“Hey, baby. You lookin’ for a date–political or otherwise?”/Image: Licensed Adobe Stock, Photographee.eu.
“Twennee dolla make yoo holla, boom boom long time, GI!”
Normally, when I begin an articular absurdity here on nobody-but-nobody’s favorite Alt-right lifestyle blog, Spread Your Right Wings (SYRW), I identify myself, Geta Long, subsequently noting what an unmitigated joy it is for you to be confronted with my fantabulous presence. But today I thought I’d just go ahead and provide you a quote from that ‘Nam movie Michael J. Fox was in where Sean Penn and a bunch of his army buddies brutally rape a young, Vietnamese woman. Who wouldn’t want to read an article that begins thusly!?
I am, as I’ve pointed out to you repeatedly, the columnist who covers all that which unites us in this horrific era known as the Trump one. In case you hadn’t noticed, there’s very little that anyone has in common in this chaotic, fragmented, dystopian time. And anything that does is bad. So I hate my job, but whatevs.
Related: How to make your home into a Puddle (Not Snowflake) Palace!
Speaking of sucky stuff that we share in together, one is that we’re all whores. You, me, and all those who participate in the Capitalist economy. Whores. Prostitutes. Hustlers. Any time you receive money for performing a service–hooker! If you can’t see that that’s the case, without my providing you with evidence, well, then I can’t help you. But I have a word count requirement in order to get paid–like an escort–by this website for my writerly toil. So, I suppose I’ll try to convince you. *Sigh*!
The Oldest Profession
That’s what they call paid skank-dom. My theory, backed up by little to no rigorous research, anecdotal angularity, and study-based studliness (no, I don’t know what the last two mean), is that the reasons for this are twofold. We call professional skank behavior The Oldest Profession is called so, yes, because of the reason we all assumed up until the writing of this paragraph by me, and that is that sex-industry work is the oldest profession because horniness is the attribute most basic to human-ness, and so appealing to it was the oldest, easiest way to make a living. But we also call streetwalking the most aged job because the whole idea behind prostitution–I’ll do you for some dough–is that which provides the grease, as Joan Crawford said in Mommie Dearest, that makes this shitty business (life in barter or Capitalist economies) work. You can dress it up, lash out angrily because of it, or criminalize wanton-woman-ing all you want. That doesn’t change the fact that if you accept payment for services performed…
Hey, embrace it! Denying it only makes you look more slutty. Have some dank-ass dignity and just accept it, for frick’s sake.
We All Are
In Paul Verhoeven’s non-masterful, clunkily written Showgirls, Nomi, and up-and-coming Vegas-show dancer and Cristal are having a little career counseling session. Nomi was a cracked out hooker in a past life, and thus she flips out when Cristal says the following:
“You are a whore, darlin’. We all are. We take the cash, we cash the check, we show them what they wanna see.”
End of story, in my opinion. Again, to simply accept this would be the dignified thing to do. Dignity, however, isn’t my or your strong suit, given that we’re members of the right-wing of the contemporary political spectrum. So, instead let’s throw a temper tantrum in response, being all like, “But here’s all the reasons that’s not true!” Then, let’s list a bunch of bullshit, non-sequitur non-arguments. That seems like a good use of our time, if you ask me. And you didn’t. But again, as a right-winger of Now™, particularly one who makes her living media lack-of-personality-ing it up, I need no invitation to visit my obnoxious opinions on the poor, unsuspecting world.
And: Just cuz there’s no bottom to the Alt-abyss, doesn’t mean you can’t have a toned, tight bottom.
All of Them Demons
In that too-bad-he’s-a-minor-sex-with-haver, Roman Polanski’s, brilliant celluloid storytelling instance, Rosemary’s Baby, the horrible realization that her neighbors are Satan-worshipping witches who’ve impregnated her with a demon spawn dawns on Rosemary based on the prose stylins’ of a book, All of Them Witches. If there were a book about how anyone who participates in a cash-for-services economy is a ‘tute (short for “prostitute”) it could be called All of Them Demons. I say this because, prostitutes, a feature of almost all known human cultures across time and space, are always demonized, occupying the lowest rung of the social-standing ladder. It must be this way for the rest of us to pretend we’re not…well, them. So we criminalize, mock, hate on, and generally deligitimize prostitutes. What a great species we are!
What To Do Now That You’ve Accepted You’re a Ho Bag
Live the dream, that’s what! You silly! Put on a ton of garish makeup, hike up that skirt, and get on the ho stroll. For those of you not up on thot-based colloquialisms, that means the stretch of street that a prosti-person walks up and down on looking for Johns. When a customer slows down, sidle up to the vehicular voom-voom he’s in, and lean in to talk rates, what you do and don’t do, and where you’re gonna go to eff. Then go do it, as you do a post-coitus count of your monies alone in the no-tell-motel room you did the deed in, try not to make your sobbing too, too loud. There are other people-of-ill-repute and their customers trying to get to the fabulous life point you’re at, after all! How rude!
Take comfort in the fact, my Alt-readers, that all your fellow Late Capitalism-ites are in the same nightmare of a boat as you. We all keep taking green in exchange for penetration. Why we do this is a question I’m not really sure I have the answer to. Again, this normally doesn’t stop a right-wing media blowhard from blowing hard on a topic. But I’m tired and pretty disinterested in pursuing this soul-killing topic–much like the soul-killing that is work in this global hell-economy. And I’ve reached my word count. So Imma go cash that check.
In closing, I offer you this: Bitch Betta Have My Money, as the pimps (all employers) enjoy saying.
Until next week, look for all the ways you’re different than those around you and then harp on them, readers!
Also: See what overdoing it with Mill’s “On Liberty” did to the right.
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