All posts by dollarbill1

Now that the KILL BACKPAGE BILL (aka FOSTA) has passed both legislative houses by a wide margin, its passage into law is a foregone conclusion. Already, the initiative boasts its first casualty. The venerable and visionary CRAIGSLIST shut down all its personal categories just yesterday in response to the overwhelming congressional sentiment in favor of the bill.

You might think that the first site to cave under the pressure would be the very site the legislation is aimed at. But you’d be wrong! And there are some valid reasons for that.

When Craig conceived his revolutionary website, he did not envision it as a ho shopping network. It was to be a community bulletin board a small part of which would offer “adult services.”  Continue Reading

Yesterday during a phone conversation with an old female friend, the girl revealed that a mutual acquaintance thinks I don’t like women very much. Predictably, my phone buddy was afraid I’d be offended and didn’t want to reveal exactly whose opinion she was forwarding. Then three seconds later, she broke down and let me know. And that was a good thing because it was not somebody I’d ever had sex with (that might have offended me) but rather, a person who reads this blog on a regular basis.

My response was decidedly not defensive. “I see where she gets that as I’m so critical of escorts in this venue.” So a little clarification on the subject. I don’t hate women – or men. I hate bull shit artists – people who talk more than they walk. Poseurs who are all sizzle and no steak if you will. Escorts tend to be people who talk a lot of smack but rarely deliver in but one realm. And so, I’m often critical of them. That’s not woman hating. That’s bull shit artist hating. Continue Reading

Don’t look now, but there’s a city council bill in the offing which would outlaw smoking tobacco while walking on New York City streets. First, it’s restaurants. Then parks. And now walking down the street? I say the new bill doesn’t go far enough! It’s about time we eliminated tobacco smoke from anywhere somebody who doesn’t smoke tobacco could be subjected to the stink.

I grew up with tobacco smoke. Mom puffed Camels. Dad, cigars. Predictably, I became a smoker at age 8 (albeit surreptitiously). By high school, I was buying packs. By college – cartons. One night in my junior year, I returned to my dorm after attending a class on a zero degree Cleveland night to discover I was out of smokes! Rather than brave the cold, I decided to quit right then. Forty eight years later, I still haven’t relapsed. Continue Reading

At long last, the email arrived. My sky blue (to match my eyes) North Carolina Tar Heels knit cap had arrived at K Mart. When it came to function, this was not a crucial moment. I have at least 6 different knit caps to protect my bald head from winter’s ferocity. But form? I anticipated a wave of female attention to be generated by the flashy headgear. That’s why I “bought” it.

I place the word bought in quotes for a reason. The Tar Heels garment listed for $12 – but had been marked down to $5.84 as the end of winter (though you wouldn’t know it) approaches. With $5 in “free cash” it was effectively an 84 cent purchase. And that 84 cents came out of my Shopyourway points which I won playing internet games. Bottom line: free hat!

So I pick up the joint and clearly, it’s a cheap piece of shit – albeit with an NC logo and a delightful (read gay) color scheme. I joke to the girl behind the counter “Ima need security to get me home. Ya know…to keep the girls away.”  Continue Reading

Just because some young chickadee was impressed by yesterday’s opus doesn’t mean I’m steeped in the new ways. Yes, I can navigate GARAGEBAND and do at home what it used to cost me $3000 to produce in a studio. But I still create a la 1980.

So I played the track for another girl – this one about 50 – but the mother of many children who keep her outlook youthful. She listened intently and then asked “Where you get that drumbeat?” And I got the distinct impression what she wanted to know was from which record did I rip the trap kit.

My answer was “Look here! This ain’t no Betty Crocker cake that comes out of a box with icing out of a can. This shit is homegrown and created from scratch.” Which means I build each element of the track individually – including a high hat track, bass drum, snare and whatever other percussion (in this case claves) – all of which is tapped out on a keyboard. Then I play all the musical instruments one at a time (with the exception of the horns which are played on the keyboard). Continue Reading

How many times have you heard the object of your lust say something like “I could write a book,” or “I could do that way better than that chick” only to do neither. Now imagine me saying “I can write and rap a tune any damn time I want. That guys isn’t all dat!” Well…I would never say anything like that because it’s simply not my style. Experience has taught me to start walking before I do all that talkin’.

I’ve always maintained that rapping is simply not that difficult because the rapper doesn’t need to hit any pitches along the way. Rap is mostly an amelodic genre in the first place. True, you need rhythm. And a certain appealing inflection is helpful. But you can be tone deaf and still rap. Singers don’t have that luxury.  Continue Reading

Pardon the hackneyed old phrase – but an observation therein today. When I first began taking pictures of escorts as part of my job at Action Magazine, the process was markedly different from what it became. Pose the girl…shoot a roll…get it developed at  the 1 hour photo…pick the best shots…and Fedex them down to the home office. Talk about old school!

Twenty years later, I had a digital camera and a working knowledge of photoshop’s liquify tool with which I could gently mold and shape a girl’s body. Not so she was unrecognizable. Just a nip here, a tuck there, and a curve to round out the subject. You get the idea. Back in the Action era, what you saw was what you got. Two decades later, I became a skilled plastic surgeon with a mouse instead of a scalpel. After viewing the improvements, girls’ reactions varied. Continue Reading

Here’s a repeat from at least a decade ago with lots of juicy stuff about cab-driving, bar-hopping and the escorts I found along the way when I wasn’t actually looking for them. Enjoy!

 It might come as a surprise to my three readers, but I wasn’t always in the escort advertising business (though sometimes it feels that way). And I didn’t know any escorts. Regardless, there were a few times I was haphazardly and innocently introduced (and oriented) to the netherworld I find myself navigating today.

Years ago when I was in my twenties, an old high school friend and I would voyage to Soho bars on weekend nights to troll for chicks. Ya know…totally normal stuff for regular dudes tryin’ to get laid. And for a hot minute, I found a good-looking girl from The Upper East Side who took a shine to me – mostly because I was marginally in the music business. I wasn’t really clear on why she liked me – or even who she was as a person. I just knew that the girl looked good enough for some carnal fun. So I went along with the program. Continue Reading

Playing the SHOPYOURWAY online game as a Kmart member brings momentous decisions into my incredibly boring life. The problem is that the points you win (which translate to dollar chit at the store) only last 14 days. It’s all part of a conspiracy to get you down to the store and constantly shopping.

And thus, I’m always seeing “use it or lose it” type messages when I log on, forcing me to shop and moreover – decide what I want that I don’t really need. It’s kind of like Christmas everyday!

Two days ago, I had $5.29 expiring – and an $8 coupon if I spent $20 in “home.” Plus I had over $20 in points accumulated from gaming. Translated, any purchase up to $28 wasn’t going to cost me a dime out of pocket. Continue Reading

Far enough back that my hard-on actually pointed up when I was standing, I formed a partnership with a music studio owner who was interested in me, my songs, and my free band. He’d had a big hit (“We Ain’t Got Nothin’ Yet by the BLUES MAGOOS) and so I bought into the program in exchange for which I got a royalty – and he controlled my life. But that’s not today’s story.

One day, he called me to say there was a local 42nd Street type girl who had a song and a budget – and he wanted to record her with my band. She was a stripper and whatever else and had some money burning a  hole in her pocket. He thought we should help her spend it. Continue Reading

As I’ve mentioned on numerous occasions previously, I hate a faker. You’re a photographer? Let me see a picture you took. A singer? Sing me a song! A writer? Send me an article you wrote.

Today’s two fakers are as different as they could possibly be. One was half of a duo that sold millions of records. And the other a fashion model and er…something else in life.

So I’m watching a PBS special on the life of the EVERLY Brothers, siblings who I happen to think stood out in a sea of not-so-talented doo-woppers at the time. As is the custom, production found a lot of talking heads to spice up the presentation. On comes ART GARFUNKEL, the guy I considered a tag-along in the SIMON AND GARFUNKEL duo given that Simon did the lion’s share of the writing and lead-singing – and all of the guitar-playing. Continue Reading

Houston! We have a problem! Our COMMUNICATIONS DECENCY ACT (of 1996) was a short-sighted piece of legislation which indemnified website owners against prosecution for publishing user-generated third party content. We have to fix that!

Addressing Houston in this metaphoric scenario is the US congress to the electorate. Essentially, they’re saying “We didn’t really understand the Internet in its infancy and passed a flawed bill which as it turned out protects sex trafficking sites the likes of BACKPAGE from prosecution under federal law.” Continue Reading

While I am an American, in many ways I don’t act like the typical citizen who feels his American citizenship entitles him to a life way beyond his means. In fact, when I was making it, I spent very little of the money I made – living with an almost incomprehensible frugality.

Enter PAUL MANAFORT, ex campaign head for the leader of the free world. He is exactly the opposite. Part of the reason he’s so fucked stems from living beyond his means – rather than below. Most people know this dude’s in trouble. But only a few who pay attention know exactly what he’s accused of. So here it is all broken down:

For more than a decade, Manafort derived his income from managing the political career of a pro-Putin Ukranian dictator. The money he earned on this gig was deposited in off shore accounts and not reported on his income tax. Despite, Manafort was not charged with tax fraud but rather, money laundering when he wired hunks of this cash to contractors who were renovating several real estate properties he owned. So regardless of the charge, PM essentially stashed cash overseas and moved the money around so he didn’t have to pay income tax on his earnings.  Continue Reading

What New Yorker of a certain age can forget the old Times Square where multiple venues offered sex shows for a quarter or the chance to grab a handful of breasts through a squeeze-through window for just a buck? Of course, along with all that good stuff came an equal opportunity to get mugged. Regardless, for better or worse (depending on your own personal perception), that Times Square is long gone and only in evidence on an HBO program called “THE DEUCE.” Continue Reading

Even though the Knicks just might be the worst team in the NBA, I still tune in for most of their games because a) I’m bored…b) I’m a fan…and most of all c) I’m a big MIKE BREEN fan. He just might be the best play-by-play guy the sport has ever had. Mike’s chemistry with his  broadcast partner – a clown named WALT FRAZIER (excuse me, Clyde) is remarkable given all the latter’s lame rhymes set to basketball.

But really, I love Clyde. He was a great player, certainly knows the game, and offers up excellent anecdotes from the olden days (or “back in the day,” an expression I don’t like and never use). So a few games ago during their friendly banter, Mike revealed that he’d purchased a box set of the entire series THE WIRE as a gift to Clyde and wanted to know if his friend had begun watching the series. Continue Reading

Even though I haven’t talked about my volunteer activities lately, that doesn’t mean I’ve stopped serving the community. So to bring y’all up to date, I’ve moved on from the Catholic Worker –  and the senior center – for greener pastures in the form of Trinity Church at Avenue B and 9th Street.

I’d actually been planning to check out the church many moons ago but somehow found the CW and settled in there before I had the opportunity to approach the former. Which was unfortunate given that the church doesn’t seem to have any assholes working there – and the food is better and more plentiful.  Continue Reading

I was clicking through some fluff on Yahoo yesterday and came upon a feature enumerating Donald Trump’s previous girlfriends (not wives). To me, the most beautiful was a brunette who the author described as black. Black?!? DJT mounted a black girl?

Then I studied the photo of this stunning woman and could not visually recognize one Afro-American feature on her face. Straight hair, light skin, aquiline nose and lips. She had them all. And I couldn’t help thinking “What part of this chick is black? Her pinky toenail?”

Take MEGHAN MARKLE, adopted English royalty. Like Trump’s former girlfriend, she’s been labeled black as well. And like the aforementioned, you wouldn’t know it unless somebody told you. Finally, DANA TYLER of CBS News. Find me a whiter milquetoast woman and I’ll blow ya. OMG!

In some contexts, being black is cooler than being white. Let’s say a black man is listening to some music and after discovering that the singer is white, he comments “Dude sounds black!” This is the supreme compliment!  Or…your favorite hooker observes “You fuck like a black guy.” Or better yet “You have a dick like a black man!” You get the idea.

I submit that these women are not black. Maybe they’re biracial (actually they are). But to be truly black I’d like to see a certain skin color and some other characteristic features of the race before I hang that esteemed moniker. Being black has a certain cachet and personally, I don’t feel that stomach-turners like Dana Tyler rate. I got ten bucks that says that woman dances like Elaine Benes – and not Beyonce.

Back to Trump and the incredible revelation that he interfaced with a black woman – even if she’s 99.99% white-looking. There are some other remarkable facts about DJT that impress. Like he’s never been accused of beating his women. All right Mr. Trump! You’re a fucking credit to your gender. And while he’s clearly a total hound dog who organized parties so he and his male guests could mingle with only the most gorgeous models on the face of the planet, the dude never got high at those parties. He’s simply not and never was a substance abuser. But having said that, he just might be the most presumptuous and immature president the country has ever had the misfortune to elect. Except, we didn’t elect him. He lost by 3 million votes. But that’s a theme for another post.

Back to the point. Fuck all this bull shit about anybody with an ounce of black blood being called black. They’re not fucking black. That shit is an insult to people who actually are. That’s all I’m sayin’.

Now that the football season is over…and the Knicks and Nets suck…and I don’t really give a crap about baseball…what’s left to do on Sunday? Watch the Olympics? Snore!

I view the American olympic initiative with ambivalence. For a few reasons. First, I know the USOC forwards a scant 6% of its revenue to US athletes. The rest goes for parties and blow jobs…err…excuse me, administration. And second, despite my appreciation for the fortuitous circumstances that led me to be born in a nation of plenty, I have difficulty rooting hard for a country that put me through an endless wringer – and took twice as much of my life savings than I owed them. And…they came through my door with an expired warrant.  Continue Reading

I’d like to think I’m above all the bull shit pretense which is inevitably part and parcel of being a human being. And what I mean by that statement is…we don’t just clothe ourselves to keep warm and/or protect our privates. We dress up to attract mates or simply to impress and/or intimidate our rivals. We don’t just drive a dependable vehicle. We select one that will attract the attention of a prospective sex partner. We don’t just cut our hair and beard to keep it out of our eyes and lice-free. It’s all about impressing other human beings. The truth is that I’m as full of shit as the rest of the world. Well maybe not as…but close.  Continue Reading

Several years ago, I ran a few ads for an in-demand escort about whom I was recently reminded while reading a book about New York Knick Hall of Famer BERNARD KING. Bertha was a tall, somewhat pretty blasian with an hourglass shape, a gorgeous voice, and horrible implants. Trumping all her credits and deficits was an uncommon talent for oral service. Thus, she made a lot of money.

On occasion, our protagonist talked about her basketball-playing past. But I knew it was mostly bull shit because she never mentioned any college – or even high school experience. I judged her to be a dabbler. Escorts often pretend to be this or that. But ultimately, they’re almost always escorts – and not much else.  Continue Reading

Many years ago I was visiting a half Asian/half American house to pick up money for the various ads they were running through me when uncharacteristically, I saw a customer sitting on the couch cradling a $500 bottle of Johnny Walker Black and a shot glass in his arm. Anybody who wanted to sample the nectar of the gods was welcome.

Not particularly a fan of scotch, I declined the first offer. But when he insisted I give it a try. By and by, the guy got up off the couch to take his leave whereupon I observed to one of the latinas who serviced the clients what a nice guy they’d entertained. She responded that in fact, he was quite the stud as well as having a pleasing personality. Continue Reading

Once upon a time (and maybe now, too – who knows) EROS.COM was the bane of every advertising agent’s existence. Girls who were forwarding hundreds of dollars a week in print ads to their reps suddenly had a new advertising medium with which they could earn the same amount of cash purchasing just one super cheap monthly ad. How were we agents supposed to make a living selling that ad?

But that wasn’t all that we hated about Eros. They were impossible to deal with and extremely inaccurate and late posting the ads we submitted. Too often, they’d run your card and then forget about publishing the ad. It was a major scuttlefuck. But we had to sell Eros because that’s what all the girls wanted. Continue Reading

Yesterday while searching through You Tube for what I can’t remember, I somehow arrived at a bunch of videos detailing the various signs and body language that would indicate whether the girl you’re cracking on is interested in you. Most of the observations were fairly intuitive (like if you’re chatting up a girl at a bar and she turns to her friend and mouths the word “loser,” you might consider moving on). Still there were a few things I found enlightening in all those videos.

Now I could figure if a girl begins fingering or licking her lips while you’re talking to her, that might be an indication she’s interested. But it never occurred to me that if the same girl begins playing with her hair – and especially twirling it (assuming she has enough hair to twirl) that’s a sure sign she likes you. I don’t know about that. It seems to me hair-twirling could be a sign of boredom. But several videos cited the same thing. Which would lead me to believe there might be some truth to the theory. Continue Reading

Watching the Grammys at this point in my life is often painful – as the appeal of much of the music eludes me. But hopefully, there will be a few precious moments and enough modern-style enlightenment to make the effort worth my while. And I’m happy to report that last night’s presentation had a few good moments.

ELTON JOHN and MILEY CYRUS were surprisingly good. And I even enjoyed CARDI B and BRUNO MARS. But the best segment was clearly the FIRE AND FURY readings. I got the feeling that the show had a “fuck Donald Trump” sub theme. And my suspicions were confirmed with the aforementioned skit. Continue Reading

Knowledge is power. At least that’s what everybody says. But sometimes ya just know too much. Like when I was a cab driver. I always recognized a stripper when she entered the cab. I could just tell by the big ol’ bag she carried.

So just this past Sunday, I opened up my email to find a $2 coupon for anything in the grocery department at CVS. No minimum purchase. So if you find something for two bucks, it’s free! Need I tell y’all, I took a morning constitutional over to the local branch.  Continue Reading

Do you think MELANIA TRUMP ever really loved Donald? Or did she just marry him for the money and prestige of it all? Who knows? Maybe both. Stranger things have happened. I’m constantly in amazement at some of the douchebags male friends have fallen for and assholes women find oh so appealing.

Well anyway…January 22nd marks the Trumps’ 13th wedding anniversary. DJT is in Davos at a big meeting and Melania was to join him. Small problem. She changed her fucking mind. I feel for her – even if it was painfully obvious the kind of man she was marrying.

So why do I think Melania called off the trip? Does it have something to do with the recently revealed news that her philandering husband was diddling a porn star 4 months after their baby was born? My guess is yes to that question. Yeah (again), she knew who she married when taking the plunge. But still, it’s no fun to have that shit thrown in your face in such an ignominious fashion. But here’s what I figure is really going on: Continue Reading

At this point, pretty much everybody knows about LARRY NASSAR‘s sexual abuse of seemingly the entire female USA olympic gymnastics team. But exactly what did Larry do with all these girls to land himself in the slammer for the rest of his life?

Well first (and to clarify), Nassar is already serving a 60 year sentence for owning and distributing child pornography. The Feds claim they found 37,000 images of such on his computer. Whether it was 37,000, 3700, or 370 matters not. It’s fairly obvious that Nassar is into kids.

But all this sexual abuse of children didn’t exist just in a twisted fantasy world. Larry was apparently prolific with the division of mostly underage athletes he “treated” as a renowned sports doctor. Michigan State University and the olympic training facility were his playgrounds. And athletes affiliated with both were his playmates. Continue Reading

Granted, presidents have been cheating on their wives since there were presidents. At least in the USA. But cheating with a porn star? Leave it to the DONALD.

I have to admit I was impressed. Trump had an “affair” with her? That would imply some sort of feelings were involved. And there was an actual relationship. But read the 2011 interview STORMY DANIELS did with IN TOUCH Magazine and you (more or less) get the real story.

The dynamic duo first met at a (drum roll) golf tournament (where else besides a models and millionaire party). DJT was smitten (hey, she’s blonde with fake tits) and asked for her number. I won’t bother to go into their entire history. But from the interview, here are the essentials: During their friendship, it appears that the two had sex exactly once! The experience was “generic” (her description) and in one position. She added that it was about what she would expect from a man his age and that she could “definitely describe his junk” (which she didn’t). Continue Reading

I get that in the new technological world, abbreviations and a new sort of shorthand rule. I myself will send text messages along the lines of “r u wrkng 2nite?” But here’s the difference: I know how to write “Are you working tonight?” correctly. But I’m not so sure about everybody else.

Reading through comments and posts written by men who earn enough money to pay women $300 for an hour of their time, I’m constantly amazed at their grammatical errors. It makes me wonder if they slept through the third grade! You would think earners in their category would know the difference among “they’re,” “there,” and their.” Or “two,” “too,” and “to.” I understand that skilled blue-collar laborers can make into 6 figures even though they slept through grammar school. But still…I remain amazed. Continue Reading

You know the old joke about lawyers, right? If you don’t, here goes: Lawyer on the beach up to his neck in sand. What’s wrong with this picture? Answer: Not enough sand. Haha! Ok! To be truthful, I like my lawyers. They’re nice Jewish boys in Armani suits – which I’ve paid for many times over. But 100% they ain’t.

Like just for example…I had an important meeting yesterday at which my lawyer was supposed to be present. He forgot! And that’s the second time the dude pulled that stunt. I pay this guy $525/hour. And that includes his commutation time! Still, he’s a no-show. Brilliant!

I got another barrister at the firm (I know…Muckety Muck Bill). This dude is strictly the money guy. Ya know, the tax expert. I arrive home yesterday to find an email from him declaring “Dollar Bill Wins”…referring to the final final notice that I don’t owe the IRS any money.  Continue Reading

I know it sounds weird…but I’ve come to appreciate our president. And ya know why? Because he gives me something to write about every day!

So anyway…along with his “shithole country” remark, el jefe wondered out loud why people from Norway don’t want to emigrate to the US. How come we only get the “shitholers” (my word)?

And now I’m gonna tell ya why, Mr. T. Because to people from Norway (and pretty much all the Scandinavian countries), the United States is a shithole country! On balance, the educational and health systems are superior where they live. The standard of living is higher – and people are happier. And one more thing: They don’t have Donald Trump as their leader! Finally…their country isn’t trying to dictate to the world.  Continue Reading

Every day, it seems we get another news flash revealing our current president’s colorful personality. One day he refers to third world countries as “shitholes.” The next he declares he’s “the least racist person you’d ever want to see.” And yesterday, a story surfaced about an affair with yet another blond-haired, fake-breasted, and flat-assed woman – this one a porn star by the name of STORMY DANIELS.

At this point, we’ve gotten an eyeful of the Donald’s women past and present. And here’s what I wanna know: Yo, DJT! Where your women of color, brother? Don’t tell me there isn’t one woman in that vast pool of beauty you never busted a clumsy move on. I have a theory herein. Black women simply do not appeal to him sexually. But he’s no racist, right? Continue Reading

Yesterday, I received an email from a guy who reported that he booked a session through some site I never heard of. And when he arrived, the girl who welcomed him was SUNNY, longtime favorite of many guys who have visited this site.

His correspondence brought me back literally 20 years to the night I first met Ms. Sunshine. An advertiser had two new girls who needed pictures. Those girls turned out to be Sunny and HANA, yet another perennial mainstay on the Korean scene.

It’s a curious fact of life in the Korean community that many of the girls you meet in the room eventually get together with a friend, rent out a place, and become the owners -often while still working in the room. And so it was with both Sunny and Hana. Hit and run denizens of the business they clearly were not. Both remained – one as an owner/worker – and the other as simply an owner (she’d seen enough guys in the room for 100 lifetimes was the joke I used to make). Continue Reading

Picture the scene. Two guys are standing around jaw-boning when one makes a statement which just seems too ridiculous. Sensing his friend’s dubious reaction, he who made the statement declares “Yo, man! Look it up!” Yes, we’ve all heard that affirmation many times before. And now I’ve turned it into a song.

Our protagonist (which would be me as I sing free-of-charge – though not that well) is in love with a girl. And if she doubts his true devotion, she can “look it up,” “google his name,” and discover “it’s all over Instagram” and the “worldwide web.”

I know. It ain’t Bob Dylan. It’s just a horny guy tryin’ to get laid (or married God forbid). But it’s a cute idea (at least, I think so). So here it is in video form (why not? It only took me about an hour to learn the software and then complete the project), the Dollar Bill one man band. Written, performed, sung and videoized by one guy. No need for any employes. Ya know…my usual business model.

There he stood as proud and regal as could be. The president of the United States of America – arguably the planet’s greatest country – had his hand over his heart as he sang along to the country’s national anthem. Small problem, though. He doesn’t know the words. Now there’s your patriot right there!

I’ll give the Donald one thing: He never fails to amaze! The president doesn’t know the words to the national anthem? Get the fuck outta here! Makes me question whether he could pass a citizenship test! I wonder what all the rednecks who elected him think now? Exactly! They don’t think. Or else why would they have elected him? Gadzooks! No experience…no brains…and a track record of bankruptcies and bailouts. Now that’s presidential material right there.

Here’s DJT phumphering through the anthem.

Harkening back to the “lesson learned” post from a few days ago, I’m sorry to report that the ballbuster woman from the senior center didn’t learn her lesson despite my overt displays (saluting el jefe and calling her “boss”). It turns out she was deeply offended and expressed her dissatisfaction to the big boss (a compassionate, sensible woman who I happen to like). But it wasn’t until the end of the shift that I heard about all that.

The milfy type who’s number 2 at the joint, referred to me as the “undercover boss” (from the tv show) when I arrived, the implication being that there’s something about me that rings of competence and leadership. She’s in the process of figuring out that there’s more than meets the eye with this new guy William.  Continue Reading

Reading back through forum conjecture about me, I had to laugh at some of the assumptions guys made about my riches. Several surmised that I owned a “service.” Others thought I was getting paid on a click by click basis. Still more assumed the ad fees on this site were way higher than they actually were or that I got a piece of every guy who walked in the door. Mostly, everybody was off the mark.

First, let me say that this blog was never a big moneymaker. I founded it simply to ventilate on the frustrations of dealing with many difficult people. It was not designed to make me rich. That had already happened from selling advertising. But I wasn’t the only entity doing that. So how come I amassed wealth when people like Somad, the infamous advertising agency which got busted wide open several years ago, was actually in poor financial condition? It was the business model. Continue Reading

The other day I was having (or trying to have) a serious conversation with a cute hooker I know. Her taste in boyfriends is more than a little suspect and I presumed to suggest that she stop dating drug dealers and thugs in favor of somebody with half a brain and future. The woman pondered my advice and answered “Well I am a smart girl,” meaning she has the right stuff to mentally stimulate a man like that.

I will say that this individual has her gifts. But mental agility simply isn’t one of them. To be blunt, the girl is a dumbbell. And harsh as that appraisal may seem, it might serve her well to understand that. Continue Reading

As mentioned recently, I have shifted volunteer locations from the Catholic Worker to a senior center a scant 300 yards east. My colleagues at the new place are markedly different. Over at the CW, almost nobody who helps out actually makes a living. Most are dysfunctional and one rung up the ladder from our guests (a lot of the volunteers live rent-free in a bed-bug ridden dorm upstairs).

I am the only volunteer at the senior center. And I don’t mean that in the hood vernacular. Everybody else (mostly women with Masters in Social Work) are paid employees. Right now, they know little about me. And I keep it that way – at least for the moment. One of the women I work with is a good-looking latina MILF. She’s new and took to me immediately – I assume because I knew how to run the joint (from previous days volunteering there many months ago) – and it looked like I could make her job easier. Continue Reading