March 13, 2008

This Week's Line

This Week's Gubernatorial Misstep
Aw, c'mon everyone else got to play, why not me? The fall of uber goody-goody New York Governor Eliot Spitzer came as a shock. And, really, he must've been a hell of a goody-goody for people to be shocked when a politican is caught participating in, shall we say, extracurricular activites. But, hey, at least Democrats do it in the vagina. (Well, if you don't count "Gay American" Jim McGreevy, who we still joke about dressing up as Evita Peron while the masses intone "McGrEEVY! McGrEEVY!" beneath his balcony. "Mis demicasados! Mis Newarkiriquenos!")
So, let's cut right to the sordid. Many talked of the governor--or "Client Number 9," if you like to pretend the whorehouse was on the same island as The Prisoner--being into things that "weren't safe. I know the immediate thought is "barebacking," but i, being me, decided it was blood drinking. Think about it: With that bald head, those beady eyes and those pointy ears, i betcha Spitzer gets himself up in some Nosferatu drag and gets stone cold freaky.
Now, to the lady in question, "Kristin" aka Ashley (But she already had a hooker name!) Yeomans or Dupre or Dupree or St. Ives or whatever her name is. Of course, there are women who pity her as a more downtrodden victim of male exploitation, a poor aspiring singer forced into the world's oldest profession. One columnist even had the unmitigated gall to compare her to Marilyn Monroe. And let me tell you, a hooker who lives in an $5,000 a month apartment likes--okay, not likes, has done the math and has accepted--her job. She is not working the bare minimum to get by because she hates sucking married dick. She's not living with roomates in a crappy apartment so she can save up enough money to quit faking orgasm while some asshole sweats all over her. Nu-uh. No way. I ain't buyin'. This broad is lining up her reality show auditions right now. I don't care if she's a fellow female and i must stand by her. Hell, no! I don't see man/woman, i see people and people are venal, decietful, greedy. and corrupt.
Not that i'm letting Spitzer off the hook--note those words "deceitful" and "corrupt" in the above paragraph. Still, whenever stuff like this happens, i fantasize about the civil servant in question going stone cold unhinged during the press conference. Think of it. What if he had stood up there--without his wife, who should be in the Bahamas having a massage and a margarita right now anyway--and just gone off.
"I have no excuse! I make no apology! I'm the governor and I deserve to get laid!"
Maybe if he even went all pro-New York State on it: "New York has the best pussy in the world! No matter where I am, I gotta have New York tail and only New York tail ! Ask Mick Jagger! He used to have that shit flown to France twice a week back in the 70's! George Clooney has to stay off the Eastern Seaboard or he can't control himself! Are you kidding me?! Empire State trim is easily worth a grand an hour!"
Of course the problem with this argument is that she's from New Jersey. When i was younger, if you fucked someone from Jersey, we made fun of you for getting bridge n' tunnel ass.

This Week's Totally Awesome Video
Remember Coolio? With the braids? Well, he's back and in a way i actually approve of: As star of his own internet cooking show, Cookin' With Coolio. Calling himself the "Ghetto Witchdoctor Superstar Chef," Coolio kidnaps fratboys to teach them how to cook. He pours his salt and oregano out of dime bags. He comes up with a spinach recipe that will get your kids to eat their greens. He has busty but not particularly attractive women standing around and occasionally handing him ingredients. He shouts "Shaka Zulu!" at random for no apparent reason. And, most importantly, he'll "show you how to make a salad that'll get them panties off."

This Week's Quote
"When you fuck with the ape, be ready to go the whole route."--Robert Mitchum

This Week's Attainment of Inner Peace
Well, for many years, it has been my desire to have a library. A place with Gothic wood carving and little spiral staircases and leather armchairs and one of those bars that's in a big globe and shelves and shelves of morocco bindings. While i still have yet to acquire that, i do at last have this room in Las Vegas with blue taffeta drapes and my great-grandfather's drop-leaf desk and my grandfather's globe that still has the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics on it. the desk has little pigeonhole envelope slots and drawers i have filled with checkbooks, fireworks, pencils and every greeting card i've gotten for the last seven months, the best desk of all possible desks. I have white walls and blue chairs i have reupholstered in my most punk rock Martha Stewart fashion. The window offers a view of a balcony with a disused weight bench that is occasionally surrounded by chirping toddlers with heads of dark curls and quizzical faces putter around looking for some long-lost toy. But mostly i have bookshelves full of books. I sit and gaze at their alphabetized spines and feel good about them and, by association, me. I sit and contemplate how the shelf that is made up almost entirely of Fitzgerald and Nabokov is likewise almost entirely made up of blues and green and greys in a field of red and orange and white (the most popular book jacket colors) andf it makes me happy. Small happy is the best kind anyway.

Posted by lissa at March 13, 2008 03:18 AM