Ashley Dupre: The Dr. Phil of High-Priced Hookers?

I stirred a little slowly from my slumber this morning. Although I'd been awake for a few hours, when The View came on at 10 am, I was still moving at a snail's pace. Breakfast was on the table, but that was really the extent of my productivity thus far.
Just as I was sipping coffee from my favorite mug, wishing a bolt of electric energy would uproot my weighted ass, a discussion between Whoopi, Barbara, Joy and Elisabeth shocked me right out of semi-comatose state.
I'm sure you all recall the March, 2008, hooker fiasco that left the formerly high-powered Governor of New York Elliot Spitzer out of a job, out of dignity and nearly out of a wife, to say the least. As a Democrat, I've always been completely amazed by our uncanny ability to throw a monkey wrench in what would otherwise be a glide to victory, but even I was shocked by the rat-faced, alien-eared Spitzer's involvement with hookers that pricey. I mean, he is Jewish, right? I don't think they have coupons in the Yellow Book for that, do they? (Calm down, I'm only joking.) For the first couple of months following the high end prostitution ring, laughably the "Emperors Club," was busted, Spiter's girl Ashley Dupre aka Kristen sprinkled the gossip magazines and late night talk shows as though she was Britney Spears in a barber shop. First she was publicly offered a hefty check to be in one of the Girls Gone Wild videos, but then Joesph Francis, the class act who started up that national embarrassment, realized, you guessed it, he'd already filmed Ashley when she was still an up-and-coming high-priced hooker. Even Joe was surprised that he hit the proverbial jack pot. He already had her on tape showing off those million dollar goodies, so he tore up whatever check he was planning on sending Ashley. Just imagine the profit margins on that little gem!
As if the whole fake-named hooker with the beady-eyed gnome wasn't funny enough the first time around, apparently the veteran reality television show producer David Knieff believes there is still plenty of ridicules profitability left to be made. You know funny, ridicules and, of course, sex are the three most important elements of a successful reality show. What other explanations would there be for the upcoming THIRD season of Rock of Love with Bret Michaels, which is, by the way, totally freakin' awesome! It's like The Bachelor with crack 'hos! Love it!
So, Knieff has offered Ashley $2 million for the full rights to her story, which will include a show and possibly a book. The best part is he plans to cast her as "a kind of Dr. Phil."
I can totally see the similarities: they are both media whores, they've both broken up a few marriages and neither one is a bit scared to drop their ethics like panties in a frat house for a good pay day. I know this girl has been to college once or twice, but does this mean she will be interviewing guests and giving them advice that can be applied to the general population. On Dr. Phil this afternoon, a wife sought counsel from the good doctor on coping with her unfaithful, porn-addicted husband who periodically frequents the service of call girls. What do you suspect would be Ashley's guidance in such a situation?
Of course, Krieff and Ashley's publicist (Yes, the hooker now has a publicist) both gave statements claiming that Ashely is seeking "a show to clean up her image."
Meanwhile, some poor schmuck from New Jersey, Thomas "TJ" Earle is joining Elliot Spitzer in cleaning up his life after admitting last Friday to purchasing a little love time with Asley. I think it is interesting that in their secret business transactions and now the subsequent fallout from them, Elliot and TJ got screwed and Ashley, well, she got paid.


***Just for your entertainment, I'm going to post a few excerpts from the Emperors Club wegpage. I mean, holy shit, that's the name of your hooker ring and then you create a website that all put spells out, "Yes, we are peddling ass, very tight, top-of-the-line ass," and you are somehow mystified when the authorities catch on. Apparently, once you become a "VIP," which only means that you have LOTS of money and aren't scared to spend it, you can go to the site and check on the "merchandise." Naturally, the page has come down since the media firestorm broke out last Spring, but just for you, my beloved readers, I have saved them. You will notice that on the individual girl's profile, her attributes are advertised or "pimped," as it would be called if they on the corner instead of the computer. Now, on top of the descriptions, they are rated with diamonds. It is basically the same set-up as book reviews in People magazine, except the diamonds represent not only quality, but cost. If you got a five carat call girl in mind, let's just hope your stocks have been rising like these prices or, well, you know. I would write more funny stuff, but there is really no way I can stop this shit.



Looked at all her diamonds!



She's good, but clearly, no Maya! And finally, the "estimates" for what a day and/or night with these world class call girls might run a "VIP." I know Elliot Spitzer comes from a little money, but Jesus, how was he paying for these rendezous without his wife Silda sniffing out the perfumed trail? He has, after all, been on government pay for several years now.

The World's Oldest Profession and other related incidents

Ooohhhh, the streets of South Beach in Miami, Florida, are a little safer, or at least a little less fun. As 3 police officers were working their turf (that's what they say on CSI: Miami and I know that shit is totally legit), they were approached by a pair of ladies of the night. Here, I'll let Catharine Skipp and Arian Campo-Flores of Newsweek break it down for you. I'd like to myself, but each time I try to type a new word, I am paralyzed by the looping melody of Prince's Pussy Control that is playing endlessly in my head.

For $40 each, the men could join them aboard a limousine bus with "all you can drink" service included. Intrigued, the cops agreed. Once on board, they found two more women and a male driver. Some of the women began removing their clothes and dancing, police say. The detectives were then offered a menu of options, according to arrest affidavits: "stand-up" dances for $10, lap dances for $20 and access to a curtained VIP room for $125, where "you'll get your money worth," one of the women said. All three officers paid for two lap dances each. Then, the affidavits read, they paid for admission to the VIP area, where two of them negotiated oral sex for $100 each and the third arranged for sexual intercourse for the same price. Before the women could perform, the detectives arrested all six people on board.

Now I understand that prostitution is a big health risk or whatever, but I'm pretty for sure that any person who is willing to participate on either end of the world's oldest profession probably isn't too safety conscience in the first damn place. My beef with hooking is rather on a tax purpose. I mean, Rowdy and I are ranchers, so in a sense, we are selling ass, too. Maybe that's a stretch, but the morale is that we are certainly paying tax for each head we ship out of here. Also, while I'm all for following laws to a tee (which, I think, is totally evident, right?), I have to give a tip of the hat to the ingenious pimp who orchestrated all this in the first place. I think this speaks volumes for the innovative, pioneering spirit of American commerce.
On a side note, right after I read this little news snippet of the "Rough Ride," another story out of the Florida neck of the woods made me think that maybe this is all the fault of the cratering American housing market. After all, few places have been hit harder by the mortgage meltdown, Subprimal Fear as I like to call it, than the Sunshine State. Right down the raunchy road from the love limo is a 42-year-old single mother who is auctioning her home and her hand in marriage together. It's like one of those consignment jobs who see in Western Oklahoma after old farmer dies, leaving his heirs with a few barns full of decades of random equipment. Well, it's not just exactly like that, but you get the drift. Devon Trabosh has listed the 2,000 square foot home for $340,000 on eBay, but has naturally added a half a million for shipping and handling fees. Seriously, a half a mill. Ebay kicked the listing off because they apparently have some clause that prevents humans from being sold on their site, but cleaver Devon is vowing to just reword the ad.
"I'm not selling myself. I'm selling love...to meet that true love," Devon gushes.
I don't know, maybe she is seeking her soul mate who most assuredly has been hidden all these years on internet auction sites or Craig's List. But then again, I think the ad she wrote as "Marry a Princess Lost in America" should have read "Rescue a Desperate, High-Maintenance Harpy Lost in Foreclosure."
Call me a cynic, but at least with the hookers the rates are reasonable, there are no hidden up-keep fees (except penicillin, perhaps, but that can be true of Devon just as well) and you know what you are getting.