And leave it to China to bow to “foreign pressure” (whatever that is) and ban transplant tourism. What’s this country coming to? There used to be a time when any Joe Laowai with a satchel full of silver could walk down a street in Anytown, P.R.C. and shank himself an organ. Not too long ago I remember strolling down the dusk-lit promenades of West Lake and cheerfully juking my way around the freshly vivisected, smiles on their faces (well some) and money in their hands. It was a common business practice that was mutually beneficial to all parties involved. Joe Laowai got that kidney he needed and Zhong Guoren got a sack full of shekels for his troubles. Everyone’s a winner (most of the time).

Not to mention that, from a business standpoint, they couldn’t have picked a worse time to impose such a ban. The Olympics are right around the corner. You think people who have the cash to travel halfway around the world to watch a sporting event, albeit the grandest of all sporting events,* are going to pinch pennies when it comes to buying top-notch organs from the freshly executed? Of course not. A healthy heart isn’t going to reduce these people to petty squabbling. Quite the opposite. It’s going to incite a bidding war. Organs will be flying off the shelves and at record prices. And who’s more deserving of these precious organs than rich white people who spent thousands to watch a Hungarian they never heard of win Bronze in the hammer throw. These people are our social betters and deserve the preferential treatment that comes along with spending exorbitant amounts of money on an, ultimately futile, sporting event. I already made posters:

(On a side note: If you are in the organ trade I think Formula One events would also be a lucrative place to conduct business. Just set up a stand between Rolex and Red Bull and wait for the moolah to start rolling in. Just a thought. Just throwing it out there.)

From the article: “It’s very encouraging,” says Keith Rigg, a UK surgeon based in Nottingham who attended the summit. “They’re aware there’s been a lot of bad publicity.”

Oh, holy shit! Keith Rigg said that?! Keith Rigg from Nottingham?! Well then I might have to change my mind about this whole “organs for cash” racket. If Keith Rigg doesn’t have my back then you can count me out. I jest of course.

First off, that quote is a complete fabrication. New Scientist is notorious for making up false claims, stories and quotes to promote their salacious agenda of fact finding and discovery. If there was any truth to what they were saying the name of their publication and website wouldn’t be “New Scientist” but rather “Because That’s What Jesus Said.” Secondly, Nottingham isn’t even a real place. Everybody knows it’s a magical fantasy land conjured up by tall-tale telling tricksters like the Lost City of Gold or the female G-spot. And finally, what “bad publicity” could come from transplant tourism? You’re giving someone something they need and you’re taking it from someone who proved through his/her actions (like speaking out about transplant tourism) that they need to be executed. There is absolutely nothing wrong with it as long as you disregard all ethical responsibilities you have toward your fellow man. If the Bush Administration and Fox News has taught us anything is that you can do any heinous thing you like as long as you put the right spin on it.

An aggressive ad campaign could really help ensure record profits at the 2008 Olympics. Slogans like:

“Come to the 2008 Olympics in Beijing, China and while you’re here pick up some bone marrow for little Sally’s terminal cancer!!”

“Enjoy the excitement of the 2008 Olympic Games and while you’re here take advantage of our 2 for 1 on kidneys, lungs and testicles!!”

“I went to the 2008 Beijing Olympics and all I got was this lousy pancreas.”

It’s a veritable gold mine. The potential money to be made off the the dual draw of the Olympics and organs is unfathomable. It’s called “synergy.” Like putting Michael Jordan on a box of Wheaties to increase sales. Everybody knows that cereal sucks ass but they sell tons because of the athlete on the box. I wasn’t immune either. When I was 8 years old I couldn’t resist the draw of the special edition Martina Navratilova** box even though I knew contained within that box was the mushiest, most unsatisfying cereal on the planet…next to Kix. Kix sucks. The point is synergy like this means money in the bank. It’ll put every other golden week to shame. So rise up and let your voices be heard and tell those fat cats in Beijing that you want your organs!!

*”Grandest,” that is, if you’re a 3rd World Country with nothing else going for it…like football. Either one really. You ask any dude, “Who won the last Superbowl?” or “Who won the Premiership last year?” and they’ll probably know. If you asked them who won the Gold Meal at the 2000 Athens Olympics in the Women’s 200 meters or Dressage they probably won’t. Anybody who would know is either Jamaican or gay, respectively.

Check out this story: China Love Boat Wants Rich, Good-Looking

Ah, love is in the air in Shanghai. A love as pure as the driven snow. A love so strong it redefines the previous parameters set for how strong its bonds could be. A love that is so exclusive that only people in a certain income bracket can possibly hope to attain it. I speak of the love that’s gonna be found by 60 or so men and women on the Shanghai Match Making Cruise for Millionaires. That’s not the name of the cruise but the article doesn’t provide one so that’s what I’m calling it.

If you didn’t click the link above I annotated the entire article below. Annotations and asides either in (parentheses) or italics. Please enjoy.

BEIJING (AP) - A matchmaking love boat cruise (read: slave ship) open only to male millionaires (read: corrupt, emotionally vacuous, dickholes) and “good-looking and desirable” women (read: equally vacuous, money grubbing whores) is slated to set sail later this month, a state-run Chinese newspaper (read: freest press in the world) said Tuesday.

Men (?) on the cruise scheduled to go along Shanghai’s Huangpu (translated literally: smells great) River must be worth at least 2 million yuan ($250,000), the China Daily quoted organizer Xu Tianli as saying.

Xu said more than 20 men had signed up for the Nov. 25 cruise and that half of those registered to take part were worth more than 200 million yuan ($25 million).

Fewer than 30 of the 1,000 woman who applied were accepted, Xu said. To those 970 or so women who didn’t get accepted: Don’t feel bad. In 10-15 years you’ll have come out on top. Money can’t buy love. Only spirited cunnilingus and wicked good cock action get you that. And if these dudes had that they wouldn’t need to board an exclusive ship full of 30 stranded, disillusioned opportunists.

“Only those who were attractive in every category can take part in this event,” Xu said, without giving the specific criteria interested female applicants had to meet. For the record that criteria was: looks (tall, slender, no curves whatsoever and long black hair), capacity for servitude, willingness to incur aphasia, and mobility/flee threat.

“Rich men are normally very busy (sexually harassing their secretaries and figuring out ways to exploit peasants), and most of the women they meet are there for work or business, which these men consider to be unsuitable for relationships,” Xu said. (“Unsuitable” meaning any independent woman that thinks and works for themselves.)

One of the men who signed up for the cruise, identified only by his surname Sun, said “appearance is most important to me.” No shit asshole. You’re buying your wife. No one thought you were going to take the club-footed peasant with the heart of gold.

Yep that’s romance in China. You know I kind of feel bad for the guy with the least amount of money on that boat because he’s going to be ignored until the 11th hour when the least willing bitch to spread slinks over to him with tears in her eyes because she shamed her family by not excepting the 10,000 kuai offer to get double stuffed by two swarthy sock factory owners from Wenzhou. He’ll grudgingly acquiesce to her painfully forced advances because he knows the cruise is coming to an end and he sure as hell ain’t leaving empty handed and in 10 months time a baby will be born to the most unhappy couple in China.

If anyone wants to know where I’ll be on the 25th of November you can find me standing on the bank of the Huangpu River with a 30-foot banner hanging off my boner that says “Two Million Kuai Will Never Make You Come.” Why? Because I’m a fuckin’ romantic that’s why.

Well wishers try to thaw Communist China’s chilly social exterior by offering free hugs, but ol’ Commie Joe says, “No Dice.”

I’m not going to recap the whole story which I’m sure you Sinophiles have already read but if you haven’t here’s a link: Life Squeezed Out of Free Hug Movement.
Now I’m sure the majority of you read that story and thought to yourself, “What’s the big deal? It’s just a couple of youngsters that want to brighten up some people’s day by offering an innocently platonic hug.” But the question you have to ask yourself…Is it really that innocent?

First let’s examine the embrace itself. The hug is, at least in the West, a standard greeting for people who know each other and share a certain level of affection for one another like; family, friends, made members of organized crime syndicates, and cell-mates. Although the mechanics of a hug vary depending on who it is you are hugging their are some static inevitabilities:

1. At least one arm will be clasped around the other’s torso/shoulder, because men often practice the “handshake pulled into one-armed hug.” The handshake says, “Don’t worry, I’m heterosexual.” The one-armed hug says, “I’m heterosexual, but you’re my boy. My bond with you is as resolute as my want not to fuck you.” Classic examples of the handshake pulled into one-armed hug can be seen at NBA All-Star games and reruns of Russell Simmon’s Def Comedy Jam.

2. You are, even for a brief moment, cheek to cheek with the person you are embracing. During this time, if only for an instant, both parties have acquiesced to entrusting their personal space with another. Guards are dropped and trust is displayed. During this period of cheek to cheekness, kisses are often exchanged, caring sentiments are spoken at a low tone into one another’s ears, knives are shoved into the backs of Roman Emperors who grew too big for their tunics.

3. Frontal body contact is maximized. In it’s standard rendition, where both arms are utilized to embrace the other, spatial contact is total from the shoulders down to the hips and thighs. Remove the clothes and rotate the couple to a prone position and you basically have the missionary position. And there’s nothing innocent or platonic about that. And that’s why the Chinese government lead the way they did…with the jackboots.

Now all you liberal idealists out there with your Grateful Dead T-shirts and moonbeams and free love probably think this is just another example of the state crushing an otherwise harmless and overall fun, little exhibition but this isn’t Planet Freakout where conflicts are quelled with pixie dust and drum circles. This is real life…and it stinks like patchouli. Yes, hippies, you’re perfume d’jour reeks something fierce and it’s doing little to mask the fact that you’re adverse to showering in modern facilities with indoor plumbing and fluorinated water. Your hygiene sickens me as much as these “protesters” actions. Because once again like in the 60’s when your high-minded idealism lost us the Vietnam War this Free Hug movement threatens to tear asunder China’s tightly woven social fabric. A fabric made of equal parts distrust, xenophobia, blaring ignorance, and endemic larceny.

These young rapscallions tore mercilessly through the streets of Beijing, Xi’an, and Changsha brandishing signs stating, “Free Hugs,” “refuse to be apathetic,” “care from strangers,”and say ‘no’ to giving the cold shoulder.” You see the picture above. They look Chinese but they couldn’t possibly be Chinese. If they were they’d know that being apathetic and giving people the cold shoulder is the 5,000 year old ethos that has made this proud nation a collective of 1.4 billion wary, humorless killjoys. I once watched a guy pass out from heat exhaustion in the dead of summer in Hangzhou. He laid on that searing pavement for over an hour and a half before an ambulance happened to drive by and pick him up. He cooked like an egg on that street and died before he got to the hospital. Sure, I could have called the authorities but that wouldn’t have been very Chinese of me now would it? And as a guest in this country I respect their way of life, so as much as I wanted to call I couldn’t affront my host nation and care for another human being. Something these young punks need to be reminded of the next time they hit the streets looking to make people feel better. Nothing a few months in a certain prison in Qinghai I know of won’t cure.

Look I’m not a bad guy. I like to spread joy as much as the next Chinese guy. I’ll kick a dog to make a girl think I’m tough. I’ll mock migrant workers shabby clothes. I’ll treat everybody who doesn’t make as much money as I do like a piece of fuckin’ shit. Hey man, when in Rome, but this Free Hugs movement? They’re just moving a bit too quick for us more traditional types and quite frankly society’s just not ready for that step and here are some reasons why:

1. A bunch of nubile, young Chinese girls draping their fertile young bodies over any and all passersby they can get their hands on isn’t going to promote a new found sense of warmth and community amongst the Chinese. It’s going to lead to one thing. Massive, justifiable rape. Just listen to this dude named Li who preaches the historical truth in this Reuters Article:

   “Embracing is a foreign tradition. We are not accustom to this,” a dude name Li stated.

   And he’s absolutely right. Anyone who’s ever studied anything about China knows that all Chinese insemination since the Tang Dynasty has taken place in a lab where the husband and wife were in separate rooms, each with their own licensed “Essence Extractor,” and their respective seeds were combined for fertilization in a Qi-powered centrifuge. Chinese people despise physical contact especially the sexual kind. Just look at the sparse population and complete absence of an elicit sex industry. They don’t even have massage parlors here because, quite frankly, Chinese people hate to be touched.

2. If the people of China, as a whole, acquiesced to the notion of hugging or being hugged by complete strangers, pickpockets the country over would make a fuckin’ killing. People here steal. All the time. If you allow open, random hugging you’re pretty much opening the door to rampant petty larceny.

3. Public hugging, for no reason other than butterfly wings and rays of hope from the glitter well, will cripple the already severely crippled pedestrian flow in China’s cities. You can’t walk a straight God damn line for more than ten feet in any of China’s medium or big sized cities before you have to dodge an oncoming pedestrian, cut around a line of bicycles, or juke some shithead riding his gas-powered scooter down the sidewalk. Now, I have to jockey around people who don’t even know each other who both spontaneously decided they need to stop going where they’re going and hug somebody. Mountebanks my good man.

In all seriousness, I respect what these young kids are doing. It needs to be done. There are times when China just seems so cold and apathetic and it seems this way because it is. For Christ’s sake those four “huggers” in Beijing got brought in and questioned by the cops. Hey Beijing you got a lot of laowai tourists coming in 2008, get yourself a good PR firm, shit like this ain’t gonna fly when a bunch of people who aren’t petrified by the thought of a hug come to visit during the Olympics.

But what pisses me off the most are the quotes throughout the article like the on above by that dude named Li. This innate need inherent in almost all the people of China to protect the facade. To, at all costs, preserve the collective image or “face” and shroud it inappropriately with the moniker, “tradition.” People the world over do this, individually, and out of fear but here it’s the social undercurrent. Accepted and expected. These young altruists did nothing wrong except that they went against the expected social norms for public behavior for the purpose of making the world a little brighter. I quote:

“We were inspired by an event in Changsha city,” said one of the young male organizers.”Free hugs will bring people closer together and will make the world more like a big family.”

Keep the dream alive, brother. Keep the dream alive…from your prison cell in Qinghai you rabbler-rousing schismatist!!

Enter Consuela…

Enter the Sexual Tension…

Enter Stan Litowski. Consuela’s ex-husband and the saddest clown in all of Dayton, Ohio…

“The 3 of Clubs.” she said with equal parts pride and regret, “That pretty much sums me up.”
“Excuse me?”
“Yep. My picture was taken in October of 1982 by a guy from Bakersfield who claimed to be a modeling agent. That picture is now the 3 of clubs on a low-rent deck of nude playing cards.”
“Really?”
“Boy, you better believe it.”
“So how much does a featured model on a nude deck of playing cards get paid? Is it a flat rate or do face cards get paid more?”
Her laugh had a wry, throaty quality I found as intoxicating as the Maker’s Mark she kept pouring me. It was an amalgam of Phyllis Diller, Cathleen Turner and a lifetime of Lucky Strikes on the bayou.
“Jack shit. That’s what they paid me. That guy from Bakersfield, the one I was telling you took those pictures of me, he told me they were just…now what the hell did he call them?”
“Test prints?”
“Yeah, something like that. He told me they was test prints. That they would never see the light of day, and they didn’t, or so I thought,” she paused to take a drag off her More Menthol, “then 11 years later, I’m working as a cocktail waitress out in Las Vegas ‘cause I heard they made good money and I ain’t never had any schoolin’ after high school…so there I am serving drinks to a bunch of guys playing cards at their table when one of them gents looks up from his hand and stares me dead in my face like he knew me and it made me feel a little awkward you know? You know that stare you give a stranger you swear you know?”
“Mm hmm.”
“Well I already done asked these fellas where they were from and they said, ‘Oklahoma,’ and I ain’t never met no one from Oklahoma so they way this guy was looking at me gave me a shiver. I’m gonna be honest with you now, it kind of freaked me out.”
“No, naturally.”
“So I give’em their drinks and do my rounds with my other tables before I go back to this table. Now that guy gave me the creeps but that don’t mean I’m going to give them bad service. No sir. I live off my tips so I’m not gonna jeopardize my financial what have you over some silly, weird look…but I tell you what?”
“Go ahead. Tell me what?”
“I’m telling you what, when I went back to that table to, you know, see if they needed anything all those fellers were looking at me the same way that first guy was.”
“Uh oh”
“You said it.” She yelped laughingly. “Uh oh is right. I didn’t know what to think. My mind was racing a mile a minute. At first I thought they was cops because I had an expired warrant out on me from from when I was bartending in Slidell. Me and this girl got into it and I won’t bore you with the details but I cut her up something bad. Accusing me of watering down drinks, demanding a free round. I always play fair. I ain’t saying I always done right but I always been fair. Anyways, where was I?”
“All those guys were staring at you?”
“Right, right…”
“And you thought they might be cops.”
“Yeah, but theys said they was from Oklahoma and I know I ain’t done nothing there so I figured they weren’t cops so I relaxed a little bit but they still had that look in their eye and I’m standing there in a li’l, ol’ short skirt and revealing white button down blouse like ya wear if you wanna make good tips in a seedy little cocktail bar and I just ask’em, ‘What you all looking at?’”
“And what they say?”
“Well all this I’ve been talking about, me thinking they’re cops and all this, happened in just 2 shakes. You know how the mind works faster than your mouth can talk? Anyway that startled them right quick, me asking them, like they all got snapped right out of a trance and one of them finally spoke up and said, “I apologize sweetheart but is this you here on the 3 of clubs?” Well I about fell over when that guy showed me the other side of that card.”
“I can imagine.”
“Honey I thought I was gonna die right there. My face was redder than the Bloody Mary’s I was serving them. One of those gentleman was kind enough to let me sit down and poured me a glass of water but by the time he handed it to me I had already done drank one of them Bloddy Mary’s I just set down at the table. That’s probably the most embarrassed I’d ever been…well there is that one time one of my girlfriends caught me giving head to some crippled guy in a wheelchair. She never let me live it down, so I just had to stop hanging out with her. It was Memorial Day and I was drunk. I thought it was a pretty nice thing to do. You know, blow a vet on Memorial Day.”
“If I were a vet I’d appreciate it.”
“Wouldn’t ya? But anyways what was I talking ‘bout? Oh yeah, those guys turned out to be real nice about the whole thing. They had just figured I knew. Well I told them, ‘Had I known, I would have at least picked up a deck for my kids to show’em what their momma did when she was young and beautiful.’ They laughed and told me that they hadn’t but just done picked up the deck at a souvenir shop just 2 blocks from where I was cocktail waitressing. Can you believe that? Turns out of all the titty decks sold in Las Vegas, my 23 year old body is on one third of the 3 of clubs…naked as a jay bird.”
“I hope it was at least tasteful.”
“It was classy. I thought it was, like the typical centerfold Penthouse used to shoot before they allowed penetration and golden showers.”
“I didn’t know Penthouse was into pee.”
“Honey, Penthouse stopped tryin’ to compete with Playboy in the late ‘80’s, now they are just trying to catch up with Hustler, albeit in the opposite direction. But it’s easier to get a Basset Hound’s ears dirty than it is to get them clean. At least that’s what my daddy always used to say although I don’t ever remember him hunting with nothing but a Coon Hound. But that’s beside the point. The point is, back in ’82 the centerfold girls still had an air of class to them. That’s what I tried to do in my test shots. Back then my tits had a lot more lift to them not like they are now.”
“With all due respect they still look pretty good. Not that I’ve been looking.”
“You’re sweet honey but this,” she says spiritedly grabbing the sides of her breasts and thrusting them up and in so they’re almost touching her chin and then abruptly dropping them with an undulate thud, “is all hardware. If I take off this bra and corset the ‘girls’ are gonna sag something fierce.”
“I don’t believe that for a second.”
“Sug, you’re much too young for me to try an impress. I’m just telling you that when the clothes come off they’re hangin’ down almost to my ‘giner.’ Looks like two, big, old white possums hangin’ from a tree with a moldy old know of a sap gash in between’em.”
“I don’t believe I’ve ever heard anything like that before.”
“I may not have had any schoolin’ past high school but I ain’t dumb.”
“I never meant to imply that. Just the imagery of your breasts as possums and the other part I’m trying to altogether forget.”
“You didn’t like it?”
“No, it was a perfectly cogent simile in as much as it was unarousing.”
“Sorry, I sometimes get defensive when I ain’t got laid in a while…and when you drink like me sometimes you just don’t know what’s gonna come out of the old word hole. What was I talking about?”
“Your pose on the playing card. Apparently it was classy?”
“I should clarify. It was classy in the sense of a Penthouse centerfold girl, or classy in the hopes of catching the eye of a modeling agency. It might not have been classy for a 5 dollar deck of nudie playing cards…appropriate, but not classy. I thought it was. Even though I didn’t get paid for it. That’s not classy. God knows how many people have seen my pussy and I ain’t made a dime on it. It’s one thing when you’re getting paid, it’s another thing to just be parading your cooter out to any and all passersby. That’s what whores do honey and I am not a whore. Momma didn’t raise no trash. Now I could name a more than a few things I’d done that I ain’t proud of but there was always a good reason to do them like when I was drunk or high on crystal meth, but giving sex and pussy slips away for free was not one of them. No sir, my momma done raised me right.”
“But it’s not your fault. That guy lied to you.”
“And how, I tell you, by 1984, almost 2 years after I took those photos I all but plum forgot about them. Then, 7 years later, 11 years after I took those pictures here I am in Vegas staring at myself on the back of a playing card and a 3 of Clubs at that. Now here I am 24 years later talking about it. Some things the good Lord just don’t let you let go of.”
“Maybe that’s his way of reminding you not to repeat the same mistakes.”
“Maybe, but if that were the case I wish he’d had done it for the 1st time I got the clap. Cause I done repeat that mistake 3 more times. Once in my throat.”
“Please tell me it wasn’t the crippled vet.”
“God, I hope not, like his legs his dick didn’t have no feeling. Or maybe he did and I’m just not very good at giving head…though I never got any complaints from guys who could walk so I’m pretty sure it was because he was paralyzed.”
“I think you’re right.”
“Right about what?”
“Right in your assumption that the guy was probably paralyzed entirely from the waist down. I’m sure you give great head.” “Thank you so much, sug. You just got yourself a free round.”
“You’re much too kind, thank you?”
“Listen to me yammering on about bad choices I made in the past.”
“Everybody makes bad choices.”
“I suppose, but how many choices have you made became the jack off material for God knows how many degenerate poker players?”
“No more than 4 if I ventured a guess.”
“Darling,” she chuckled in her laugh I’d long since fell in love with, “You’re alright.”
“You’re not so bad yourself.” She smiles warmly at this, “Okay, just one more than I have to be on my way.”
“So soon? I haven’t even shown you the card yet.”
“Oh, you’ve got one here?”
“Honey, after the shock wore off in Vegas all them years ago I finished my shift and went out to that very same gift shop those gentleman from Oklahoma I was waiting on told me they bought their deck and I bought as many as I could but I’ll be damned if I can find a deck when I want to.”
“Well you have intrigued me as to your pose, but you never really told me what it was other than ‘early ‘80’s Penthouse classy’.”
“I didn’t? Well it was classy, or at least classy for the time and as classy as one can get posing nude in this guy from Bakersfield’s hotel room. But I tried, believe you me, at the time I thought this was going to be my big break so I did a little more than I thought I’d ever be able to do, at least with a guy who wasn’t a crippled vet on Memorial Day. Did I tell you about that? I did? Okay. Well, I was already wearing next to nothing, just my little ol’ string bikini so full nude wasn’t a huge step, but I wanted to sell myself. I wanted to be a centerfold so I stripped to my bare ass and propped my back up against the head of the bed and threw my hair down so it draped across my shoulders and cleavage, I had my right arm hugging my torso just beneath my tits, not that I needed it back then but I wanted to make sure my girls were staring straight at the camera, then I spread my legs like in a diamond…”
“A diamond? What do you mean?”
“You know, thighs spread, knees facing out, but feet together, so your legs are making the shape of a diamond.”
“Okay gotcha. I love that by the way.”
“I know, right? So did the photographer at the time. I thought I had that guy eating out of the palm of my hand so I decided to go in for the kill. So I tilt my head down and to the left and looked up but only with my eyes. Then I slid my hand right down between my legs and with my forefinger and middle finger spread my lips apart just to let them know there was some honey in the pot and there was too. I ain’t gonna lie to ya, it turned me on. I was a little misty down there.”
“A little dew on the moor?”
“A little dew on the what?”
“Moor. A open area of land full of heath and bogs.”
“Oh like on the morning grass.”
“Yeah, I was inferring that you were glistening.”
“You better believe I was. I was a young girl in my early 20’s and back then I was proud of my pussy. A lot of girls are ashamed of it…they think it’s ugly. Nothing more than a run-over swamp rat but not me. I loved mine and was confident about it but that was then. After 24 years of fuckin’ dirt track drivers, rig jockeys and sailors that work offshore in the Gulf my muffin’s lost some of its luster.”
“No, you’re just being hard on yourself.”
“No, now I ain’t gonna lie to ya. I’m too old to be making up stories no more. It still works, sweet as ever, but it ain’t the perfect pink flower it used to be…it’s more like an old sandwich that got too much bologna in it…you know what I’m saying?” “I have an idea.”
“Like meat curtains but with…”
“I get it, I get it.” I said interrupting her before she could provide any more detail.
“So anywho that was the pose, innocent with a little bit of pink.”
“Sounds very sexy, subtle yet erotic.”
“I think I like the way you said it better…Oh and lo and behold wouldn’t ya know here it is. I forgot I always keep one behind the register.”
“You look like an angel.” I paused to choose my words correctly and to properly phrase what she wanted to hear, “and as far as spread labia shots go, that’s the best I’ve ever seen.”
“Oh c’mon now honey you don’t need to exaggerate.”
“I’m not. I’m being sincere. It’s hot as hell no doubt, but there’s an innocence and tastefulness to it as well.”
“You see that’s what I tried to tell my momma but she still kicked me out of the house for 2 and a half years, so I stole the Trans-Am got drunk and wrecked it.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Oh my momma never saw the picture till a few years back. She was just pissed at the time because I didn’t get no money for it.”
“Well parents do worry about their children.”
“You got that right. If my little girl ever gets approached like I did when I was out with my girlfriends in Panama City beach I told her to stand her ground and demand she get paid for any work she does in advance.”
“Sage advice.” She nodded concurring as if I were the one who made the point. I continued, “Well, I do have to get up tomorrow. I’m shipping out early. Thank you so much for the bourbon and the story. You’ve had quite an exciting life. I’m glad you shared it with me.”
“Well you’re a good listener. I don’t know I just love shootin’ the shit and I guess I like telling that story. And I love showing that card to guys to show’em how pretty I was.”
“You still are.” I shook her hand and moved towards the exit. She grabbed my hand tighter as it began to slip away.
“You know you’re my only customer. Maybe you wouldn’t mind staying for just one more?”
“You’re much too kind but I’ve already had enough.”
“Sugar it’s nothing really. Me being much too kind is me asking you if you’d like me to show you the backroom of this bar.”
“OH! Wow, thank you, but no. To be honest, that bologna sandwich comparison really didn’t do it for me.”
“Me and my mouth…well the offer’s there…you know?”
“What?”
“I never did get my confidence back after blowing that cripple. Maybe you’d let me practice…on you?”
“Tempting but didn’t you have gonorrhea in your throat?”
“Honey, that was years ago. I was at a Jackal/Steelheart concert and I only did it because the guy said he was a roadie and could get me backstage. Turns out it was just some guy with the clap, but that was in ’91. C’mon, Sug, give an old woman a thrill.”
“Sure what the hell.”
She escorted me by the hand she never let go of into the backroom where there was an old couch and a desk where very little deskwork was done. She laid me back on the couch and her last words were…
“You just sit back an relax Sug, and when you’re ready you just go ahead an shoot it wherever you like.”
Mine were, “You’re gonna swallow it sweetie or I’m gonna cave your skull in with a billiard ball.”
And oh how we both did laugh.

lhttp://www.fleshbot.com/sex/dvds/dvd-review-the-da-vinci-load-162373.php

Now some people might feel discouraged that somebody has beaten them to their own idea but not me. My Da Vinci Load was all my own. Conceived independently and with no outside stimuli or guidance. They can’t take that away from me. They just had the ways and means of realizing their dream before me. I feel good about it. It’s promising. It means I’m close. Writers are always looking for approval or favorable comparison. They dream of being referred to in the same air as Updike or Irving, coincidently, I don’t think there’s a single, up and coming, writer that yearns to be compared to Dan Brown…that’s like yearning to be compared to a mildly retarded sell out with a poor grasp of dialogue*. Well as of right now, I’ve reached The Hustler level. I made that bold and italicized because it’s Hustler and Hustler rules and I don’t believe it requires that complex or far-fetched a syllogism to deduce that I’m worthy of being mentioned in the same air. So much so that I’m going one stop further on the Syllogism Express:

Hustler Rules.
I’ve now reached the Hustler level.
Therefore (ipso facto), I RULE.

Here’s another flawless arguement of pure logic:

Hustler produced an Adult Film spoofing Dan Brown’s novel, The Da Vinci Code (no bold for you, Dan Brown).
I (may or may not) have written a similar erotic spoof of the same Dan Brown novel.
Conclusion:
I am totally going to buy that movie and possibly (read: definitely) manhandle myself in a violently self-satisfying, one-man lust ballet whilst doing so.

Seriously, did you click on the link above and read the review? Did you read that line from the movie? If you didn’t, here it is:

“Ladies, every time you let a guy nut in your snatch just because he’s a professional skater or drives a Mitsubishi Lancer with Chinese writing on the side, you are polluting the social soup.”

Oh my God this movie is going to rule! You get to laugh hysterically AND have an orgasm. It’s like what every girl who’s every dated me has done on every single date we’ve ever had! And that’s true. Because I’m incredibly funny and incredibly great in bed…sometimes at the same time. Nothing gets a woman shuddering with waves of orgasmic pleasure like a raucous belly laugh induced by my skewed views on airplane food and rush hour traffic. Laughing and love together at last in a poorly act porno based on a poorly written novel. Joy to the World.

So in conclusion I would like to offer my Hustler level talents to the fine people at Hustler themselves and pen, pro bono (don’t even go there!!!), the follow up to The Da Vinci Load. I’ve based it off another equally banal Dan Brown piece, Angels and Demons. But my baudy rendition is titled, Angels in Semen. Huh? Huh? This shit practically writes itself! Look for it in the Spring of ‘07…starring Raylene.

*Dan Brown’s never been particulary adept at writing dialogue. It’s not his strong suit (his skills lie in cribbing from much more talented authors like Umberto Eco). In fact the last line of his book, Angels and Demons, is so bad (“then you’ve never been with a Yoga master before.”) it made me want to bitch slap a handicapped kid. The fact that his book right now is a National Bestseller and the “most controversial” book since the Satanic Verses (which no one read because it was actually erudite, well written and good) is proof positive that America, across the board, has failed in adequately educating its citizens. The fact that this almost completely fallacious piece of hackneyed claptrap is extolled by so many as a masterpiece shows just how ignorant Americans have gotten and how far we’ve sunk as a society. For shame Dan Brown, for shame.

“It might have helped if the cigarette were more prominently displayed. It’s all but invisible in that photo. I’m afraid you have a thing or two to learn about the intersection of proper lighting and fine tobacco products, my friend.”

It is true. The cigarette is kind of washed out by the light of the setting sun and cigarettes are kind of small when seen in relation to my massive physique (I’m 5’9” in lifts), but he makes a valid point. He could have made his point without all the attitude and arrogance he comments on everything with but it’s a valid point nonetheless. So I went to work to fix it. So here is the modified picture with the product better highlighted in the image. Compare it with the original down below on this page. The change is subtle but if you look hard enough I think you’ll find it.

Those folks down at Marlboro are sure to contact me now. Thanks John!!

My First Attempt:

My Second:

And the Third:

I’d also like to thank my friends, the people I’ve known for years, for the words of support and encouragement they sent me while I was rotting away on a boat for 9 weeks with no food and shoddy plumbing. The fact that you guys took time out of your busy day to send me a letter, news articles, or maybe just some jokes meant the world to me. Or it would have if any of you did. Over two months I was gone…and not a word from the people I’ve known the most…the people I grew up with…some of whom I’ve known for over a decade. Not a thing. You guys really dropped the ball. You should be ashamed of yourselves. I almost died (no shit) and not even a, “hey when you gettin’ back buddy?” or “see you soon.” I’m disgusted with the lot of you.

Some of you did actually send me emails and for that I am in your debt. The rest of you…I must turn my back on….I don’t know where I’m going with this…I’m not really pissed. Honestly I could care less. Really, I know all y’all are busy. I couldn’t possibly hold a grudge…or could I? The preceding paragraph is kind of moot now. You know other people besides you read this site (like the entire country of Denmark) besides you guys. That whole paragraph is just a waste of time now. Stop being so selfish. Stop wasting everyone’s time. You’re all whores.

And speaking of whores I’ve got a book almost complete that is sure to be turned into a major motion picture. I won’t reveal too much but I’ll give you a little taste. The following is the back sleeve synapsis of my first book of fiction. It combines, in poetic prose, the experiences I accrued during my 2 and a half years in China with my scholarly and passionately honed love of hard fucking.

“From the mean streets of Shanghai to the rural foothills of Sichuan Province, Gregory T.S. Kummery takes you on a heart-pumping, page-turning, erotic-adventure that is sure to leave you gasping from the suspense or the inevitable orgasms you’ll produce from this literary tour de force. Probably both.

So join Jack on a whirlwind tour of China, as he screws and humps his way from whorehouse to KTV lounge, from the neon-lit streets of…well any town in China…to the back alley brothels of…well every town in China. Will he find the love of his life? Will he elude the Triads chasing him? Will he have enough juice to find all the answers he needs before time runs out? There’s only one way to find out. Read: The Da Vinci Load”

Sounds pretty sweet doesn’t it? You know you’d read it. The Da Vinci Load. Good God I’m a dork.

Oh! I read your comments and message received…a forthcoming piece on maritime masturbation is in the works. It should answer all the questions you could possibly have and ensure without a shadow of a doubt that no woman will ever date me again.

In other China related news, I will be returning to Hangzhou in the upcoming months. By the end of August I should be back in the city of West Lake bitching about things with the same fervor I had before. So I’ll keep you updated. Right now everything is set, it’s just a matter of having the financial means to do so, and that is working itself out rapidly. I tried my hand at modelling to make extra cash but the fine people at Marlboro cigarettes have yet to get back to me with an answer yet. I thought it was a good idea since they’ve all but thrown away the image of the Marlboro man cowboy. This is one of the sample pictures I sent them (it’s also the only one where I’m clothed). Check it out:

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