So, this evening, while I was sitting at the bar, waiting for Ol’ E Cross and Robert to show up so that we could begin drafting the MM.com code of conduct, I took a few minutes to read an article about the “hipster prostitution” epidemic that’s sweeping our nation. It’s a nicely written article, with lots of mildly sexy photos of headless women in little black dresses, but, I’m sad to say, it’s probably complete fiction. I don’t doubt for a minute that attractive young graduates of America’s most prestigious Ivy League colleges suck cock for money, but, I just don’t think this author really worked her way into the scene to the point of almost becoming a prostitute herself, as the article would have you believe… Anyway, the reason I mention it here is that there’s a not so thinly veiled reference to local hero, Iggy “Now I Wanna be Your Dog” Pop, in it… Here’s the quote:
…Although the girls have yet to face violence while working, they are often asked to skirt the line between kink and humiliation. Last year Kelly met a new client, an aging punk rock pioneer who was staying at the London NYC hotel. Kelly was a fan of his music, but wasn’t aware of who he was until after their session. (He had booked under his real name; she knew him only by his stage name.) “He wanted me to force-feed him dog food,” she says disgustedly. “I mean, that was just too much for me.” After she declined, Kelly says, “We sat on his bed and he complained for an hour about how much money he was wasting and how easy it could have been for me to do it”…
Maybe they didn’t come right out and call him by name, but I’ve got to think it’s close enough that he could take them to court over it, if he wanted to… Unless, of course, it’s true.
Robert, by the way, never showed. And Ol’ E Cross, when he did show up, didn’t do any work. (So there’s still no code of conduct.) We just sat around talking about John McCain, his lovely homes, and that nasty, old Mother Theresa, who forced him to take in a defective orphan home to Cindy.
Good night, my invisible friends.
11 Comments
What the hell is her problem force-feeding somebody dog food? She’d rather do something else to a sallow saggy old punker who’s been god knows where?
Code of Conduct.
Rule One.
Mark Maynard, as sole owner and proprietor of this blog, should come up with his own damn posts and not try to force unsuspecting drunks to post for him, the exception being posts on fried chicken, which, despite what natural assumptions one would make from his physique, he knows next to nothing about.
Robert? That work for you?
And a very happy birthday to Brackache who turns 16 today!
OK, so it’s true. I was out last night and I didn’t feel like posting anything, so I tried to foist my responsibility off on what looked like a fairly insightful older gentleman sitting at the bar. I set my laptop up, slid it in front of him, and told him that he was the luckiest man on earth – anything he wanted to write about would be disseminated by the 8th most influential blog in the state of Michigan. I told him that he had five minutes, and excused myself to go to the bathroom and buy another beer. When I got back, I found, quite unfortunately, that he’d taken his life.
Fuck you, asshole.
(I just wanted to get that out there before the code of conduct rolled out. Now I can link to it in the future without actually saying it.)
mmmmmm….Alpo
Didn’t Iggy have a song about eating dog food?
The answer is, yes. Only took a minute to find the lyrics.
I’m hanging around that same old scene
My girlfriend Betsy she’s just fourteen
There’s nothing better for me to do
I’m living on dog food
Dog food is so good for you
It makes you strong and clever too
Dog food is a current craze
Eat some every day
I chew up my “Sunday Mirror”
I read about the rich I fear
Dog food is my whole life
Dog food composes my wife
Yum yum yum – Woof woof woof – Arf arf
“I just wanna…be yo’ dog!”
If you do interview him today, you have to promise to ask him about this.
Damn. I’d forgotten all about this. Thanks for the reminder.