Category Archives: Sex

more marketing tips for hookers

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Part Two of Three: Part One and Part Three. From the Archive.

  Friday, September 20, 2002

4) Keep Your Neighbors Happy

Hooker Barbie!It is a people business, as I said, and your neighbors are people, too. If you alienate them, they shut you down; if you make friends you get free espressos from Starbucks!

Years ago, when I was working at the Starbucks on East Hastings, near the Franklin Street Kiddie Stroll, we used to have a hooker as a regular customer. Her pimp used to send her in for drinks for all his girls, a couple of times a day. Sometimes it’s hard to tell the hookers from the civilians, especially post-Britney, but there was no mistaking her.

She was about 25, and 5’10” with baby-chick blonde hair piled on top of her head in a loose, tendrilly bun. Her outfit was always the same: Skintight white vinyl mini with matching bandeau top and bolero, high white boots with massive platforms and heels, sometimes matching gloves or, in the dead of winter, a big, grandma-knitted style scarf that had more square footage than the rest of her outfit combined. Makeup out to there. She was absolutely gorgeous, to boot.

There was no point even trying to help her; every man in the shop dove for the till as soon as she cleared the door. She would flirt with them while they made her order (as slowly as possible) and gave her free espressos while she waited, just as long as she stayed right there.

She was always nice to the rest of us, too, and once, when we complained that the crowd in the store was so noisy they were driving us crazy she said, “Leave it to me,” and paced the length of the store slowly, sashaying for all she was worth. The place went silent. We gave her two free drinks that day. I remember offering to call her a cab once, when the rain had turned to snow, but she said “No, that’s okay, I’m never without a ride or a way to get one.” And she stepped outside, gave one sashay, and we heard the squeal of tires. As good as having a car, and no insurance costs!

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300: the secret to blockbuster success

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It’s really very simple. I’ve met a number of straight men who are mystified that women would ever want to watch such a militaristic bloodbath of a movie, even suggest it for a date movie, but they’re missing a key ingredient for proper appreciation of everything this cinematic comic book has to offer:

Estrogen.

stolen from Defamer, who also have a marvelous little Cute Overload meets 300 mashup.

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Office Worker’s Anthem

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I'm in ur cubiclz, ritin ur reportz 

I was at a writing conference a couple of years ago and the keynote speaker said something that absolutely rocked me to the very core of my being…and I hope it will rock you, too.

It was Susan Musgrave, at the Surrey International Writer’s Conference. She was talking about when she was a teenager, and she was thinking about giving up on school. Well, you just know how that went over with the Principal. He called her into his office and he went up one side of her and down the other with the whole raging authority figure trip (because at that point nobody had heard of Susan Musgrave and, indeed, she had not yet become Susan Musgrave, per se) and among the many and varied things he had to say, he said this:

If you don’t finish school, young lady, the only job you’ll be fit for is a prostitute!

And, telling the story, she said, Well I knew that wasn’t an option for me, because I hate working with other people.

and who among us cannot feel that deep in the core of our being, eh?

She went on to say, “Have you ever met someone who worked with other people? They all hate it; the only things they complain about are all the other people in the office!”

and suddenly, writing alone by the glow of a midnight monitor doesn’t seem so bad.

In memory of that moment of realization, and in memorium of many an Orwellian moment in my own office experience, we present Mister Montgomery Burns of The Simpsons, performing what’s sure to become the office worker’s anthem: Look at All These Idiots! Lyrics over the jump…

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Kiss me, I’m Reebok St. Patrick’s Day Classic Sneaker

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Begorra! 

Yes, they are real. Reebok St. Patrick’s Day Classics. Green, with white trim, shamrocks, and “Kiss Me, I’m Irish” on the heel cup.

And a goddam Union Jack on the label. Use orange laces on these buggers and you could start another civil war right there on the sidewalk. If you check out the other model through the link above, you’ll see that the Orangemen are also well-represented. I can’t wait to see that in an updated version of West Side Story.

A sneaker you can wear once a year. The fashion world has reached its apotheosis, people; here is where it ends. Here, Karl Lagerfeld swallows his own tail and vanishes in a puff of brimstone.

Besides, they’re Reebok: they’re crap. Soft, pretty crap, but it’s a good thing they’re only wearable one day a year, because that’s the only way Reeboks would last more than one year anyway.

I’m wondering, looking at these, if they were designed by a Dublin dominatrix who, being new to the business, hadn’t really gotten the hang of the “Kiss my feet” thing yet.

“Yo P.Paddy, is it me feets ye’d be kissin?” Heel, boy.

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quiz: what kind of meat are you?

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Oh my. While I was going to quarrel with the findings here on general principles, that last line is almost scarily accurate, give or take six inches.


You Are Chicken


Bah! You’re hardly meat. But you are quite popular, and people aspire to taste like you.You’re probably quite skinny and free of vices. Except letting people eat your eggs.

Give Me My Meat, Baby!

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