Now You See Me, Now You Don't, Bitches!

The boys and I were acting out The Pirates of the Caribbean, their old plastic baby bathtub serving as Captain Jack's ominous pirate ship when Rowdy barreled through the front door.
As you know, I've somehow become a total disgrace to my gender and forfeited control of the...hmmmmm.....lovin' to my man, so I promptly jumped vessel when Rowdy summoned me to the bedroom. I know I've betrayed you, ladies. I'm sorry. I don't know how it happened. He seized the flag and I can't recapture the citadel. I promise I won't let him tell the others. What if they all knew they, too, could control the marital relations like a ruthless puppet master, yanking the powerless strings of his captive doll? Seriously, who wants to vote when you can't manipulate your man through lengthy deprivation of sex?
As Rowdy and I were walking down the hall, he informed me that he was going to Woodward for the night to make sure the 500 head of cattle we shipped arrived as expected. All nonchalantly, he then informed me he would return home sometime tomorrow afternoon.
I'm sorry, what? You're coming in here, throwing together less luggage than I'd take to the grocery store and telling me you are going on a mini-holiday two hours away.
Now, you know I like that his mind's on the money and the money's on his mind. Me and Snoop Dogg, we are one in the same. But, just popping this on me last minute only further lets me know this asshole isn't nearly as scared of me as he should be. God, if I was only in control of the intercourse.
Then, surfing the internet, I found the answer to my prayers, my stalking-Rowdy's-every-move, watching-his-every-breath prayers.
It's not available just yet, but according to the scientist at the University of California, Berkely, I may soon be able to hunt Rowdy totally undetected. Apparently these scientists and researchers, led by Xiang Zhang, are nearing the development of materials that will render people and other objects invisible, a dream come true for insecure folks like yours truly.
One step forward for man, one leap forward for stalkerkind.
I have LuLu-drops dancing in my unbalanced head.
If I could only get my hands on these "metamaterials--artificially engineered structures created at a nano scale that contain optical properties not found in nature," I could slather myself in, well, whatever the hell that is and monitor Rowdy's every move. I could be sitting in his hotel room as I type. Remember that movie When A Stranger Calls Back when the super creepy ventriloquist paints himself like the brick wall and then pounces on the unsuspecting woman. Except I wouldn't have to find some starving artist with a stomach strong enough to paint me in the buff. I could just lather myself up in this invisible psycho juice and monitor Rowdy's move like Big Brother. It would be his Orwellian nightmare. I don't think he knows who Orwell is, but with that kind of Godly power, I'd make 1984 feel like Sesame Street.
According to this article on msn.com, these recent findings by the University of California, Berkley and Zhang were funded in part by National Science Foundation's Nano-Scale Science and Engineering Center and, of course, the U.S. Army Research Office. The findings, which will be in this week's Nature and Science, "could have broad applications, including for the military," the piece explained.
I wonder if this means someone will finally find Osama bin Laden. Clearly sniffing out the kidney dialysis center he's receiving treatment from will never produce the beanstalk terrorist, so perhaps if we were invisible, we could sneak up on him.
This new revelation is a little frightening. Turn on your tv. Now flip to CNN. Are they talking about the Olympics? I figured. Okay, wait a few minutes. Are they talking about Georgia yet? No, not Ted Turner and the Braves Georgia. I mean, Russia invading it's neighbor Georgia. Now, just imagine if all the tanks were unforeseen by the naked eye. The ability for mankind to fly below the radar, for any object to exist as though it's ghost, will have the same lethal effect as the atomic bombs we dropped on Japan. In the short-term, the impact could very well end a war, though their existence will likely lead to many more.
But, did the atomic bombs ever let me hide inside them to hunt down my man? No. Now that's a disaster.
You're going down, Rowdy!

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.