Posts Tagged ‘loser’

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.

Hello, my name is Hooker Addict…

Really? You made her cum doing her doggy-style? GFE?

…and I’m, well, a hooker addict.
Well, no, not really an addict. I can quit fucking hookers anytime I want. I just do it to relieve stress. I’m just a social hooker fucker. Sure, I mostly do it in private, sure I hide it from my friends and family, sure I can never stick to ‘just one more strange pussy.’ But that doesn’t mean I have a problem.

Look, lots of guys get caught up into the whole “hobbyist” thang. Then they find themselves seeking more and more satisfaction. One hooker is never enough. Is it an addiction? I dunno, I’m just  a guy who likes to fuck hookers.

There are certainly a lot of elements of the whole “hobbyist” milieu that lend themselves to the addictive personality. I can see where it would be easy to fall into that trap. Easily accessible pussy, even if it’s paid-for pussy, has an undeniable appeal. Add to that the virtual affirmations you get from your fellow whoremongers, and it’s a slippery slope to a downward spiral. Or something.

Not too long ago, I wrote about the pack mentality prevalent among the “hobbyist” message boards. And I should know, I’m one of them. I wrapped up that commentary with a suggestion that some of my fellow whore fucking addicts may want to re-visit Step 9, a reference, of course, to the classic 12-Step programs. Meh. I write a lot of crap.

Special Delivery

Fan mail

I love getting comments from my readers, it lets me know what all y’all out there are thinking. You don’t always  agree with me, and that’s fine. You’re wrong, but that’s OK. Most comments I approve, some are clearly spam, and some are direct attacks that just go right into the trash. Generally, I welcome all comments from my readers. And even if I disagree, I’m usually amused, enlightened or entertained. Hell, I have one crazy-ass Bitch who hits my blog on a fairly regular basis to make wild hysterical comments. I’ve approved all of those. Then… then, there’s shit like this:

I opened up the big HookerAddict mailbag one day to find this waiting for me from some disgruntled fan calling himself  “Ball Smack” from Kansas, writing from what has every appearance of being a bogus e-mail address. My new correspondent Ballie takes personal exception to my attempts to denigrate the wonderful work being done by AA. Smackeroo writes:

“Wow. I shouldn’t reply to this thread, but I have to. I guess. Stop hating on everybody and go eat a vag or suck a dick or whatever your preference may be. No one cares. Your Bill Dubya campaign isn’t fooling anyone and twits like you will continue to ruin what he was striving for.

Please stop trying to ruin his mission because you feel let down.”

I.. well.. I don’t…

Step it up

Where to start, where to start.

“I shouldn’t reply to this thread. But I have to…” Isn’t that a bit like “I shouldn’t chug this Wild Turkey. But I guess I have to.”? You don’t have to. Free will and all that.

“Stop hating on everybody and go eat a vag or suck a dick…” May I direct you to Step 4: Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves and Step 7: Humbly asked god to remove our shortcomings

I am not now, nor have I ever been a member or participant in any 12-Step recovery program. And I don’t feel let down. For the record, I don’t believe in them. I think they’re bullshit. I’m sure someone in the vastness of the Internets will pipe in with stories of how being a Friend of Bill W saved their lives, and I’m certain there are abundant success stories out there.  I know a lot of “hobbyists” who are, as well as friends and co-workers who are “Friends of Bill.” I still think it’s bullshit. Because I think that the core of the program is to exchange one addiction for another. You give up your addictions to booze, dope, gambling or pussy and replace them with addictions to god, meetings, validation and bad coffee.

If you’re a so-called “hobbyist” in so-called recovery, fucking act like you believe in your platitudes. Instead of blaming those dirty whores for your failings, think about humbly asking your god to remove your shortcomings. Instead of lashing out at hookers (or bloggers) maybe it’s time to once again make a searching and fearless moral inventory of yourselves. And, having slipped from the path and hidden behind your cloak of Internet anonymity to bash, berate, degrade and vilify those hookers whom you’ve picked as targets for your vitriol, may I once again suggest you revisit Step 9.

P.S. I’ve approved “Ball Smack’s” comment.

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.

In among the wolves.

Keeping an eye on you.

As most of you who have blogs or websites know, we can see where the clicks to our sites are coming from.There are stat trackers galore and even the most basic blogging package has a hit counter of some sort. For example, I can see what websites I’m being linked to, I can see what web search terms people are using to stumble upon my little corner of the web.

Yeah, I can see that the most common search term used to direct traffic to the ol’ Hooker Addict is tied in to an essay I wrote some 5-6 months ago. For some reason, the topic refuses to die. I can see that I’m still getting traffic from a comment I posted on another blog months ago. And I guess I should be flattered that people searching for “huge cock” are being directed to me.

And I can see when you guys are talking about me on your message boards.

Because I’m one of you.

That’s right guys. I’m on your message boards, I’m in your private clubs, I’m on the ‘men only’ boards.

I wrote not too long ago about the social horror of the Hooker/Hobbyist Meet & Greet. Social awkwardness coupled with a sense of entitlement is a bad combination. A certain local message/review board linked to my blog on a thread about meet & greets. I could see every time someone clicked that link in that thread. But I didn’t need a stat tracker to tell me I’d been linked. I could read it myself.

And then you guys kicked it up a notch. You moved the discussion to the private men only board. Here, as you so often do, you used the cloak of internet invisibility, not to look inward but to lash out. But you didn’t lash out at me, did you?

I’m watching you. I know all you guys. I’ve partied with you. Hell, I may (or may not) have commented on that thread.

You wonder why I don’t like “hobbyists”? It’s because of that behavior. The venue brings out the worst in you. Some of you I have personally liked, I’ve had drinks with you, or maybe I just had a drink while you drank club soda. But based on your behavior behind closed Internet doors, maybe it’s time you start working the steps again. Maybe make a searching and fearless moral inventory of yourselves again.

What are you saying? Your jacket doesn’t fit right with that knife in your back? Malcontent? Off your meds? What an amusing bon mot, joking about how a certain hooker actually likes being groped! Of course, she also likes doing bareback gangbangs, but you forgot to mention that part.

I’ll keep watching you, I’ll keep writing about you. And I’ll keep waiting for you to revisit Step 9.

Back from the grave.

Evil Never Dies. I guess.

You know how in horror movies, there’s always a moment when the protagonist thinks he’s killed the evil monster, only to have the monster pop up from the dead to attack again?

You think you’ve struck a death blow, only to find that the evil zombie has just been biding it’s time, waiting for the shitstorm to blow over, then it comes back to strike terror again as if nothing had ever happened?

Yeah, it’s kinda like that.

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