Christmastime in the Emerald City











{March 26, 2008}   Spitz or Swallowz

Are we seriously still talking about this guy?!? Holy God, it’s been over a month since this whole Eliot Spitzer shiznat barreled its way onto that unavoidable little tv in my corporate elevator, and while the coverage has decreased to the status of satire on This Hour has 22 Minutes, it’s still hard to believe that the squawking box hasn’t tired of this yet. Are you guys in need of a little more excitement maybe? Hmm? Not getting enough in the bedroom? It seems that as soon as a political figure admits to having a dick you go absolutely apeshit, and I just don’t understand.

Now don’t go thinking I’m defending the idiot. There’s nothing I love more than seeing the life of a douchebag go up in media flames. We all love car wrecks, we slow down to gaze at the carnage – don’t deny it – and at the end of the day, I get a certain sick little kick out of all the shebang. Does that make me a bad person? Well, maybe, but my ass isn’t on the news now, is it?

My question is why does it always have to do with sex? I know other shit is going on, but with my ongoing attempts to avoid a steady influx of political crap, only the most outrageous incidents filter through. It’s a decent gauge, I find: if I know about it, then holy crap it must be a HUGE story. And it’s not as though we Canuck’s don’t have our own scandals. It’s just that they’re not about sex, so why would the American media notice? Not that they notice much about us, a fact that sometimes pisses me off and sometimes makes me grateful that the world doesn’t hate us. If anything, our scandals are far more interesting. Everybody knows what hookers are all about, but how about a political party trying to gain the support of a certain important figure by offering him a million dollar life insurance policy? The catch – the guy’s on his deathbed. I know, freaking Days of Our Lives or what?! Now that is awesome.

But no, you settle for the humdrum. Oh wow, look, another public figure who claimed that he was SO not about the paid-for poontang up and got himself caught with his dick in a borrowed pot of honey. Fantastic. And on Valentines day too! Double trouble! I bet all those years of sneakily ruining people lives, stock value and reputations in the press instead of in the actual courtrooms looks pretty regrettable now, doesn’t it you two-faced douchebag? And when you settled things out of court, effectively beefing up your own reputation while still letting people you called criminals go free, why didn’t anybody call you on your douchebaggery back then? Because you managed to keep your dick in your pants, that’s why. America loves a good dick story. Don’t you have better things to worry about? For example….hey, do we have that clip of ANYTHING GEORGE BUSH HAS EVER SAID?

But admittedly, there are a few things that caught my interest. The story did, after all, manage to worm its way into my consciousness. Firstly is the bill he footed. Holy fuck. If you have that kind of money, good for you, but in all honesty, there are only so many tricks Cosmo can teach you, and only so many orifices on the human body. Unless her pussy was gold fucking plated, I’m not buying. And even then I’m not buying because who wants to fuck a gold plated pussy? Was it stuffed with blow? Small children willing to do your gardening? Elves? I’m not only assuming she swallows, I’m assuming she swallowed several balloons worth of peruvian heroin to be marked up and sold on the streets, because that is only justification I can see for spending thousands of dollars on one overused funbox. What the hell?! You can get it cheaper!!! I’m not saying go for the Costco version but shit dude! Maybe if you spent a little less on the hookers and a little more on paying off the press you wouldn’t be in such hot lube right now. And maybe if you spent a little more on your wife’s Valentines Day present, you might have had a little more support from her – something the public tends to appreciate, we women have funny little powers that way – instead of winding up in this memorable photo, in which she is instead very clearly plotting his demise.

 

It’s a patient, smug, cold look. It’s the kind of look I like to think I wear whenever I succeed in getting someone fired. It’s the kind of look that let’s you know you’re in serious, serious shit. Obviously, she got a card. Obviously, he lost his testicles later that evening.

The other thing that caught my attention and honestly bugs me the most, as immature as it may seem, is that he was known as Client 9. Why? There’s nothing impressive about single digit numbers. I, for example, live in apartment number 3 in my particular little flat. You didn’t think apartments came in single digits, did you? That’s because they usually don’t. When you live in a real apartment building with things like elevators and fire escapes and garbage chutes and laundry rooms, you get numbers like 103, 1408, 217, fun things like that. When you go to a hotel, you get suite numbers of the same variety. When you go to a shitty motel, you get room number 4, maybe even 11 or 12. You get the idea. I can’t imagine such a high class escort service wouldn’t have hundreds of clients, so why such a low number? I don’t suppose he happened to be their 9th client, this is the oldest profession in the world we’re talking about. Seriously? 9?

I know you’re all thinking it. Why the fuck wasn’t he Client 007? COME ON!!! How cool would that have been? If absolutely nothing else, it would have given him a clever out by way of the good old Section Eight*. Clearly he’s got some delusions of grandeur, right? And we all know that politicians need only the most transparent of excuses to get away with downright murder, so why the hell didn’t he think of this?

Really, to be completely honest, if he had been known as Client 007, I would totally have been on his side, because that is just plain rad.

*By the way, if this image didn’t come immediately to mind when I mentioned Section Eight, then you suck and Alan Alda is coming after you in your sleep.

 

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I totally had lube in hand and ready to do some one handed surfing with that title. What a let down. 😈 Would you expect anything less from one of your horny American readers. 😉

Yours truly,

Client #1 😛



duffboy says:

Damn, now I’m in the mood for some gold plated funbox, damn it!



queenbitch says:

Wow i thought this was an old story coz i saw him on oprah ages ago along with that guy thats now gay. I assumed it was old coz we always get the american shows like 10 years later. maybe not 10 but you know.

and yes i did wonder how she could charge so much perhaps its not coz of what she could do but coz of what she knew. which came out anyway.



talea says:

“America loves a good dick story. Don’t you have better things to worry about? For example….hey, do we have that clip of ANYTHING GEORGE BUSH HAS EVER SAID?”

Best. Line. Ever.

No offense to all you Americaaaaaans out there, but dudes, you elected that fucker. TWICE. He’s the stupidest man alive and you made him the most powerful man alive.

I would clap sarcastically, but it so isn’t even worth my effort. Here’s to hoping you do better this November, but truthfully, I don’t think you will. That’s a whoooooole other post.

I should go now.



Paul B. says:

*Yawn* … now if only the American press had written it up the same way you did. I really love Europe.. a story like this wouldn’t have got beyond Page 27 in the press. The only reason it makes the press here at all is everyone is laughing at the fuss that is being made… ooooooh big serious crime.. give him fifty lashes and send him to Gitmo.



What got me was the 4300 bucks a pop. And that isn’t even counting what his divorce will cost.



romi41 says:

Oh my god, if I could elves and gardening-slave-children to pop out of my hoohaa on demand I would totally quit my day-job and market my freakin’ fun box!!!!!!



Josh says:

Here’s the deal, stories about hookers are always funny, with the possible exception of Pretty Woman, which was the dumbest hooker story ever. And the sheer price he was dishing out made the whole thing even funnier. It’s like those prostitution stings on COPS, where some dumb old man gets busted by a junkie looking undercover she-cop with spandex pants and a fanny pack for her dollar bills and needles. Except with this one, the guy not only got publicly busted paying for sex, he got publicly busted paying too much for sex. Now he’s dumb squared. And his wife isn’t half bad looking, I mean if I was an old loser with tons of cash laying around who couldn’t get laid without paying four grand for it, I’d totally take her out dancing, buy her some shoes, and bang her bow legged.

I’m with you on the client 007 thing. Clearly that would have been the best option. Other good numbers would have been, client 69, 420, 311, 187, 666, and plain old #2. I guess a huge number might have been cool too, like client one hundred billion or whatever. I think his punishment should be to send to to business school, because clearly she has a knack for it, or maybe sales. Either way, this girl is going places. (hopefully those places involve a clinic)



David says:

I SO thought I commented here! I love the way you ended this post with the photo of Klinger! Genius!



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