--- In FairfieldLife@yahoogroups.com, Duveyoung <no_re...@...> wrote: > > TurquoiseB wrote: > Duh. I spent a lot of time at that strip club, > > every Thursday evening for some months. I'm > > not exactly a lap dance kinda guy, so I'd sit > > at the bar and write, with the perk of naked > > or near-naked women dancing in the background. > >snip Seemed an appropriate place > > to write them. :-) > > Yeah, let's all find a place to write where young women sell their bodies. > Next thing we'll hear from Turq is that all the strippers were full adults > who had absolute clarity about why they'd chosen to be strippers -- say, a > reachable goal of $1500 a day for starters. But, probably to Turq, each girl > was some sort of "temp" and only doing it until she could finish her college > degree or whatever, right? Riiiiight. > > A strip club is one of the meanest lowest places -- a whore house with music > with thuggish arm-breakers hovering about and ready to fuck you up if you > mess with their girls. Talk about a vipers' nest. > > I had the unique experience of being a full TM True Believer and taken around > to dozens of strip bars. > > While writing a few of my infomercials "on location in Miami Beach," I had to > endure my boss, famous in his own mind pitchman John Parkin, driving me > somewhere, but then suddenly insisting that I had to go to a strip club with > him "just for a second," and staying there for an hour or two while I sipped > a soda and he did shots and paid for lap dances. > > Hilariously, imagine this: there's me in the club -- a person still doing > four hours a day of program, a fucking governor of the age of fucking total > unbelievable enlightenment, and yup there's girl after girl right there > slapping her ass cheek to show me how firm it was. > > It was like God Himself had given Satan the right to pull Edg's (Job's?) > chain just to see me squirm. And, yeah, I squirmed in shame that I had not > the courage to spit in John's face and demand that he respect my religious > integrity. So, I was a whore as much as the girls there, see? I remember > being overwhelmed with the dark poignancy of that experience. Nowadays, the > small salary I was getting would be laughably inadequate to get me to put up > with that kind of employment abuse, but then, I needed the money as badly as > those girls, and selling out my dogma to keep my bills paid seemed the > rationale thing to do. > > And then there's my nightclub experiences in Asia. > > It was when I was doing business on the Pacific Rim and virtually all the > businessmen insisted that I be dragged to bar after bar after bar while they > did "mostly booze and girls" while talking business "here and there" with me. > The girls were there to encourage all "their men" to drink a lot, order > expensive plates of fruit, etc. The men knew that the woman was theirs for > the night if they wanted such. > > My women couldn't get it. I'd be this vegetarian rich American priest and > they just didn't have anything in their playbooks for what to do with me. > Nor did my playbook have anything to offer the situation -- I had TM > movement, wife and kids back home that were kept in the forefront of my mind, > and I was there to do business and if that's the way it was done, then I > would act like a Roman, and that was my sole technique for keeping myself off > of any slippery slope. > > And God didn't stop there. He had a prostitute follow me to my room in > Taipei, I had just closed my door, when, knock, and BAM there she was > pretending she was looking for some guy, but, whoosh, she touched my cheek in > a rapid move and said, "You look like a nice man." I'm surprised my cheeks > didn't burst aflame from the incident -- I was still a priest in my own mind, > ya see? Well, I got the door closed and was able to breathe again -- it was > like bullets had whizzed over my foxhole. > > I look back now and pat myself on the head for having weathered those storms. > I failed often enough in many other areas, but at least I kept myself from > that kind of Gordian Knot. But, yes, many other knots were my bugaboos that > ravaged my time as I vainly attempted to unravel them. > > Edg >
I loves ya Edg. I really do, but this isn't the first time that reading one on your rants brought the old arthritis joke back to mind..... A drunk that smelled like a brewery got on a bus one day. He sat down next to a priest. The drunk's shirt was stained, his face was full of bright red lipstick, and he had a half-empty bottle of wine sticking out of his pocket. He opened his newspaper and started reading. A couple of minutes later, he asked the priest, "Father, what causes arthritis"? "Mister, it's caused by loose living, being with cheap, wicked women, too much alcohol, and contempt for your fellow man." "Well, I'll be damned," the drunk muttered. He returned to reading his paper. The priest, thinking about what he said, turned to the man and apologized. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to come on so strong. How long have you had arthritis?" "I don't have arthritis, Father, but I just read in the paper that the Pope does."
