Posts Tagged ‘boo fuckin’ hoo’

ATMs ain’t rocket science.

Learn to count. You know how much her hourly rate is. You know that ATMs only dispense $20s.
So, if her rate is $350 and you get $360 from the cash machine, you know you’re either gonna have to break the $20 before you get there or give her an extra $10.

Don’t go in there all flummoxed about how to make change for a $20. She just gave you a blowjob, don’t ask her to give you change. Don’t ask to take ten minutes off your hour for a ten buck discount. And for fuck’s sake don’t short her $10 off her rate.
If you didn’t get change before you got to the room, suck it up and give her the full amount plus ten. If $10 goddam dollars is gonna make or break your budget, well… jerking off alone is a lot cheaper.

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Do it

Inch by inch

Pro Tip: If you can’t find a respectable hooker to come out to see you, maybe it’s because of all the other hookers you stood up.

If, even in a City of Sinful exotic hotties, you can’t get just one to come out to your hotel on short notice, it might have something to do with all those No Shows/No Calls back home.

Behind the mask.

The Observer rocks on

In 1992, H. Ross Perot mounted a campaign for the U.S. Presidency as a third party candidate; he chose as his running mate Admiral James Stockdale. During his opening remarks at the Vice-Presidential debate against Al Gore and Dan Quayle, Admiral Stockdale uttered the line that cemented the public’s view of the till-then unknown war hero as a doddering, out of touch old man: “Who am I? Why am I here?”

Since I started writing this blog a while ago, there has been a certain segment of our little society of whoremongers curious about who I may (or may not) be. That curious sector has now expanded into a virtual cottage industry.

Am I some guy lashing out at those who done me wrong? Am I some guy angling for free pussy? Or am I just bullshitting and making it all up?

The more common guesses center around the issue of my gender. Because I have written much that is critical of the guys involved in these tawdry pursuits, the natural inclination among those tawdry guys is to instantly assume I’m not really one of them. Because I criticize the guys, I must be a woman. It’s obvious! I must be some bitter, angry hooker seeking online revenge.

Sorry to burst your bubble, guys, but just as Vicki Vale knows who Batman really is, there’s one person who can attest to the fact that I really am male. Sure, I may be an old grey dog;  a short, fat, balding middle aged guy with a waistline that provides shelter from the sun for my penis. But that still counts as male.

So who am I, then? Lean in closer, I’ll whisper it. Just to you. Don’t tell anyone.

I don’t want to give out any Spoilers. Maybe I have other hobbies besides fucking hookers. Maybe I’m an outlaw, a desperate outlaw. Maybe I’m Fresh Off the Boat, like listening to emo bands or maybe I’m Radioactive Man‘s sidekick..

I’m not anyone but just plain lil’ ol’ me. After all, WTF, it’s… just me. I may have been born between October 23 and November 21 for those of you astrologically inclined. Maybe you can identify me by the car I drive.

I may not be a real doctor (or play one on TV), maybe that’s just an honorary title. I may not be a real lawyer, I may just be some guy who likes to talk about law. I’m not Five, of that I’m sure. And pretty certain I’m not Eight.

Maybe I’m black, maybe I’m white. I may be Asian. Am I an oddly tall Korean from the Valley? Or am I a Chinese guy from L.A.?

I’m just here to tell the troo…errr… Truth.

Don’t piss off a hooker.

gotcha

Stick around the escort/hobbyist message boards long enough, you’re likely to see all manner of stupid behavior. Sometimes I think these guys want to get caught.

I had a friend…

He was active on one of the sleazier local message boards, a big guy, highly trusted. If you wanted to get “in” with someone on the board, he was the guy who’s ring you had to kiss. A funny, affable guy, always willing to lend a hand.  There was a time when he would post a hundred times a day. He had dozens of reviews under his belt. This was a guy who was hooked up, plugged in, connected. I haven’t seen him lately. Wasn’t at the last meet & greet, he’s no longer an active participant on any of the boards, and he hasn’t written a new review in ages.

He’s also unemployed.

So what happened, what went wrong? And what does this have to do with not getting caught fucking hookers? My friend should have known better, but he got stupid. And it kicked him right in the balls.

One of the recurring topics of discussion on the hobbyist boards is ‘falling in love with a hooker.’ There are a lot of pros and cons to that particular situation, and they’ve been discussed ad nauseam. Personally, I think one of the reasons this keeps cropping up is the unspoken fantasy many “hobbyists” have that they’ll be so good, so studly, so irresistible that the high-dollar hottie will fall madly in love with him and leave behind her sordid life of hot sex and big bucks. Not to say that it never happens or can’t happen, but chances are it won’t happen. I believe that in life, one must always be open to all possibilities, but it’s also wise to be aware of boundaries. But this isn’t a story of falling in love with an escort. Just the opposite. What got my friend into trouble, and eventually cost him his job was a different kind of obsession.

Certain characteristics inherent in online technologies increase the likelihood that they will be exploited for deviant purposes. The escort message, advertising and review boards are built for anonymity. And deviant purposes.  And unlike being a bully in person, electronic bullies can remain virtually anonymous using temporary email accounts, pseudonyms in chat rooms; this, they think, frees them from normal social constraints on their behavior.

This erstwhile friend would spend hours and hours every day on the message board. And he started to believe his own hype; that his exalted ‘trust’ level was not only a cudgel he could wield against those escorts who disagreed with him, but also a wall he could hide behind for safety. He took a turn from flirting and being the jovial good guy into haranguing, harassing and hounding girls online. Electronic forums often lack supervision, and cyber bullies (or ‘trusted’ hobbyists) often feel emboldened by their perceived anonymity, their perceived power, their perceived attractiveness. Hiding behind the screen name allows them to launch attacks and carry out an antagonistic agenda because it takes less energy and courage to express hurtful comments using a keyboard than face to face.

Gossip, drama and innuendo are always on the menu on the message boards, and this one was no different. My once-upon-a-time friend felt invincible. He had been on the board for a long time and had a long, long, long list of supporters, followers and sycophants. So when girls would argue with him, disagree with him or just plain call him on his bullshit, he spared no effort on attacking them. But because he had felt invincible for so long, he let his guard down. He thought nothing of boasting about his high-profile job, he used his real name on the boards, he often posted his own picture. And the incessant posting. Hour after hour, day in and day out.

And when finally, the subjects of his ongoing attacks had reached the end of their patience, they struck back. They banded together to put him in his place. Hookers started calling his office. They called his boss, they called corporate headquarters, they called human resources. Seems that major multi-national corporations don’t look favorably on their employees spending their work hours perusing the hooker boards, connecting through the company Internet portal. Specially a company that has their employees sign a morals clause in their employment contract.

My former friend had it all. And he lost it all. He had a nice home, a good job, and all the pussy he could handle. And he threw it all away for self-aggrandizement on a hooker review board. He didn’t respect the boundaries and he didn’t respect the escorts.

But, hey, you’re different, right? Or maybe you’re OK with being in your 40’s, divorced, unemployed and living with your parents.

Not good for outcalls, but at least Mom does your laundry

The long tearful farewell.

How can we miss you if you won't go away?

It’s a cliché of every sad, tragic, romantic movie. Tugging at the heartstrings, emotion laid bare.

I… I… just can’t go on. I don’t have it in me to continue. But before I go… tell me how much you’ll miss me.

“Those of you who know me,” they’ll say, “know I don’t do things half-assed.” Who would that be? Who knows you?

It’s becoming more and more common on escort message boards, Twitter and blogs to throw yourself a pity party before you leave. Sometimes it takes days, weeks for someone to leave. And all the while, reveling in the fond remembrances of those who love them… or the voices in their own heads.

It’s like something out of a Garry Marshall movie. “Please don’t go!” “We’ll miss you so!”

You'll miss me, won't you?

Seems like not a week goes by without someone announcing that they’re leaving. No one just leaves. They all have to let you know that they’re leaving and why. And of course you have to give your legions of devoted followers (or sock puppets) ample opportunity to tell you and the world how fabulous you are. “I just don’t have the heart to stand any longer, there will be no more.” However, “I’ll continue seeing my regular clients as long as they wish me to.”

Look, just pull the plug and slink off stage. STFU and GTFO. If ya wanna go, just fuckin’ go. If it takes you a week to craft your thousand word farewell, that’s a whole damn week out of your bright shiny new life wasted.

Boo fuckin' hoo

If it takes a 3 volume novella with 100 comments and a cast of thousands to tell us all about how you have better, more important things to do… well, how ’bout you stop telling us and start doing them. If you have so much free time on your hands that you can come up with seven paragraphs with links and photos about how you’re much too distraught to go on, maybe stepping away from the computer is the best thing for you. Trust me, we’ll find a way to soldier on without you. There are actual hookers out there to fuck.

Don't it just break your heart?

And just so you don’t think I’m being unduly harsh to the dearly departing ladies, let me assure you that guys do this, too. I can’t tell you how many times a ‘hobbyist’ will post all about how he has to leave the board, usually because his wife found out. If only he’d known how not to get caught. Sure, he was stupid enough to get caught, and now he’s going to compound the stupidity by throwing himself a going away party where all the hookers will tell him how much they’ll miss him cuz he was such a great client. Might as well just hand your balls to the divorce lawyers. But they must have their last hurrah. That one last time when they can be the big fish, even if it is in a small local pond. Well, the last time that is, until they come back in a month with a new handle and start all over again.

I have to confess, I was once taken in by the pitiful goodbye. A somewhat well known escort on a previous incarnation of a message board posted that she was leaving, retiring, moving out of town, So long, thanks for all the fish. Like a sucker, I responded. Sorry to see you go, darn the luck, I had hoped to get around to seeing you sometime. Oh well, good luck, good bye. She pounced. Well, she wasn’t gone yet, I could still get in to see her. Why, she’d even give me a discount. Feeling caught, I said yes. She was perfectly fine, a lovely lady, we had a pleasant time. But, really, I probably wouldn’t have seen her if she hadn’t posted that goodbye thread. Since then, she’s moved out of town, moved back, retired, un-retired. And each time with great accompanying fanfare. She’s had more farewell tours than Cher.

It’s remarkably easy to leave. This isn’t the Hotel California. You don’t have to post a thread asking the board admin to delete your account. You don’t have to tell us all about what the future holds. You don’t have to get in that final dig at your detractors. You just have to go.

Buh-bye!