I'll Have the Prime Rib...Rare

Ok, so this is by far the grossest story I've come across since I started blogging. My sister-in-law sent me an article (with video) that is pretty stomach turning AND the following blog isn't any less tasteless. You've been warned.

While visiting NYC from Germany, Axel Sanz-Claus, visited the Bull and Bear Steak House at the Waldorf for dinner. He got the steak (medium-rare) with a side of spinach. Everything was perfect until Jolly Old Sanz-Claus , mid meal, found a blood soaked TAMPON in his steak. That's right, a tampon. So...either he's lying and is looking for a payday; this steak was cut from a PMSing mad cow; or some disgusting pig in the restaurant's wait staff put a dirty period plug in this guys food. So, obviously the steak wasn't to his liking, but I wonder how the spinach was.

I can only imagine how the conversation with his waiter went:

Claus: "Excuse me? I know I asked for my steak rare, but..."

Waiter: "I know sir, I'm sorry. The chef overcooked it, so I took the liberty..."

Claus: "Well, I hope you're not expecting a tip."

Okay. So, maybe it didn't go down exactly like that. The worst part of this whole ordeal is, Claus had to go ot the hospital and be tested for Hepatitis AND had to schedule himself for a 6 month HI-Five test (yes, I know I used that clip before). Talk about scary! I get skeeved out when there is hair in my food.

I suppose the Bull and Bear will be getting a bad Zagat rating next time around.

The management at the Waldorf is said to be investigating the incident which I guess means rounding up the female employees and hoping they haven't been working together long enough to have synched up?

What I want them to learn from this investigation is the motive for the crime. Was it a malicious act of a fed up employee? A hoax perpetrated by a dirty old man with a taste for blood? Or merely an artful recreation of human biological function? We may never know.

Seemingly, all this poor guy wanted to do was take a nice vacation, catch a show or two, and do some shopping in the City that never sleeps. But all he has to show for it is a container holding a dirty a rag that looks like ABC gum. Yeah, that's right, Claus is holding onto the evidence. Perhaps he is looking for a big payday after all proving that old proverb, 'A tampon in a can is worth two from the bush.' Or something like that.

Nah, the real lesson is probably more like don't piss off the wait staff... Is it just me or is all this talk about food is making you hungry too...

YUCK!!!

Mannequins Make The Best Lovers

Have you ever fantasized about Kim Cattrall? -You know, seeing past the plastic exterior that is her body and fall in love with the woman inside, ultimately breaking the Egyptian curse that she'd apparently been trapped by for thousands of years?

If you have, then I have a wonderful surprise for you. Your fantasies are now a reality thanks to Johan Rizki, of the Amora Sex Academy Museum in London and Berlin. This museum features 50 interactive displays of mannequins bumping together their anatomically incorrect plastic pelvises. This interactive dispaly is said to be a teaching tool offering helpful tips to sexually inept couples guaranteeing them a future of fantastic fornication. Thanks to this innovative display, not only will you become a better lover, but you'll no longer have to feel embarrassed about going from 6 to midnight after staring at the Victoria's Secret display window in the mall.

Men, you might have always wondered...'Is the clit real?'

Women, ever pondered...'Should I work the tip or go for the gusto?'

Sadly, answers to these questions and more are now right at your fingertips. Literally. For those who like to get their hands sticky plasticky, there is a mannequin that lights up and even screams with delight when you find its G-spot. Never mind the hundreds of onlookers with camera phones; its a small price to pay when you're giving an oversized doll a reach around.

Ever wonder where the pleasure/pain line is when giving your lover a leather lasso lashing? Well the museum's "Spank-O-Meter" is just the thing for you. Go ahead and whip this mannequins plastic posterior and her robotically recorded voice will let you know when you go from Casanova to Chris Brown.

Want to learn about the sexual positions that will help you lose the most weight? They have a display for you too. At this display, you will learn all about the "Italian Chandelier' which is said to burn up to 920 calories per hour and I can only assume is a position in which you hang upside down from the ceiling inside a crystal light bulb holder and try to finish before it breaks loose and you fall to you death...I might be off on that one.

So if you are in the London or Berlin area and want to go down on go see mannequins having sex (which I couldn't see why anyone wouldn't), then visit the Amora Sex Academy and fulfill your plasto-philic fantasies.

To the men readers: If you are nowhere near London OR Berlin, and are nowhere near confident in your techniques, then I suggest you stop fumbling around and take a trip over to Teacup's very informative blogs on the subject and learn yourself a thing or two.

The Stripper

To follow up the story I posted about prostitution, I figured I'd post this piece I wrote. In this piece I was playing around with the spiritual meanings of numbers (just for fun as I don't believe in numerology since you can pretty much add things up any different way to get them to mean what you want them to mean).

The first two stanzas are 6 lines each (the number of the beast, also the 'human' number). The last stanza has 3 lines (the number of love, life, and the trinity). The whole piece (including the title) has 148 words. 1 is the number for God, or the beginning. 4 is the number for the material universe and creative works. 8 is the number for the new birth or new beginning.


The Stripper
“For tonight, with your own eyes, you will see my soul."
-Oscar Wilde

She snapped her stem two inches from someone’s
father’s nose as he swigged the eight dollar
pint of draught that he’d been baby-sipping
all night. He threw a dollar in his mouth and
slid it between the crack of her fluid stained
tanga. She smiled at him sideways and pulled it back across her lips.

The platform she poled from was warped and scarred
like runners at an old bowling alley. Cigarette burns
pocked the limbs of the bars like a sketch of her forearms.
She danced in dissociation inducing hypnotics upon
creatures cloaked in susceptibility. Nineteen and beautiful on the out-
side. Her insides tattered by hedonics like a picture of Dorian Gray.

And he stared into her from the corner like Basil into a fantastical
painting. He pictured them lying together in his garden, naked
and unaware beneath trees of immortality, sheltered from the fall.

The World Is Filled With Pimps & Hoes

Here's a story I read that cum came came out of Amsterdam's Red Light District. Apparently, banks don't want to do business with creatures of the night. Though prostitution is legal, it is extremely hard difficult for working girls and their pimps supervisors to open bank accounts and get loins loans.

I can’t for the life of me figure out why they have so much trouble. I mean, its not like prostitution in Amsterdam is an all cash- drive behind a dumpster in the alley, one hand on the prize, the other adjusting the rearview mirror looking for cops -type industry. According to a city council member (hah, member), who is trying to work with banks to get them to accept hooker business, prostitution is a “bona fide industry” (hah, bona).

Bank CEO's are basically pimps anyway. Why shouldn’t Vagina Vendors be able to take their cash (minus 60% to the house of course) from inside their thigh-high black leather boots and, with dignity, open their legs an account? I’m sure that most of the bank employees are tricks anyway.

Besides, I would think that hookers, of all people, would be really good at keeping their accounts accruing. After all, in some sense, during their 6-9’s 9 to 5's, they operate like banks do.

1. They make constant cash transactions
2. They open and close their vaults all day/night for clients to make deposits and withdrawals.
3. When clients come in to make a transaction, they can get an all-day sucker.
4. They look like they are offering a good rate of interest, but really just want your money.
5. They look clean, but their deposit boxes are filled with other people’s dirty secrets.
6. They might give you the HI-Five…okay, a real bank probably won’t, but a hooker might.

I for one am all for prostitutes gaining the right to open bank accounts like everyone else. After all, in most careers paths, you’re either the pimp or the ho. You just call it by a different name….oh, but you probably don’t get semen all over you while doing it.

So I read a news story last week that freaked me out a little, but I'm just getting around to talking about now. Apparently there is a 16-year-old girl (Brooke Greenberg) in the Chicago area that doesn’t age. I don’t mean that she’s a midget. I mean she is 16, but has the mind and body of a toddler. To top that off, doctors don’t have clue as to why or how this is possible.

The girl weighs 16-pounds, is 2’6” tall and, though “she can express frustration and happiness”, she can’t speak. I wonder if she really has the consciousness of a 16-year-old and just the expression ability of a toddler. Her mother seems to believe that Brooke shows some signs of there being a normal teenage girl inside her stating that Brooke enjoys shopping.

Maybe she is being taught a life lesson like Bill Murray. Everyday she wakes up in her toddler body and reenacts the same events looking for meaning in them.

OR…

Maybe she isn’t a 16-year-old baby at all, but really a sophisticated video camera sent to Earth by diabolical space creatures to learn our ways and plan an eventual global takeover, and enslave our entire species…I’ve seen it a hundred times. Before long they will be placing subliminal messages in advertisements and we will all start walking around this planet like mindless drones. Wait, that’s already begun!! OMG! These creatures must be stopped!

Ok, enough of that.

Of course doctors are now going gaga over the thought that they might be able to use this poor girl to figure out why we age; and they are making ‘fountain of youth’ references, which means that she will soon become nothing more than a lab experiment.

They are actually going to run a show about her on TLC called: Child Frozen in Time, which will air on August 2nd at 10pm.

I think this is definitely worth a watch, though I don’t know what these doctors will actually discover about cell death that they don’t already know. Then again, it would be sweet if they did figure out how to slow down the aging process and people could be kids for longer. Then again…again, as evidenced by my Scooby Doo underwears…my cape - Ok, Scooby Doo underwears AND cape, I don’t really need scientific breakthroughs to act like a kid.

Sold Souls

I read a strange article this morning about a loan office in Latvia where a man, Viktor Mirosiichenko, has offered loans in exchange for the small price of your soul (in the case you can't repay the loan).

Now I'm not a preachy type person where religion is concerned, but it would seem to me that if someone believes in a soul; then they, in turn, most likely believe in...I dunno, God and the Devil. So, what would cause people to agree to offer their soul for collateral in a loan for a few hundred dollars?

It seems that of all the countries in the European Union, Latvia has been one of the most effected by the economic troubles of the world. Apparently, the people there feel they are running out of options and their calls to the sky have thus far been unanswered. Where can people turn when their prayers go unanswered? Pascal?...Or, how about a loan shark offering cold hard, TANGIBLE cash for a mere "soul". What a deal! He should go into business with these guys so that after he collects the souls, he has somewhere to dump the bodies.

Even more interesting than the crazy terms of this loan is the fact that Mr. Mirosiichenko only requires that participants provide their first name. When asked why, he answered, "If they don't give it back, what can you do? They won't have a soul, that's all." Either this guy is completely nuts, or he is actually a soul collecting- soul collector for satan.

One thing is for sure, extreme poverty and desperation can seemilngly turn even the most devout person into a sinful sinner who sins.

View From The Bench

I started out not posting too many personal things, but its becoming a bit more frequent recently. Here's another piece I wrote. Hope you all enjoy.


View From the Bench

I lean against the backdrop of a
Skyless sun. Bunched beds of
Catsears wait in line to be freed

From the desiccated soil by a little
Girl in an auburn sundress and
Bows in her hair. She scrunches

The bloomed stems together
For the boy with the overalls
Rolled up to his knees standing

In algae-crusted water, skipping
Rocks. He pops their heads off
And releases the petals from

Shore like Regattas over
The River Thames. She blows
The fruit seeds from the bracts

And sits Indian-style on the knoll
Like Terpsichore as they dance
Across her shoulders to

The Lyrés trances. A dust-bowler
Fitted with a derby and hickory cane
Sits on the bench beside me, beside

His wife. They giggle and sway as
They feed the Mallards crumbed heels
Of cracked honey wheat. Little kids

Swing, trying to grasp the sun, before
Ejecting and Crashing to the shredded
Rubber mulch that fills the play box

While babysitting sisters sneak off
Behind the lavatories between
Innings with the boys playing pickup

Baseball. They tumble over beds of
Burned out Lucky’s and empty beer
Bottles , playing games of roulette

With their adolescence.
An Irish Setter and a Mastiff loudly
Howl back and forth, mimicking the

Incoherent droolings from their
Owner’s lips as they run circles around
Conversation.

I crack open a Komunyakaa and drift