Later that night, after a few hours of note-taking in my room, I made one last pass through the bar and found another of our group, a Midwestener whose construction company built guard booths for the Army. Even though it was well past midnight on what had been a grueling day of travel, the tie under his sweater retained its crisp knot and his gray hair was immaculately parted. “Looks like there are a few professional women out in the lobby,” he said at almost the moment I sat down to join him. “Do you know how much they are? Do you think $100 would do it?” When I suggested he simply go outside and ask, he walked off into the lobby to do just that—leaving me alone in mid-sentence—only to return moments later. “The pretty one got in the elevator,” he muttered. “The others were a little chunky. So you don’t know how much for one of them, huh?” He told me with a clinical chill in his voice about the time he had gone to Mexico on business and seen “The Donkey Show,” in which a female performer fellates and then copulates with a donkey. “I didn’t know a woman could take a donkey,” he said. “But she did. She took it.” He informed me that in Mexico the hookers had cost $40. When I asked him if he was really here in Ukraine looking for a wife, he just shrugged. The next day, on a guided walking tour of downtown Kiev, I approached him and asked whether he had gotten an answer to his question. In that same toneless voice he informed me that he had eventually hired one of the hotel prostitutes for $130 an hour and before I could stop him told me in graphic detail about what they’d done and, worse, what she would not do. Then a stray dog trotted past. “Oh!” he exclaimed, turning away from me suddenly and bending to hold out his hand with a radiant, ear-to-ear smile. “Look at the little puppy! Yee-ess! Who’s a cute little puppy?”Awww... look at the budding serial killer! Who's a nice little psycho-pants? You are! You! Awww
This article in Harpers weirds me out... Below is an excerpt about a guy who probably has people-parts in his refrigerator.
Posted by Tom at 2:09 PM
Sir Gawain and the grim knight? Heathcliff of Thrushcross? Here's a story about something that always gives me a smile: the annual bad writing contest. Named after Ed Bulwer-Lytton, the contest invites any and all to submit their most heinous prose for consideration. Here's the winner in the children's lit division:
Winner: Children's Literature There was an old woman who lived in a shoe who had so much equity (because our story, dear children, is set in Miami's hot real estate market) that she upgraded the exterior to blue suede siding as a tribute to her idol, Elvis, moved her kids to a bootee out back, and then reopened the place as the "Are You Lonesome Tonight?" motel (but you'll have to wait until you're 18 to read any further). Barbara Bridges Sierra Madre, CA
Posted by Tom at 7:49 PM
Is what the headlines would read if there was any justice. Madmen, filling the frame with a single player in the middle and attacking thirds. What the hell are you thinking? Did you not know that in order to see the play, we need to see more than one guy? Wouldn't you think that they'd release the camera feeds more or less raw so that I don't get the same craptacular coverage on ABC, Univision, and the Taiwanese channel? For the love of god! Please! It can't possibly be the case that one insane producer gets to wreck my entire final-viewing experience, can it? Wait. It can be. Oh, well. At least they showed Zidane head-butting that dude. What the hell did Zidane do that for? He apparently went off his rocker, or something.
Posted by Tom at 10:24 PM