How personal is your vibrator?

Have you guys ever seen those ads in the back of magazines for ‘personal’ vibrators? I just bought an ‘impersonal’ vibrator. It’s good for six and half minutes of intimacy then it won’t return your phone calls.I’m gonna give it to some woman I’m fond of. Save the hassle of an affair and a breakup — the world’s laziest man

Porn by the pound

I simply love the internet. It is a surreal vignette of the western world. And the ubiquitous, yet arcane nature of sex, couples (pardon the pun) with the private nature of the internet to create a playground for the empirically unattractive folks to vicariously experience the attentions of silicon sweeties in 21-inch-plasma screen two-dimensional pseudo reality. Yum-yum! But even that is so twisted sometimes it transends irony. For example: Everything is categorized. I wanted to test that. I put in—plus size, puerto rican, she male, urinating in public… the prompt came back: do you want pix or video? Hm… Then I found a stie where I could pick nudes from a particular school. I guess I’m okay with any school, except maybe Jesuit Seminary… I found a category called fisting. This is an interesting concept. A guy puts his hand in a woman’s vagina halfway up to his elbow… but he has to make a fist, I guess, for it to really be “fisting”…  but how can WE be sure? Maybe they should have to wear 24 ounce boxing gloves. Truth in advertising. Then there is “amateurs,” (as opposed to “professional”). This is a category born of digital cameras and Blue Label Schmirnov vodka. And then you find a category called “Bizarre” keeping in mind some of these people are professionals – professionals… she’s got her dress up over her head and she’s doing the splits over a coke bottle, but it’s done in a professional manner. Shoot, I wouldn’t even call it porn. Hey, she’s a professional.What is she? Bonded?  Then I found “amateur fisting”… but a guy with 24 ounce boxing gloves on and his hand up a woman’s vagina halfway to his elbow is hard to believe fits into ANY “amateur” category – color me jaded… then to make it interesting he shoves an axe handle up the woman’s ass… and he starts spitting fire wood… can you pick just ONE point along this erotic  journey where you began to doubt the veracity of the ‘amateur’ label? Me neither, until I looked at the “professionals”… a guy with 24 ounce boxing gloves on and his hand up a woman’s vagina halfway to his elbow…an axe handle up the woman’s rectum…he’s chopping firewood… and the woman is looking at the camera and smiling! “I hope you have as much fun masturbating to these photos as I did making them…” She doesn’t look like she’s have sex, she looks like she having her driver’s license photo redone. And tattoos galore. I can remember when the only tattooed female flesh I saw was in National Geographic – now women have “Open other end” in block letters tattooed on their their ass. “Demur Teen” You know somewhere after your second birthday it’s tough to look demur with ankles behind your head. Russian Porn: it would seem pornography is Russia’s leading export after air-borne beta-particle radiation. How about, Petite Pussy… If there IS another kind I’d really rather not know about it. Fat Girls: Hey, if I wanted to see a “fat girl” I’d go sit in the bathroom when I heard the shower kick on, okay? That’s why I’m cruising the internet. Lots of videos out there… the most wasted credit in porn: written by. Are they afraid they’re going to hire a method actor. “What’s my motivation?”“You’ve got an erection, she’s got a vagina… and action.”Based on true story. I saw some beautiful girl in an ad – “Gain 3 inches on your penis, no pills just a simple exercise.” That was a waste of 20 bucks… I’ve been doing these exercises for years.  HEY, get a smaller vagina…YOU do those excerises…“And no surgery“Hey, bet on that, girly. You come at my dick with anything sharper than your front teeth and you’ve got a fight on your hands… I’ll make Hanibal Lechter look like a WalMart Greeter. But this was the strangest of all. “The Fleshlight”“The Fleshlight is a special toy made for guys. Most toys you find out there, you stick your dick in and it feels like you’re fucking a plastic soda bottle. The Fleshlight is made of a soft material that you can warm up by soaking in hot water. Add some lube, stick your dick inside and feel the Fleshlight surround you. It’s so much different than jacking off.”Really? HOW? You’re alone and having sex…“The jelly material will get you off in about a minute.”How do they know? Is there some Underwriters’ Laboratory test for this? A bunch of guys… some lady with clipboard and a stop watch… ‘And go.’If so, I’ve got a good answer the next time somebody asks me where I see myself in 5 years.“Another nice thing about this great toy is that it comes in a plastic container that looks a bit like a flashlight, so if anyone ever finds it they’ll probably think it’s a flashlight. Pretty nifty.”A BIT like a flashlight… so chances are if anyone finds it… they WON’T stick their dick in it— Damn it! Another flashlight!If that’s a problem around your house maybe it’s time for some new friends.Then it says, I’m not making this up…“How To Use The Fleshlight”

if you need instructions I think I know why you are spending so many nights alone…

Wah… my pussy’s ugly

On TV last night I just saw the newest rage in plastic surgery: labiaplasty. Yes, it’s just what you think it is. My pussy’s ugly… So? Turn out the lights.

At best, it’s not the most attractive portion of the female anatomy, but guys rarely complain… and who’s this for, really? Do women inBeverly Hills stand around at parties and compare?

I read the testimonials. One said “I look so much better down there…” What is she a contortionist?

“I have renewed self-confidence in public…” where do you live?Who’s gonna notice this? “Hi grandpa, I just had elective surgery. Wanna see?”Are women gonna scurry down to Kinkos, drop their drawers and hop up on the copier so they can have a picture for their Christmas cards? Doubtful.

A woman can also get a new hymen… ladies, I’ll let you in on a little secret: guys aren’t that interested in the hymen, they prefer the packaging.

The prices range from 3500 dollars to 12,500 dollars. Okay, if you can get 12,500 dollars worth of this surgery, maybe there’s a problem.

But I only saw labia reduction… I’m waiting for labia enhancement then I’ll send the wife in for a consultation.

Hyman tattoo

When exactly did that one dwarf start calling himself Doc?  Was it before or after Snow White showed up? “Now just relax, Ms. White… Med school? Of course, the Gynologica Polytechnico de Tijuana.” Chapter one — Her breasts were enormous and each seemed to point in different directions… they were like the gangs in West Side Story: you couldn’t get them together without a fight.  Ask me about John Holmes Facial Cream .Sexy? You shave yours first… 

A tattoo on a Mormon girl’s hyman: Exciting to handle when your hands roam, but if you break it you take it home.

Crackling Wire Estates Mobile Home Park

Visit Crackling Wire Estates Mobile Home Park a subsidiary of Rio Los Banos Country Club featuring our 3 championship golf courses: Gater’s Lair, Copperhead Marsh and Stinking Dunes. And for the minature golfer try Mosquito Bend. Not a duffer? You can go horse back riding at the Thrush Hook Riding Academy, have a day of crappie fishing on Sulfer Springs Lake or explore the geologic wonder of Los Banos Tar Pits. Hungry, try our world class cuisine at the Brass Spitoon or for the casual and family dining stop in the Slaughterhouse and be sure to sample our world’s famous Pig Sty Pie. Adults can enjoy a cocktail at the Black Eye Lounge. Crackling Wire Estates is conveniently located a mere seven miles from the Shifting Sands Power Plant; providing residents with clean, safe, dependable nuclear power, and it’s a short drive to Stunted Pines Naval Gunnery Range.We’re easy to find. Exit the highway after you pass the high voltage towers, take a left on Strom Thurman Boulevard and go right on Cleft Palate Road. Make a reservation for a free guided tour within the next 24 days and you’ll receive five free tickets to Branson, Missouri’s newest celebrity-themed fun park, Frawley-wood. That’s right Frawley-wood. The world’s first tribute theme park to William Frawley that lovable Fred Mertz of I love Lucy and that lovable Uncle Charlie from My Three Sons. Crackling Wires Estates Mobile Home Park; we’re the direction the deep south is headed.

Senator X, his loves and lies

([ital]Note — Due to recent legal entanglements the subject of these interviews will be referred to as Senator X[endital])Traveling at better than twice the legal speed limit, highway offramp signs could be deciphered, but few other details. I leaned towards the driver extending the butane torch to the glass bowl that contained the green 2000 dollar-an-ounce treasure. There was an immediate sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach as the car veered across two lanes of open Interstate punctuated by the “thump thump” of the “Helen Keller” bumps. We had picked up the Senator’s new Porsche only twelve hours earlier.“Pay attention to the godamn road,“ I screamed above the Grateful Dead jam blasting from the 1200 watt-sound system. “I’ll worry about the godamn pipe you fuckin’ mad man! You’ll get us both killed!”As the smoke enveloped Senator X’s head he nodded, his mouth full of the sweet smelling smoke. His cheeks puffed out like Dizzy Gillespie blowing some wicked trumpet solo outside the gates of Saint Peter.“Christ, you’d think an elected official could handle his drugs better!” I screamed, as Jerry Garcia began to twist the guts out of his electric guitar on the bootleg recording of one the last performances the Dead gave before “the great one” collapsed in a drug, alcohol and Little Debbie induced flame out. His passing marked the end of an era: a period that will be known to future historians as the “age of excess.” Sex was everywhere, liquor was brown and the worst thing that came from drug abuse was the future President of the United States.What an age the 1960’s must have been: marijuana came in lunch bags at ten dollars a whack, AIDS hadn’t been invented by the cruel bio-terrorists at the CIA so “Bush” was what hid the secret pleasures women carried between their legs and not some demented punch line to joke involving politics and intercourse between first cousins.Senator X had given me volumes of information about that wonderful time when he had been a Congressional aide. I had been assigned to interview the man for my dissertation in political science. We were finishing the last of our interviews. Was a Master’s Degree worth dying for?Suddenly, the Senator applied pressure to the brakes as he downshifted rapidly. I had to put both hands on the panic bar to keep from falling into the windshield as the six-cylinder German beast came to a halt in the far left lane of the interstate. The torch fell from my hands and I had to stomp on it to put out the flame.“What are you doing?” I yelled as the Senator kicked his door open and yanked the hand brake to the locked position before we had come to a complete stop.“Gotta piss,” he yelled as he leapt into the road and unzipped his pin-striped suit pants in one practiced motion.“Hey,” he shouted over his shoulder. “Hit the emergency flashers in case somebody sneaks up on us.” The clock read 4:23 AM that Sunday morning.“Who’s gonna sneak up on us,” I yelled back. “A bread truck?” We had careened down the Beltway at better than 140 miles per hour for half an hour without passing another car. It would be another half hour before anyone [ital]could[endital] catch up, that included the Highway Patrol (State Troopers) in those new fire-breathing Mustangs they were issued. The only difference between the HP version and the racing models were the stickers on the doors and the shotgun rack; and NASCAR was thinking of incorporating that last detail to create the illusion of a “stock car.”“Just fucking do it!”I pulled on several knobs before the lights began to flash in unison. One knob sent a stream of wiper fluid bouncing into the windshield which splattered onto the Senator’s Brooks Brothers suit.“Fucking moron! Can’t you tell the difference between an emergency flasher and the wipers?” he screamed.“I could before we started smoking this shit. Now, I’m not so sure!” I shouted back.Climbing behind the wheel again he beamed at me.“This comes in a diplomatic pouch from Cameroon every week. They mix in some herb they use to stun fish. It’s great! They dump a handful of this stuff onto the lake and collect the floaters.”The Porsche 930’s engine howled as the Senator missed the detent gate at first gear. He cursed and ground the knob into gear and, with a cloud of white smoke billowing from the wheel wells, we were flying down the highway once again.I hoped my dissertation reviewers would accept my unorthodox methods of interviewing my subject. Under the influence of mind altering drugs, that arrived replete with diplomatic immunity from some African witch doctor, I had listened to the Senator call all the Kennedys “communist bastards” and now I knew who carried the nuclear launch codes in a black briefcase handcuffed to their wrist (I thought [ital]anyone[endital] with a briefcase handcuffed to their wrist was a suspect).With the Senator’s disturbing revelations, coupled with my photograph of the Senator “mooning” a seated Abraham Lincoln at the Lincoln Memorial, I felt I stood a good chance of dancing through my thesis defense first-go-round.Actually, the Lincoln Memorial thing was a bonus: the Senator had explained, as he hiked up his pants, that Lincoln took away states’ rights and implemented federal control over the entire country.“If it wasn’t for that cocksucker we’d still have slavery in my state.” A National Park cop listened in on the the Senator’s diatribe while he eyed the Congressional ID Badge suspiciously. Some nosy citizen had alerted the Home Security offices via cell phone when the Senator exposed himself to the huge pale statue. After a brief scuffle, the cop accepted the ID Badge and now spoke breathlessly into the microphone clipped to his shoulder.“Now, Jefferson was a president who understood how things really worked. You know all about Mary Hemmings, don’t you?” he asked as an aside. I nodded as the cop handed the badge back to the Senator. “Hell of a good American. Jefferson, I mean.”“Sorry to have bothered you, Senator.” The cop sounded like he really meant it.“That’s okay, son. You’re doing a hell of a job.” The Senator’s arm snaked around the cop’s shoulder as he spoke. “You a registered voter?”“Yes sir. Registered in D.C.”“Hm…” the Senator continued. “Too bad. Keep up the good work, soldier.”The cop smiled at him. The cop smiled like the Senator had singled him out of a crowd and commented on his good looks. The cop should have broke his kubaton across the Senator’s “Congressional” forehead. Instead, the Senator and I were now walking along the reflecting pond discussing the present administration while we sniffed ampules of amyl nitrate he produced from his pocket. His eyes opened wide as the rush of oxygen hit his brain and he blurted out an answer to my question.“Fuck no! George W. is an idiot. If someone said ‘Gesundheit’ he’d ask for a ‘executive summary.’”“Didn’t you host a fund raiser for him in your home state?”“Sure. You think I want that commie bastard, Kerry, in the White House?”I shook my head. “Is [ital]everybody[endital] on the beltway a commie bastard?”He wrinkled up his nose. “Nah… just the Democrats.” He finished with a smile as he cracked open another ampule and waved it under my nose. This was government at its finest.This interview had begun 36 hours earlier on a Friday afternoon.———A limo had picked me up and then stopped in front of a brownstone in the quiet DC neighborhood. A well-dressed man with dark hair emerged. The man turned, pecked a middle-aged woman on the cheek, trudged down the steps and climbed into the waiting car.“Woo Hoo!” the man shouted as the door slammed shut and his demeanor changed dramatically. “James, once around the park and then take me to Sodom City!” Slapping the glass partition with his open palm the man shouted at the back of the driver’s head, “Spare no horsepower! If I’m not into some serious woman flesh by midnight it’ll be your fault!” Then the man fell back into the seat and extended his hand.“Hiya kid. You must the grad student, huh?”I introduced myself as he produced a flask from under his coat and removed the cap. He took a long pull on the flask and handed it to me.“Go on,” he urged. “I don’t have cooties.” I fought back a choking sensation as the liquid left a trail of fire down my throat. “Wild Turkey and Ridalin,” the Senator said with a wink. “When I can ditch the ‘ball and chain’ I gotta stay sharp.” With that the Senator let loose with another loud whoop. We were on our way.I asked the Senator if there were any subjects he would rather not cover.“That ‘Penthouse Letters’ thing,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I was really drunk when I wrote it and there wasn’t five women…” He winked again as he turned to face me. “… it was only four.” He laughed out loud at this. “Come on kid loosen up.” He nudged me with his elbow.My first question was about the Senator’s economic bill that was pending in Congress.“I don’t talk on an empty stomach.” He kicked the back of the driver’s seat several times and shouted, “You know I’ve got dinner reservations, hurry up!” He fell back into the seat and told me we were to dine in an exclusive club that featured live entertainment.The driver rolled to a stop in front of a neon sign that flashed, “Girls, Girls, Girls.”When we stepped through a door the bouncer eyed me suspiciously. With his arm around my shoulder the Senator pulled me past the mountain of a man blurting, “He’s with me.” The bouncer smiled now and nodded“Have a good time, Senator,” was all the man said. We walked towards a table that had a cardboard cutout figure of a seated nude woman with the words “This spot reserved” emblazoned between her wide-spread thighs. As we sat a pretty young waitress quickly came to the table.“The usual, Senator?” she asked without looking at me.“Yeah, make it two,” he replied with a nod. “Oh yeah, bring two for my friend,” he roared over the pulsing music. The waitress smiled and left only to be replaced by a naked svelte blond who climbed onto the Senator’s lap.“Daddy, I missed you.” She yelled to be heard above the music.The Senator leaned forward and kissed the young woman’s breast.“I missed you two,” he shouted, addressing her amble bosoms. “But I gotta work, baby.” He now looked into her eyes. She made a pronounced “pouty face” and stood up. The Senator pinched her behind which caused her to squeal and jump.“We can get together later,” he yelled with a wink. She clutched at her genitalia and simulated masturbation before she strolled back to the runway to continue her dance set.“Great kid,” he shouted as he leaned towards me. “I think she’s got potential to become a lobbyist.”The noise in the club made any sort of a cogent conversation next to impossible so we ate without much discussion. Our only interruptions were the constant attention the girls heaped on the Senator. As each new girl approached the runway for their dance set they stopped and paid their carnal respects to the Senator. One girls broke down and began crying while she sat on his lap. The Senator fished an envelope out his jacket and handed it to the girl. She broke into a broad smile as she examined the contents and kissed the Senator, trailing a line of affection down his shirt and towards his belt. He lifted the girl’s face to his, spoke into her ear and she sprinted towards the curtained doorway that served as the girl’s “dressing room.”“I treat these girls like I would treat my own,” he quipped with a mysterious smile.After we left the club, we rode through the Warehouse District so I could continue our interview. Rolling along we were interrupted by a steady thumping sound of techno music that could be heard inside the limo. The Senator spotted a line of people next to a nondescript brick wall. He leapt forward and began viscously kicking the back of the driver’s seat while he screamed.“Stop! Stop this fucking car, you moron!” As the driver glided to a stop in front of an open doorway, where the line began, the senator jumped out before the driver could open the door. By the time I slid across the seat and pulled myself out of the car the driver was stationed at the door holding it open. I peered under the man’s snug fitting cap to catch his eye.“Is he always like this?” I asked.“Like what, sir?” The driver spoke without any discernible change in his expression.I shook my head at his answer. “Never mind.”The Senator was yelling at the bouncer when I arrived at his side. The man sounded apologetic as he explained that the fire marshal would only allow a certain number of people inside the club at any given time.“Fuck the fire marshal, you retard!” the senator bellowed as he pulled me past the velvet rope. The man stared red-faced at the people in the waiting line as they booed.“Always arrive in a limo!” Senator X shouted over his shoulder as we walked inside. “You can get in anywhere…” the remainder of his comments were drown out by the pulsing rhythm of the music.The rest of that evening is unclear but I do remember snippets. I remember being with a woman who had silky ebony skin and long blond hair. We were both naked. I was either making beautiful passionate love to her or strangling her with a carpet remnant. I scanned the paper for days afterward searching for some clue, but found none.——As other early morning drivers began to show up on the Interstate the Senator began to curse vociferously.“Fucking Catholics! Why can’t they go to church at a normal hour?” Let’s get some breakfast kid,” he offered as he slalomed his way through the cars traveling at the legal speed limit.Spotting his exit the Senator darted across three open lanes of freeway pitching me hard against the wrap-around bucket seat. The six-cylinder engine howled while the Senator fought the wheel. We sailing through a red light, gliding sideways, then the Senator flew through a series of corners ignoring the engine’s high-pitched cry for a gear change. As the car settled onto a straight away he slapped the gear shift to the next higher number and the machine floated over the striped line and into the opposite left lane with a slight shudder of yaw. Standing on the brakes while turning the wheel hard to the left, the Senator dodged a car in the turn lane and launched us into the parking lot of a Denny’s where we came to rest in a “handicapped” parking spot. He fished a blue card out of his coat pocket and hung it on the rearview mirror in one swift move.“Man, I could use some waffles. How about you, kid?” he offered as he slammed the driver’s door and strolled into the brightly lit restaurant.When I returned from the bathroom the Senator smiled.“I ordered for ya. Hope you like waffles.”We ate in silence while my inner ear began to slowly stabilize.As the waitress laid down the bill on the edge of our table the Senator leapt to his feet and moved close to her.“Hey honey, you know what a ‘rider on a bill’ is?”The waitress backed away slightly but stared at the Senator nonplussed.With a lascivious smile he finished, “Some people call me, Bill.”I bounded out of the booth, grabbed the Senator’s elbow and turned him towards the door hoping to avoid an unpleasant scene. I saw the waitress clinch her fist in an unmistakable karate-like pose. I certainly couldn’t go ten rounds with the buxom woman and didn’t want to resort to the Taser the Senator had given me earlier in the day. I figured I’d have to use it on her first. As we walked he yanked his elbow from my grasp and slowed his pace.“Son, you’ve got to learn to take it easy,” he said as he fished around in his coat pocket. He produced a small bottle and emptied the contents into his hand. Myriad colors tumbled out as he picked through the pill selection with his index finger.“Here, take this one,” he said when he finally settled on a small blue pill.“I’ll take it, if we can do this outside.” I heard tension in my voice.“Sure kid,” he said as he pushed the door open for me with his hip.I popped the tablet into my mouth as the Senator pushed the remaining pills around in his palm.“I hope that wasn’t RU 486,” he said not looking up from the pharmacy in his hand. “I keep some of those ‘just in case.’” He separated another identical tablet from the rest. Popping it into his mouth he smiled and said, “We’ll find out together what that…” He stopped when several of the pills fell from his hand onto the pavement of the parking lot.“Shit.” He ground the pills into dust with his heel as he cursed. With a wink he added, “We don’t want some drug addict getting ahold of this.”As we climbed back into his Porsche he asked me, “So, what is your major?”“Political Science,” I told him for the fifth time.“Atsa’ dead end,” he said with a shake of his head. “You need something else.”“Like what?”“I don’t know… if you wanna be like Clinton, take Women’s Studies.”“Clinton?” I queried. “Bill or Hillary?”He smiled at this. He had a very genuine smile. That’s probably what got him elected, it certainly wasn’t his stand on the issues. The man had one stand on all issues: what’s in it for me?The Porsche awoke quickly. In reverse, the transmission whined in protest at the Senator’s hard acceleration. With a flick of the wheel, a quick heel-and-toe shift into first gear and a whoop of excitement the Senator had us aimed out of the parking lot and headed towards the Interstate, scattering a group of well-dressed teenagers headed towards the restaurant.“Do you think Clinton has a chance?” I asked, holding onto the panic bar to stay in my seat.“Hillary Clinton for President?” He shook his head slightly. “Nah. If I’m gonna spend the weekend banging some other guy’s wife in a Catskills’ Hotel: Hillary is my number one choice. But president: not a chance. I stood behind her at a subcommittee mixer and got to feel her ass… man, that tomato is ripe fer pickin.’” The senator concluded his observation with an obscene gesture that required both hands allowing the automobile to drift towards an SUV parked at the curb.“Watch this,” the senator grinned as he aimed the speeding vehicle at the driver’s open door. One foot had touched the pavement as we flew by with the horn blaring.“God, I love German engineering,” he exclaimed gleefully.Craning my neck to look out the rear window I watched the SUV driver, now lying in the street, wave his cane at us as we skated onto the onramp in a full four-wheel drift.———In Senator X’s office Wednesday afternoon — I slept for 36 hours after our first interview — I found the man looking trim and happy.“Hey, kid. Where ya been?” I was greeted with a handshake and warm smile. A well-proportioned young blond stepped between us.“You’ve got twenty minutes until we meet the Representatives from Bayer and Johnson n’ Johnson, Senator.” The business-like voice from the statuesque beauty seemed incongruous until the Senator placed his palm firmly on the woman’s bottom and introduced her.“You remember Katerina from the club?” The Senator’s face beamed as the beauty turned towards me, licked her lips lasciviously and punctuated her greeting with pouty air kiss aimed in my general direction. I acknowledged her with a nod. She was one of the dancers who heaped attention on the Senator that night at the private club called simply “Girls Girls Girls.”“Come on, kid. She deserves better than that.” The Senator’s hand disappeared beneath her short dress momentarily. “Show ‘em, Kitty cat.” The woman fell to her knees quickly and began to fumble with the Senator’s zipper.“No. Show, [ital]him[endital].” The man directed her face towards me and she began to crawl towards me on her knees.“Thanks,” I held up my open palm as I took one step backward. “I only have a half hour.” The girl pushed out her bottom lip.“Ya’ sure, kid? She’s the best?”“I… I’m sure. Thank you… anyway,” I continued haltingly while I drank in her streamlined features. With my heart pounding in my chest I thought, “A Master’s degree better be worth it.”“Did she… uh is she a… um an intern?” I asked while I stared down her low neck blouse at tempting flesh. The Senator spoke while the woman stood and smoothed out her clothing.“Nah. She was a DQ’ed in the talent competition in the Miss Maryland contest. Some do-gooder judge took issue with the… um artistic nature of her ping pong ball act. Too many fuckin’ liberal judges, anyway,” he added as aside. “I liked her act and told her I needed someone to help me ‘grease the wheels’ here in the ‘big top.’”“The big top?”“Sure, kid. DC is just like the circus: everything is round, in threes and ya got lions, daredevils and plenty of clowns. But we don’t have any cars that can hold a bunch o’ people like those clown cars… Kitty Cat, make a note,” he turned to the blond briefly before he headed purposefully down the hall towards the Senate Chambers. “Research, tiny car that can hold a bunch o’ people…” He pursed his lips and finished confidently, “Like those clown cars.” Katerina wrote as she matched his stride.“Should I write down ‘like at that circus?’” she quizzed.Senator X stopped briefly in thought and then continued on his way.“Nah. I’ll remember.”The dark wood paneled hallway flashed past while Senator X’s hurried pace carried us along, like starving dogs behind a garbage truck, until he pulled up in front of a door marked “Spa — Members only.”“Sorry, kid. Congressional members and staff only,” he pointed towards the gold leaf lettering on the door. “Come on back tonight about 11 and we can talk some more.” He punched a code into the electronic lock and finished with that broad smile of his. Then he snaked his hand under the tall blond’s skirt to “escort” her through the heavy door. A woman’s squeal and then a giggle echoed from inside the room until the door banged closed. All sounds from within were cut off from the outside world when the door slammed home. Congressional members could have had a “clothing optional” bowling alley behind those sound proof walls for all the public knew.I trudged back down the long hallway passing by a senior Senator who first ran for Congress on December 8, 1941. Critics accused the man of dodging his country’s call to arms during its hour of need, but the former “Dixiecrat” took an honorary title of “Colonel” from his home state to quiet his opponents. He had served in Congress longer than most of his constituents had been alive.Now the man rode in his electric wheelchair towards the “Spa” entrance with a comely brunette astride his lap, her fingers dallying with his shirt buttons while he whispered into her ear. Behind the pair was a recently paroled ex-Senator applying what looked like a signature rubber stamp to papers inside a leather folder. The younger man’s gaze challenged mine as we passed. I found myself examining the plush carpet beneath my footsteps to avoid his haughty scowl.DC has two distinct classes: elected officials and former elected officials who got caught and became lobbyists. The lines can become blurred but in America there is enough money and power to satisfy both, providing that the nosy public and the liberal judges kept their attention focused on other issues.*********(Note — as I prepared this final draft for committee review I found several pieces of confetti still clinging to my notes taken the last meeting I had with Senator X. When I arrived at his office numerous “lobbyists” and Congressional “Aides” were present. The room was so crowded, in fact, I could not see the Senator until he stood atop his desk to do a brief strip tease act with the blond from the club “Girls Girls Girls.”)11 PM Wednesday Senator X’s office — final interview.Pushing through the crowded room to face the Senator I had my genitalia fondled three times, lost a button on my shirt and had my wallet stolen. As I approached the man he swung Katerina out of his lap and straightened his tie. His shirt was wrapped around his head like a turban while Katerina wore only high heels and a 2 inch by 3 inch sticker, applied near her collar bone, that read, “Hello I’m…” Where the name would be written was an obscene figure drawn in felt pen.“Hiya, kid.” He beamed at me as he yelled above the beating music. “Glad to see you could make it to my fund raiser.” Arms outstretched he presented the crowd as his political faithful. I scanned the group while they danced as one body and spotted Congressmen, former Congressmen, Supreme Court Justices, two former presidential candidates and one empty electric wheelchair.“Hey, I wanted you to have some help editing your paper,” the Senator shouted. His blond assistant was kissing her way through the man’s graying chest hairs as he spoke. Tapping his index finger on her head the blond mane shook and focused her attention briefly on the Senator, who whispered into her ear, and then she spun her head towards me. My throat felt like I had just swallowed a whole coconut as I watched her pad towards me — across his mahogany desk — on her hands and knees.The Senator shouted, “That’s why I call her Kitty Cat.” .“If you drink some punch and then get caught somewhere refuse the sobriety test,” he yelled. “Better to lose your license for a year than have ‘em find that [ital]stuff[endital.” Those were the last words I heard from him that night before he disappeared beneath a wave of shapely young women wearing nothing but Day-glo thongs and euphoric smiles.(Final note — Katerina and I have set a date for our wedding (hopefully before she starts to show — my parents are rather old fashioned) and Senator X has promised to give away the bride. The overall consensus, from the Senator’s office, on my paper was positive and he found a good paying job for me that started a week after I submitted it to his office for approval. Cat helped me with the final edits but I never submitted my thesis to committee: given the choice of a Master’s Degree or a Congressional Aide. Senator X stated: “A new husband and father needs to feather his bed — and money makes the best feathers.”For this new position all I have to do is observe the actions of the Senator’s friends at parties, have Cat edit my report and submit it to him. He was right: Cat [ital]has got[endital] potential as a lobbiest.