking the entire CBS news department and turning them into the laughing stock of the industry? Oh well! It wasn’t my money!

2. DIANE SAWYER – Competent, regal and appealing in the kind of way I’d like to have her as a first cousin or sister – but not as my companion in a whore house. A little on the arid side! I’ve turned fertile women into desserts enough for one lifetime. I’ll pass on Diane.

3. CHRISTIANE AMaNPOUR – One of the most compelling, appealing and intelligent human beings of any gender I’ve ever had the pleasure of watching and listening to. Mesmerizing and totally awesome!

So what did I come away with  after plowing through 460 tiny-typed pages which almost turned me blind? Answer: How come there are no women like Christiane sucking dick in a whore house? What a rip off!

Next chick book: THE MADWOMAN IN THE VOLVO, written by a woman going through menopause! I know. it sounds totally boring and could be of interest only to a chick. But ya know what? The author is a funny chick! Just for example…she laments going though menopause in our era versus say her mother’s…because back when mom was 50, she could go crazy from all the raging hormones and fire her old corded Bell telephone against the wall and get a resounding and satisfying ker-chunk for the energy expended. Nowadays, who the fuck flies into a rage and chucks her iPhone? Way too expensive…and barely a ker-chunk factor. Again…what a rip off!

But really, reading this book made me think back to when my mother was 50 and the crap she put me through, a lot of which might have had something to do with menopause. But then again…she put me through crap my entire life! So menopause couldn’t be the reason. Maybe me reminding her of my father had something to do with it.

Anyway…the point! Reading chick books is a good way to understand chicks…which may help you get laid…which is why it’s worth your time to read a chick book every now and then.

And now…excuse me while I go back to reading my chick book. I’m out!


Wait a minute. I’m not out! Check out TIFFANY at HIYAKO (212-679-3681). Here’s da goil!


Oh how I love a good party. When I was in the music business, release parties with free booze and food were daily entertainment. I lived for them. But now that I’m old? Not so much!

So I headed over to the Sex Museum only 15 minutes after the scheduled opening and to my surprise, found that it was already packed! It’s been a while since I’ve been at a scene where it’s difficult to even cross the room (excuse me, sir…excuse me, madam)…and just for a second, I was ready to bolt. Nobody I knew came into view and I asked myself “What the fuck are you doing here? Like…you could be home jerking off to a picture!”

But then I righted the ship! “Schmuck! This is an opportunity! Go get drunk and enjoy the fact that you have no Backpage ads to post and nothing to stop you from having a good time – beyond your own insecurity!”

So I scored a beer downstairs and ran into ERIC DANVILLE, an old friend…ex-editor at SCREWLINDA LOVELACE biographer…and current staff writer at PENTHOUSE. Within seconds, I’d tipped Eric’s interest and we were in deep conversation while one of his two female buddies, who used to be a researcher at the DAILY NEWS, went to have her tits signed by RON JEREMY, who was over in the corner (drum roll) autographing tits.

I asked Eric’s other female companion why she wasn’t doing the same…whereupon she matter-of-factly stated “When you’ve sucked the guy’s dick, there’s really no need to have him autograph your tits.” Hard to argue with that logic…especially given that the woman had an artfully tattooed arm, a sweet and very pretty face…and a huge chest. Who was I to doubt the veracity of her statement? Whatever…my comfort level rose in the knowledge that I was in kindred company. As in welcome home, Dollar! You’re in the bosom of the SCREW crew. Not to worry!

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I turned to Eric and observed “Ya know back in the day, Ron had the biggest dick in porn. Nowadays, he’d be a fucking peanut!” In response, Eric acknowledged my cogent historical perspective and smiled comfortably no doubt thinking “Ah! Billy the fucking cab driver-turned adult ad mogul. That’s why I showed up at this wang-dang-doodle…to reunite with even bigger losers than myself!” True that! Sex business reunions are totally awesome!

Having settled in with a beer or two (which were free – huzzah’s to Dennis and company), I excused myself to ascend and say hey to The Man, who was virtually besieged when I first walked in. Now here’s where the societal observation kicked in.

Up until that point, I was Joe Schmo…just an outsider at a porn party. Chicks were looking at me and thinking “What the fuck is this nerd doing here?” But then I saw a breathtaking vixen wearing a fur – just sitting in the corner doing nothing. But she rang a bell. So I went over to chat and it turned out the girl was VANITY FAIR from the LOVE RANCH…and she used to work for BODY HEAT back in my ACTION MAG days. A heavy dose of nostalgia and jewish geography were next on the menu and before I knew it, all the people who’d been looking at me and wondering “Who’s this douchebag?” were suddenly checking me out thinking “Who IS this douchebag?” Funny how that bull shit works.

After that, gorgeous girls were chatting me up and giving me their cards. Very interesting! And before I knew it, I found myself posing with all the hot shots. Ya know….like Dennis’s girlfriend KRISSY SUMMERS…and Vanity…and Bob the publisher of SMOKE Magazine (cigars, that is)…and even JUDITH REGAN (look her up) who I can tell you is very media-ready and charismatic. I regret that I did not get to impress her with my original style and grace – as she did me.

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Anyway…I was barely tipsy and getting my groove on before the lights brightened signaling the end of the party. Too bad. Vanity grabbed my arm and asked “Can you walk me to my car?” With no hesitation I responded “Oh! So you need an escort. That’s what you’re telling me!” A huge smile flashed across her face and she turned to Dennis’s girlfriend to say “I like this guy. He gets it.”

So I walked Miss Honey to her ride and she even asked if I needed a lift home. I explained I had a bike shackled around the corner. And so…I tucked her into her Mercedes convertible and sent her on her way.

In closing…my usual summation: It’s good to be social occasionally – even when you’re a societal misfit!

P.S. I make light of Hof’s fame and fortune what with knowing him as the huge trick he surely is. But really…this book release is a big deal. He’ll be all over your television with this and it wouldn’t surprise me at all if he hit the bestseller list. Congratulations on this coup is in order…even if he was wearing that God-awful shiny red shirt! I’d offer to be his fashion consultant but that is one job I would really suck at!

s-DENNIS-HOF-largeA couple of weeks ago, I received an invitation to attend a book signing party at THE MUSEUM OF SEX.  I did not know the name of the book or who it was (or is) about until I confirmed with my benefactor today. In fact, the upcoming tome is titled THE ART OF THE PIMP. My benefactor is DENNIS HOF…and the book is his autobiography.

I wish Dennis all the luck in the world…and I’m sure the effort will be as readable as was THE HAPPY HOOKER, an absolute runaway sensation and best seller from 40 years ago. But I’d be remiss if I didn’t comment that the book is mistitled. It should be THE ART OF THE TRICK!

I first met Dennis many years ago in of all places, GINA’S DREAMLAND (or Crummyroom In Rio as I renamed it), a somewhat legendary incall in Midtown. I was on my way to Gina to collect her money for the three NEW YORK PRESS ads she was running at the time (that ought to tell you how long ago this was) but called first to confirm.

“Hey, Billy! Guess who’s in my place right now,” gushed the Brazilian icon. “I dunno! Bill Clinton?” I responded. “No! That guy who runs the place out in Nevada!” countered Gina! “Come on over. He’s in the room with two girls right now but he’ll be out in a few minutes.”

Somewhat (though not entirely) tickled, I pedaled over just in time to see this big hulking mass of humanity clad in Moonlight Bunny Ranch gear from head to toe. Gina introduced me as whatever whereupon I whipped out ESCORT MAGAZINE, which I was publishing at the time. Dennis shook my hand…smiled…and then went into his bag to produce the very mag that I owned, commenting “I just bought your magazine. That’s how I found this place.”

From there, we were fast friends. Within seconds of our introduction, Gina told us to hide in one of the rooms as there was a customer on the way up. And so…Dennis and I convened in said room as he called his friend Jimmie Flynt (brother of Larry) and announced (and I quote) “Hey Jimmy! Guess where I am! A Brazilian cat house in New York!” Cat house, I mused to myself. Isn’t that your grandfather’s term? Are we here to score some cooze?

Anyway…Dennis had some sort of article to research for Larry himself and upon discovering what I did for a living (which involved visiting several places every Wednesday and Thursday), he asked if he could tag along offering to pay all the cab fares and even throw me some money if I wanted. I declined the money and asked if he could introduce me to Flynt instead. It was a poor decision as he never introduced me to the iconic publisher of Hustler Magazine. Oh well. What else is new? I felt like I was back in the music biz again.

But I digress. As we made my advertising rounds, you could tell by Dennis’s demeanor that he was feeling like a kid in a candy store. Dude was way into it! From then on, anytime Dennis came to New York (which was fairly frequently), he’d call ahead to ask who I’d recommend for him to see. I was amazed. At that point in time, I was spending a lot of time at the businesses of the many owners and apartments of an equal number of indies in the escort business. And I knew that if I were to fly to Los Angeles on some publicity mission for my place of business (which is what Dennis was always doing), the last thing I’d want to do is to go visit another place of the same genre. But that’s me…and not Dennis. The man just can’t get enough of escorts! The art of the trick! What can I say?

And so I’m sure the world sees our hero and his success in some sort of “art of the pimp” light. But I could just as easily rename his book “The Art of the Trick,” as I have never had a friend who was so interested when it comes to visiting incalls.

Well hopefully, there will be some free alcohol (though I’m not so sure about that. When I attended Al Goldstein’s memorial fiesta at the same place – The Museum of  Sex, White Castle burgers were free….but the booze cost!)

Regardless, all the old SCREW editors will be on hand no doubt (actually, I know they will be…Dennis told me so) and that’s always fun. It’s a book bash for Dennis…but it’s a reunion for all the old pervs…and an opportunity to catch up on the news with all the losers.

Dennis’s book is being published by JUDITH REGAN, who if you’re not aware, is a big name in the publishing world, so I assume it will be released to at least a fair amount of fanfare. I myself was not interviewed by his ghostwriter…which would give you an indication of just how unimportant I am when it comes to his life story.

But I’m no hater. I wish Dennis the best. I’m sure his effort will be a rousing success – even if I think it’s misnamed. No doubt, Ron Jeremy will be there. He’s like Hof’s best friend in the world. And other notables will most likely be in attendance as well. I had a date (not a date I have sex with…just a semi-celeb friend) who would do well to be at the party. But she fucked me over this week so if the menopausal mess wants to go, she’ll have to spend $17 to get in.

As far as I know, anybody can attend (I think) for the toll. So if you want to meet Dennis…and some porn stars (I would imagine)…and a gaggle of guys who chose to labor as writers in the erotic world, come on down (but call the museum first to make sure the public is invited). It should be a blast!

Editor’s note: Today’s original post was bumped for this big news item. It will reappear at some point in the near future. And rereading my invite, I see that Heidi Fleiss and Ron Jeremy will be at the event.

Ah, the Ides of March! Ireland lad!! Boy am I glad I don’t drive  cab anymore. St, Patty’s Day was a nightmare – though a profitable one.

Anyway…back to the subject at hand. TWINKLE (917-861-6600) called to say they have a new girl named YOKO (hopefully, she doesn’t look or sing like Yoko Ono) on staff. And BLUE ANGEL (917-615-4381) has two new girls to check out! RACHEL, and CHOCO await your arrival. And over at LOVELY ASIAN (212-470-0409), OSUCA has returned.

I gotta tell y’all. Hard to keep track of all these free agents moving around. It’s worse than the NFL!  Anyway…here’s da goils!


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3994146167_5f9ec0a867If you ever check out the adult help wanted ads on Squackpage, you’ll notice a hilarious potpourri of crap that only a section whose ads cost a mere three bucks would elicit. Ya know…guys looking for girls who’ll let them sniff their smelly feet. Or guys who want a fat girl who’ll smother their faces with her humongously repulsive ass. Well…one I viewed yesterday really made me laugh.

As we all know, some counties in Nevada have legalized prostitution. If said county has fewer than 700,000 residents…and a majority of those residents vote for legal prostitution via referendum…the whole deal is kosher. Why would anybody vote for legalized prostitution you might ask? Because the tricks spend money while in the host’s county. And that means income for the residents.

So anyway, my buddy Hof doesn’t have a monopoly on the business in Nevada. There are other entrepreneurs with whorehouses as well. And apparently, one of them is a girl named MONA, who runs a joint called (drum roll) MONA’S RANCH…or MONA’S BONAZZ as I’ve renamed them. And it would appear that Ms. Mona needs flatbackers for her flophouse out there in the desert. So she advertises in Squackpage’s New York’s adult jobs section to find them.

That’s all well and good…but ya gotta dig the photo she attaches to the ad. Hilarious! What girl in her right mind would want to fly out there to suck and fuck guys in that shithole?!?! God bless drugs and the losers who abuse them for without that gaggle of cockgobblers-for-a-fee, I can’t imagine anybody would do anything but laugh upon seeing that ad.

Oh well. I understand that not every hooker is a member of the Mensa Society. But if I were a ho…and a stupid one…and a drug-addicted one…I still can’t see myself falling for this preposterous ad. Check out the pic! Talk about palatial. Is this woman crazy?

Whatever…not my problem. You won’t catch me at Mona’s anytime soon. And I don’t think you would even if I lived around the corner.


If it’s Saturday…I’m down at the University Soup Kitchen doing my altruistic thing. And yesterday found me running the “food prep” line – which you can probably deduce at this point…is a fancy inside baseball term for doling out the meat loaf and making sure that the 6  people under me do their jobs efficiently and effectively.

This particular crew (which was all females with the exception of one guy) was excellent – which in this context doesn’t mean what it would in say…the escort context. So don’t get all hyped up and come down to volunteer. From the eye candy standpoint, only one was fuckable. And I don’t get the idea that she’s interested in me (can’t imagine why!) You guys? Who knows? Brad Pitt’s brother could be reading this blog!

So anyway as luck would have it, one of the “excellent crew” – a sixty-something lady -who also happened to be the salad girl to my right – fell for me big time. She was the moth…and I the flame.

In mid meal while we had a brief lull in the activity, I worked my way around the tables to push the salad she could no longer reach to the front of the huge bin from which we serve that salad – where she could reach it. And that was it. The woman virtually proclaimed her true love for me: “It’s nice to meet a gentleman. Thank you so much!” she gushed. The cook, who was within earshot, quipped “So that’s what one looks like!” Ha ha.

There’s no way I would entertain her overture under any circumstance. She was essentially a friendly-enough individual…but very provincial…and really not my style even if she were 22 and totally stacked and gorgeous. Of course, if that were the case, I’d have been good for a few rolls if she let me (my lips to God’s ears)…but then it would have been over.

Regardless, it was then that the floodgates opened and I came to discover that she’s a widowed/retired school teacher. I was sympathetic…but no less apathetic about intercourse on any level (verbal or physical).

Occasionally, when we’re all done, some people will shake my hand. And sometimes, I get a friendly hug from Angie, who runs the show every third or fourth week. And now that I think of it, Mahalia always gives me a big hug in front of everybody because she likes me and as a single mother of 4, sees me as a benevolent and appealing white boy.

But never…has anybody kissed me good bye – and gone for my mouth in the process! Like a hot chick who doesn’t want to give a suitor the wrong idea, I kissed the salad girl on the cheek – avoiding the mouth to mouth. But her intent was obvious. She was interested and wanted to let me know.

So ya see, guys! I still got it – at least when it comes to sixty-something widows who used to teach school. Too funny…and too bad my tray girl – who is much younger, and skinny with a big rack – doesn’t feel the same way. Ah! The story of my life. It’s always the wrong woman who falls for me. What are ya gonna do?