Lair of the Poisonous Scribblers

Theme Chooser

orange  graphite  green  purple  yellow  grey


Big Brass Blog is a group blog founded in February of 2005 by Pam Spaulding of Pam's House Blend and Melissa McEwan of Shakesville (formerly Shakespeare's Sister). The mission of this collaborative effort is to stand as the premiere forum where strong, enduring voices of Progressivism provide what liberal politics has been missing: the unapologetic, unrelenting voice of liberalism in the darkness visited upon our world by Right-wing extremists, their ruinous policies, and their hypocritical beliefs.

Brass Knuckle Blogs

Useful Links

Add to Technorati Favorites

[Valid RSS]

Nucleus CMS v3.24

template by i-marco's choice

Dynamic Drive

Valid XHTML 1.0 Transitional
Valid CSS


  • RSS
  • XML
  • Google
  • My Yahoo
  • Bloglines
  • NewsGator
  • MyMSN
  • feedster
  • myAOL
  • Furl
  • RoJo
26 October 2010

Bugger All

by: Lisa Ranger

--Bishop Eddie Long, heady with power

I've run a twisted mile
I'm a stranger in the eyes of the Maker
--The Maker, Daniel Lanois

Women are for children, boys are for pleasure
--Afghan saying

Christianity might be a good thing
if anyone ever tried it
--George Bernard Shaw

The only way I can lose this election is
if I'm caught in bed with either a dead girl or a live boy
--Edwin Edwards

... After a few seconds' pause to give muscles, intestines,
anus, rectum, due time to assume their orthodox positions
once again, there invaded him that intimate rejoicing
at a duty fulfilled and a goal attained,
that same feeling of spiritual cleanliness
that had once upon a time possessed him as a schoolboy
at La Recoleta, after he had confessed his sins
and done the penance assigned him by the father confessor
--In Praise of the Stepmother,
Mario Vargas Llosa

And Jesus, when he had found a young ass,
sat thereon
--John 12:14, KJV


What is it with all the buggery in the media? Though this topic seems sexual in nature, it is, of course, actually about power, violence and violation, personal behaviors which parallel war in the macro sense.

We have long read of the offenses in the Catholic church (buggery-cum-pedophilia), and recently a civil suit was brought against the minister of Atlanta mega-church Baptist New Birth, Eddie Long, for sexual offenses against several young men in his LongFellows (stop the chortling) Youth Academy, a story which will probably disappear into a hefty out-of-court settlement.

Aside from his breach of trust, it galls that those who would condemn homosexuality are often among its more avid participants: "In 2004, Long led a march to Martin Luther King Jr.'s grave site in support of a Georgia constitutional amendment banning same-sex marriage" (Eddie Long Isn't Practicing What he Preaches).

Cultural critic Susie Bright says, "One thing that's interesting to me is that even when that hypocrisy is exposed, it doesn't seem to do much to change the minds of their followers." Long likens himself to the Biblical David fighting Goliath. Please! Why when people are outed do they take recourse to cries of persecution? Just because the jig is up doesn't mean you've been persecuted.

When one lives in contradiction, the two paths are feign to join at some point. But for the New Birthers, there will always be a new birth. The lord loves a sinner. It is a win-win. Is there ever a comeuppance?

Long will artfully and remorsefully spin the young men as envious and power-hungry, and himself as an unwitting participant, lured in by youthful artifice. He will wail and throw himself upon the mercy of the congregation, and they, practicing their Christian mercy, will welcome him back, fallen and even stronger. He will wear a black veil for a time, wringing all the drama the situation can bear.

And what of the young men? Their faith and identities shaken by a very powerful, older spiritual adviser? What reward for them? Some paltry monetary recompense, out of court, never to speak of the shameful incident again. And that is how it goes in this great land, with such a magnanimous God and such overflowing plates.

But for men (and women) who have been used in such ways, there is no easy forgiveness, no return to unsullied time. Their abridged faith will always be worn as a rent in their soul -- for how do you undo betrayal?

And then there are the young dancing boys kept by many Afghani men for their hinder pleasures:

"For centuries, Afghan men have taken boys, roughly 9 to 15 years old, as lovers. Some research suggests that half the Pashtun tribal members in Kandahar and other southern towns are bacha baz, the term for an older man with a boy lover. Literally it means boy player. The men like to boast about it" (Afghanistan's Dirty Little Secret).

So American and NATO soldiers are fighting and dying to protect tens of thousands of pedophilic sodomists engaging in what a State Department report called a "widespread, culturally sanctioned form of male rape." And thousands of boys will grow up damaged in the process, with no redress at all.

But like so many Western males on the down low, these Afghan men don't consider themselves homosexual as they claim they do not love the boys. But it is hard to presume they do love their wives.

Why do men bugger other boys and men in secrecy, and yet have women as their societal mates? Surely there is a disconnect here, unless we are willing to say that a man cannot be satisfied with a female mate, in which case the whole argument for biological perpetuation of the species falls flat and man becomes some sort of genetic mutation maladapted for survival.

And William Saletan joyfully reports in Slate that a recent sex study shows more women than ever are engaging in anal sex. He calls it a triumph for variety's sake, and quotes the stat that 40% of women between ages 30 and 40 have tried it. He seems to want to convince us that, um, women really love it. It's not just for paid porno stars, anymore.

But the stat is misleading as it does not equate to continuing experimentation, and only 3-4% of women participate in the practice in any given month. (Saletan later backtracks in his enthusiasm and reports the dangers involved.)

Why the gleeful reportage? This is a factoid, like any other; statistics gleaned from a self-survey, and neither good nor bad. Could it be a back-door way of saying there is nothing too aberrant about buggery, ergo, nothing's wrong about homosexuality? A "look, everyone's doing it" sort of thing? Given Saletan's celebratory presentation, it would be easy to see it that way. Or it's a thumb's up for pornographers everywhere (*wink*wink.)

I don't know how or if this would play into the satisfaction of the men who are coveting their fellow's bottoms. It is just interesting to juxtapose it with the other reality. Do some women consent because it would make them more enticing to certain men, and is that good or bad?

What if some of us really are licentious, libidinous, lascivious pansexual apes? Religion, or laws or whatever hold back the floodgates, but what if we could speak the truth? Maybe those pansexual types could couple up accordingly, rather being "un-gayed" in the Christian camps, ultimately leaving trails of human flotsam in their wake. What if we could admit the truth: That this behavior is not as aberrant as we would like to think.

Homosexuality is a biological dead-end (unless you're into parthenogenesis), so why does it persist? If it were due to only occasional genetic mutations, it would not continue in such numbers. It is because men like Bishop Long here has four kids, in addition to his tangential matings.

For the conservatives, a great way to find out if homosexuality is by choice versus nature would be to sanction same-sex marriage. If no one coupled heterosexually out of family or church obligation, and no offspring ensue, one would presume eventually a reduction in homosexuality's incidence in the population. It is as good a theory as any: If homosexuality is biologically determined, then some gay genes are being propagated through enforced heterosexuality.

A conundrum for the Family Values crowd.

[See RangerAgainstWar for all links]

08 May 2010

Bag Age

by: Foiled Goil

Oh, what a hypocritical bag of bloviating BS.

Yep. Another one.

Shades of Larry Craig
George A. Rekers cofounded the Family Research Council with religious right icon James Dobson. And he's been a key leader of the "ex-gay" movement for years, even testifying on behalf of the states of Arkansas and Florida in defense of their laws banning adoptions by gays and lesbians. Alas he was caught a few days ago coming home from a ten day European vacation with a male prostitute he'd found on

Colbert Nation:
Alpha Dog of the Week - George Rekers

Wednesday, May 5, 2010

Reverend George Rekers travels to Europe with a male prostitute because he can't lift his own luggage. ( 3:07 )

Christian leader tells ‘rentboy’ not to talk to the press

On Thursday afternoon, Washington Post blogger Dave Weigel reported that the Miami New Times was being threatened by Rekers with a lawsuit. "I have been advised to retain the services of a defamation attorney in this matter," Rekers wrote in an email to Weigel, "because the fact is that I am not gay and never have been."

In his response to the New Times story, Rekers asserted, "My travel assistant called me this afternoon earnestly asking me to clarify on my website that he worked for me as a travel companion and not as a prostitute." This was followed by a series of statements from Rekers, allegedly based on that phone call, saying "Together we agreed that I in fact hired him to lift luggage ... that my travel assistant did in fact lift my luggage ... that I did not hire him as a prostitute for any sexual purpose ... that I explained the Christian faith to my travel assistant in conversations on several days."

Just a few hours later, however, the New Times casually demolished Rekers' claim that his "travel assistant" supported his version of events with an article headed, "Things Rekers Said To Lucien When He Didn't Think We Were Listening."

"Lucien" is the name being used by the New Times to refer to the young man, whose family does not know he is gay.

"What the minister ... likely didn't realize is that Miami New Times reporters were sitting beside Lucien during a candid conversation over speakerphone," Penn Bullock and Brandon K. Thorp explain. "During that talk -- which took place at about 1 a.m. Thursday in a Fort Lauderdale home -- Rekers told Lucien several times not to talk to the press." [snip]

Rekers also suggested that the uproar over his trip was being created by "activists with an axe to grind" and would die down if Lucien just kept quiet. He told Lucien not to make a statement to the press because "it just causes more harm," adding, "We have to deal with the situation that we have, and make sure it doesn't get worse."

The Rachel Maddow Show::
Anti-gay hypocrite is news because of his activism

May 7, 2010

Rachel Maddow explains what's really scandalous about revelations that anti-gay activist George Alan Reker is gay. It's not his personal life but his efforts to impose his self-loathing on the rest of society. ( 5:42 )

George Alan Rekers Wins GOP Hypocrite Award for Working to Deny Gay People Civil Rights While Sneaking Off With 'Rentboy' Cutie
For those who don't know, Rekers just happens to be one of the most prominent anti-gay activists in the nation. He has advised Congress, the White House, and the Department of Health and Human Services on homophobia as well as testifying as a state's witness in favor of Florida's gay adoption ban. Not only is he a founding member of the sanctimonious Family Research Council, but he does his best to rid the world of the scourge of "the gay." [snip]

If you want to read all the lurid details, check out the New Times story, titled "George Rekers is a homosexual, says escort" here. Let's just say Lucien wasn't literally carrying luggage for the anti-gay activist.

You can be sure that this creep will continue carrying water for the conservative anti-gay crowd. The saddest thing is that the psycho will probably continue "shaping you child's sexuality" (which is to say telling young gay people to renounce their identities, unless of course, he's hired them to "carry his luggage"). Meanwhile, untold numbers of normal, loving gay couples can't adopt children thanks to Rekers' efforts.

Remember our motto: So many Republican hypocrites, so little time.

29 March 2010

It isn't just the kids that they're cornholing:

by: Peter of Lone Tree

"Vatican confirms report of sexual abuse and rape of nuns by priests in 23 countries"

26 March 2010

Redneck Fetishism

by: Dark Wraith

Pedal PumpingContrary to my general policy over at The Dark Wraith Forums, where I tend to avoid overtly sexual topics, I have just noted in my "This and That" sidebar column something salacious that had not come to my attention until this morning. I thought I would share it as a post here at Big Brass Blog, in part to stir the rowdiness of the crowd, but also in no small part because, for the life of me, this fetish, which is apparently a big thing among men in Redneck America, is beyond anything I can possibly comprehend. It's called "pedal pumping," and you can read all about it at The Daily Beast.

Do NOT tell me you understand this weirdness. I don't CARE what a frustrated woman looks like with her hair totally unkempt from yelling and pounding her fists on a steering wheel. I don't CARE how many times her leg goes up and down drilling the gas pedal on a car that won't start. It's not erotic. No, it's NOT. Redneck guys who think it is—especially when the wronged woman is wearing stiletto heals—are too weird for their own good, even when the lady in the driver's seat is incessantly cranking the uncooperative—indeed, obstinate—starter on an old, rusty Ford truck with an 8-track player and four fresh cans of Vienna sausages in the glove compartment.

If you men reading this think those redneck guys are right about this whole scenario being some sort of turn-on, then you're a few ponies short of a carousel ride, too.

I don't know why I'm even posting this article.


26 June 2009

Someone had to do it!!!

by: Father Tyme

A guy in China says that watching porn on the net causes memory loss.

Google’s recent troubles began with a CCTV news broadcast that chastised the company for allowing users to find pornography and other vulgar content via the Chinese version of its search engine,
The program included an interview with a young man named Gao Ye, who was described as a university student.

Gao complained that the pornographic content on was particularly harmful. He said in the interview, 'I have this fellow student and he’s been curious about these kinds of things. He visited porn Web sites and ended up becoming absent-minded for a while.'

Which sounds pretty authentic. Viewing porn sites causes memory loss. Not a known syndrome but possible, possible.

I knew it! Maybe not the same symptoms as my daddy used to warn me of, but I bet it’s real and true! I mean, watching pornography on the net has decreased my ability to…type as effectively as when I was young. Maybe it’s because I can’t see the screen as well as I used to. Hmmm? Truth in going blind if you…well, you know?
And, and I’ve noticed that I can’t play football with the 20 year-olds as long as I used to. I’m sure that’s another hidden symptom of watching too much porn.

What the guy didn’t say was that if you’re married, don’t watch porn, but have a really great sex life with your wife or significant other, does that do the same things as just watching? I mean, c’mon, there’s lots of times when I was just too tired so I just laid in bed and watched my wife! That isn’t the same, is it?

Come to think of it, she never spent a whole lot of time watching me. I guess that explains why she, and other women, don’t lose their memories as much as us guys. It certainly explains why they don’t lose their eyesight like us!

I think this needs looked into further; maybe a government loan or better yet, a grant. Now I just need to get in touch with some Congress Person who can help.
Does anyone have Ensign or Sanford’s phone number?

· · · ·
21 February 2009

Put Your Clothes On

by: Dark Wraith

The story at AlterNet, reported by astrea here at Big Brass Blog, claims researchers have found that men's brains respond to scantily clad women much the same way those men respond to objects. Although for the purposes of the present post I shall let the essential findings go unchallenged, I would be remiss not to make passing note that more than a few issues make this "research" suspect (and I use the word in scare quotes to clearly indicate that it is nothing more than fluff stuff for publish-or-perish desperadoes of academia to get journal publications in their vitae).

The quality of what qualifies anymore as empirical science aside, the issue du jour seems to center around female breasts — specifically, large female breasts — and how "men" (apparently, the implication is all men) go "bikini brained" when they see them.

I need to take exception and a bit of umbrage.

No, big-breasted females do not impress me. I had a mother. Now that I am all grown up, I don't need to live in post-fetal dependence upon the biological milk jugs of a surrogate, particularly if those cans would require a five-dollar return deposit if they were made of glass in a recycling-conscious municipality or state.

More broadly, I have reached a glad age and a happy state of general irritability wherein sexual games of taunt-and-tease annoy me to no end.

I have seen all I need to see, and there is nothing new under the sun... at least there's nothing new I want to see and keep my groceries in my stomach. (That's why the link to man-on-dwarf a friend sent me was the last straw in our e-mail communications.)

Years ago, I was a practicing nudist. That's right: a practicing nudist. In fact, for a while I was on the board of directors of a local group. Indeed, I was the member-at-large. Anymore, I have enough credentials that I need not list that distinction on my curriculum vita. However, in my time attending nudist parks and get-togethers, I saw just about everything from very big to very small, and quite a bit of sun-baked human-beef jerky. While large-breasted women were not uncommon, my attention was generally more focused on such matters as cold-nosed dogs, waist-high nettles, and the occasional agony of in-the-raw bacon-frying, challenging as it is when hot grease pops off the griddle and onto easily blistered man-parts.

Nudist clubs can be instructional. I learned not to care, and it wasn't all because of the over-exposure to over-exposed women. You see, my local club had as one of its members a fellow from the Islands. He was relatively tall, muscular, but lanky. He was also graced by the Lord with what qualified in my book as deformity. Even when he was approaching from behind, I could hear him 20 feet away: "SLIK-slik, SLIK-slik, SLIK-slik..." I wearied quickly of this sound. I also wearied quickly of the women who would look straight ahead while their eyes rotated 360 degrees in their sockets as that fool sauntered by. He knew damned well God liked him more.

With a passion, I do so hate competitive sports.

Nudist clubs were not, however, where I completed my journey into annoyance with nudity.

I'm a college teacher.

Even in this day and age, when kids come to college from high schools and earlier training where they got abstinence-only nonsense beaten into them year in and year out, their hormones are still in high gear. The boys are ready to have sex (and only a select group does on a regular basis), and the girls are ready to have no limits on how far they can experiment with their allure, although many are not nearly as much into sex as they are their ability to capture attention of males by appearing to be as interested as the boys are. In warmer weather, attention-getting rituals mean seeing all manner of attire that could easily kill an older man not prepared for the spectacle that seems to get a little more daring every year. Last Summer was the first in my memory when butt cheeks were showing with no attempt at covering the meat-leg junction.

Cleavage has been on display for several years now, and there's not much more on the top side that can be revealed without more design engineering advances in up-lifting bras.

The slightly warmer weather has revealed a new trend for this year: skin-tight pants that look like a cross between panty-hose and spray-on paint. I think there's a thong involved in some way, but Lord knows how it's positioned, considering the anatomical gallery these things put on display.

It will get worse, this year, I can tell you that. Spring Break follies in Florida aside, sun bathing on roofs and in front of off-campus apartments will be fashion shows of bikinis that are little more than two Bandaids and a cork.

And the young men will be right there, too, trying their best to show their own wares: six-pack abs are the goal, and quite a few more young men these days strive for them. The boys pretend not to care that the girls pretend not to look; but everybody is checking everybody out.

Except for me. I just get irritated with the whole meat aisle.

If I want to see boobs, I'll watch C-Span interviews with politicians. Ditto if I want to see ass. Just like the girls who flop their undulating mammary glands, and just like the guys who twitch their over-wrought ab and man-tit muscles, the people we elect want us to look, and given that my tax dollars are paying for those boobs and asses in Washington, I'll take the opportunity to get my money's worth. Unlike when I had to suffer the elephant trunk guy at my nudist club, who routinely made me feel like Mr. Pony on the Mr. Ed Show, there is no chance at all that the people in Washington will challenge my sense of self-worth and, indeed, my very reason for living.

To finish this post, though, yes, many men do go all bikini-brain when they see generously inflated female breasts and supple, tender buttocks; but my contention that the same is true of women when they look at men should not go unchallenged, so I herewith offer a bit of a test.

Several years ago, I did a fund-raiser for a fellow blogger. I called it The Dark Wraith He-Chest Challenge, and I asked select male bloggers to try to raise $50 each. Anyone who did pledged to post a waist-to-neck nude picture of himself with the understanding that the picture could then be taken down after a few days. Several reached the $50 mark and posted the obligatory picture. I did, too.

For the purpose of the present essay, I herewith offer that picture again, and I shall leave the link up for 24 hours. Click here to see if there is any female equivalent of "bikini brain."

Perhaps I am wrong.

The Dark Wraith has been wrong before when it comes to knowing what works and what doesn't.

· · ·
19 February 2009


by: astraea

(and here's the playing field: )

Hot Chicks in Bikinis: Seen as Less Than Human?


By Tana Ganeva, AlterNet

Brain scans reveal that when some men are shown photos of scantily dressed women, the part of the brain reserved for objects is activated. Read more »

16 January 2009

(un)Official Friday Sex Post™

by: Jersey Cynic

Unofficial, as in not having official authority, as in FULL OF SHIT

Here are two stories that, in my humble opinion, are a load of crap...

Have you read about the scientists (?) who have identified The Marilyn Monroe "Whoremone" that is linked to an hour-glass body shape in women, and also an increased desire to trade-up to new men?

(I really think these scientists would serve the public far better if they spent their time finding a cure for cancer.)

Women who have high levels of oestradoil also show elevated confidence and a greater inclination to have sex outside of their current relationship, according to the US-based research.
The ovarian steroid hormone is also associated with having a symmetrical face, large breasts and a low waist-to-hip ratio.

My advice to the men who fall for these women...

and now, for the biggest crock of shit I've ever herd (as in cutting one loose from):

The story of Ms. Natalie Dylan. (I can't believe US news and world report is covering this -- under their Money & Business section of course, and I can't believe there's over 3 million hits for it over at google.) As the saying goes -- I guess sex does sell.

That pig Howard Stern is the one who started this back in September.
In my opinion, it's just one big hoax. She apparently signed a book deal the other day, and will most likely not even go through with it.

Dylan (not even her real name) says - "We live in a capitalist society. Why shouldn't I be allowed to capitalize on my virginity?"

I say to "Natalie" -- then why not film it and sell the video.

If this really is a legit auction (as it's being called) how is it that offering money for sex is o.k. over the internet, but illegal everywhere else (except in Vegas of course -- maybe that's the loop hole!)

I don't know folks.

A fine example of what we've become... selling one's self out to the highest bidder I guess.

Why isn't prostitution legal anyway? Selling is legal. Sex is legal. So why isn't selling sex legal?

I guess only the government can legally screw us out of our money.

crossposted from Blondesense
07 January 2009

Hard Times?

by: Foiled Goil

Poor...Nography: A five-billion dollar bailout... for the American porn industry. Hmmm. In our number one story on the Countdown: apparently there is no limit to what has been wrought by a stripped-down economy.

Porn industry losing its shirt?

Jan. 7: Village Voice columnist Michael Musto talks about whether Hustler’s Larry Flynt and Girls Gone Wild creator Joe Francis are serious about their inquiries regarding a bailout for the porn industry.

[ 5:16 ]

13 October 2008

Yo Batman! The great...

by: blackdog

Pizazz, I awake with a hunger for flesh and a thirst for human indignity. I exist in your quietest corners, under your bed, in your closet, always at night. The time is ripe for the plucking of human flesh.

I have no interesting graphics, no warning at all, I simply am, and will always be. Some will laugh, some may cringe, but all will trip with broken bones over me late at night when going for a drink of water at 3:00AM.

So be it.

I will pick up the debris of humanity, dispose of it and establish a new order, 18 toes are the new way to identify the new masters of the world, and don't give me too much crap.

Maybe tomorrow I'll really have something to say, right now I'm a bit speechless. Just wanted to make a noise, and look out, the first two paragraphs (!) you had better watch out and pay attention to.

Wraiths are not the only things to watch out for, I send some transgressors directly to him. Beware the pumpkin on your porch, it could turn on you. I am simply an operative of the Wraith, but i have power as well.

You have been warned.

Close to a full moon tonight, keep your head under the blanket.
08 August 2008

John Edwards, Man Slut

by: Dark Wraith

John EdwardsIn an interview with ABC News, former Democratic presidential candidate John Edwards has admitted that he had an affair with Rielle Hunter, who had been hired by as a videographer for his campaign despite her lack of experience in the field. Little information prior to 2006 is publicly available about her, although a first-person narrative by a character based upon her in a novel by her boyfriend at the time paints her as "an ostensibly jaded, cocaine-addled, sexually voracious" young woman; but Hunter, herself, claims subsequent 'spiritual quests' of an unspecified nature led her away from previous lifestyle choices.

Edwards, a former United States Senator from North Carolina, had previously characterized as "false" the allegations that he had engaged in an extramarital relationship with Hunter.

First reported last year, rumors of Edwards' extramarital affair were sourced to allies at the National Enquirer of his Democratic opponent, Hillary Rodham Clinton. Edwards denied the allegations and his staff removed all references to Hunter from the his campaign Website. More rumors surfaced several weeks ago when the National Enquirer reported that Edwards and Hunter had been seen together at the Beverly Hilton, adding further fuel to stories that Edwards is the father of Rielle Hunter's illegitimate child, speculation that was disputed by Edwards' long-time friend, Andrew Young, who claimed the child was his.

John Edwards' campaign for the Democratic presidential nomination came to an end earlier this year after lackluster showings in early primaries. Prior to stepping away from the campaign trail, he and his wife, Elizabeth, had appeared together at an outdoor press conference to disclose that her breast cancer, which had been in remission since surgery in 2004, had returned in the form of what doctors believed were metastatic cancerous masses in bone and lung tissue.

John and Elizabeth Edwards have three children, Jack, age 7, Emma Claire, age 9, and, Cate, who currently attends Harvard Law School. A fourth child, Wade, was killed in a car accident in 1996.

No official statement has been issued by Elizabeth Edwards concerning her husband's admission of infidelity.

Cross-posted from The Dark Wraith Forums

· · ·
12 March 2008

The Ambiguity of Darkness

by: Dark Wraith

The recent media-frenzy about former-Governor Elliot Spitzer's forays into the consumer sub-culture of high-priced hookers—a frenzy in which I, myself, participated with some degree of shameless abandon—has elicited in some quarters worthwhile and insightful responses and reactions. In one vein are those like Robert Scheer who point out the scope and depth of the staggering problems this country now faces in the wake of what will have been eight years of sustained, unmitigated fiscal, political, diplomatic, and military recklessness. These looming disasters are the hallmarks and legacy of the Bush Administration, and they will come whether we like it or not, and they will arrive regardless of whom we elect as our next President. As Scheer makes fairly apparent, in the larger scheme of things, the story of Spitzer's fall from grace does not qualify by any reasonable standard as newsworthy. Sadly, though, sex sells; and sleazy sex sells big-time.

Another thread, one from the conservative perspective, is well represented by Terence Corcoran of the National Post, who highlights the excesses of Elliot Spitzer, the media-hyped hero-prosecutor of white-collar criminals, the lionized hero-prosecutor who abused law enforcement power and public treasure to destroy more than one man he could not defeat in court because at least some judges and juries knew very well the government's cases were based on phenomenally novel interpretations of complex statutes. Other juries, however, swallowed Spitzer's bilge hook, line, and sinker, and were all too happy to hang the rich and powerful regardless of whether such vengeance had any semblance of relationship to the rule of law. It has been only since the Bush Administration turned this nightmarish authoritarian capriciousness in law enforcement on the general population that most civil libertarians have started squealing like stuck pigs, crying about the abandonment of "rights" that, in reality, have been under attack for decades, if not all along. It has something to do with whose ox is being gored, of course; but it smacks of gruesome disingenuity to cheer the destruction of rich corporate executives that was done using the very same methods now decried as horrendous when used against the common man and woman.

Yet another angle has been taken by those discussing the perspective of prostitutes, particularly those sex workers who command the staggering fees Spitzer and other men of wealth and power are willing to pay. Well represented in an article by Minstrel Boy of Harp and Sword, this approach offers insights into the thinking of the prostitutes, themselves, on what they do, why they do it, and even what they believe is in the minds of the men who pay them for sex.

As good as all of these conversations are, what is missing in all of this, it seems to me, is the perspective of a man who pays for high-priced sex workers. Although it would necessarily—and perhaps rightly—bring down upon the writer a firestorm of criticism, it would also, if it were written honestly, offer an invitation to a dialog that could lead to a definition of issues, the setting forth of clear-cut problems, and maybe even the fielding of posible solutions. (Or not.)

As oddly diverse as my life has been, I cannot do any of that. I have never paid a person thousands of dollars for sex, although I went to places where those kinds of ladies and their prices were common; and the people with whom I worked—powerful, wealthy men—did throw down that kind of money and would have been more than glad to put a girl for me on a company credit card. As happened to be the case, though, by the time I was a consultant traveling in circles far beyond my breeding or personal worth, I had long been fully engage in the long-term stages, fitful as such efforts always are, of full-blown war between my will and my wants.

I do remember things, though; but my own, personal memories have nothing to do with Mayflower Hotels, knock-dead beautiful women, and breath-taking pursuit of a high life of abundance in everything from the love of a good woman and kids to the wines, women, and music of fantastic days of respect and nights of abandoning excess.

All I could tell you about is a dark, grim world that was the nature and reflection of my own dark, grim heart. (God, I hope it was only my heart and not my very soul that was involved; but I suspect otherwise, now that I look back.)

I think most people would not care to read about that seamy place, either the one within or its shadow without, unvarnished and disturbing as some of the imagery of senses and sentiments might be. Aside from how troubling such a tale would necessarily unfold in narrative, its substance and consequences really have nothing whatsoever to do with the terrible economic crises facing this country and nothing whatsoever to do with the wholesale destruction of the remaining shards of civil liberties and rights being plowed asunder by both Republicans and Democrats. Quite honestly, the substance and consequences of a pathetic story of common sin and unglamourous self-destruction really have nothing to do with the motives and misdeeds of the rich and famous, either.

Nevertheless, I am thinking just now that maybe I should tell you a story later tonight. If I do, it will be written in the third person, of course; I may be forthcoming, but I'm certainly not stupid.

I am going to the store to buy some food, and then I shall make my dinner. The time in these endeavors will be spent thinking about whether or not my planned writing assignment is worthy of pursuit. A post-script will be provided at the end of this article to explain whether or not I shall proceed.

The Dark Wraith will return.

9:10 p.m. EDT

Never mind.

Some things are better left unexpressed. The story of the day is about powerful, well-to-do men; beautiful, expensive women; and exotic, dangerously titillating, naughty sex stories set in lovely, five-star hotels.

The ambiguity of darkness leaves too many people unsatisfied. It's sort of like the inevitability of this nation's collapse into the misery of a degraded, authoritarian state: no one likes a story without a happy ending.

Unfortunately, the 21st Century, like its backdrop in darkness, has no exit.

The Dark Wraith stands down on the matter, now.

Crossposted from The Dark Wraith Forums

· · · ·
11 March 2008

Straight From The "Whores's" Mouth

by: Minstrel Boy

With the fall from grace of Eliot Spitzer I took it upon myself to call the beautiful April. She has first hand knowledge of this world. She works as an "escort" in Palm Springs.

At the beginning of the call she was a little taken aback. Her work as an escort is one of the things we simply don't talk about. In the interest of fairness and equity, she's never asked me about road cookies, except from the standpoint of new things to try. I've never thought about asking her, it just has not been a subject that I ever felt like broaching. I've been around the world a few times, liked it every trip too. However, I've always been more comfortable leaving the hows, whys, and intricate manners of that world alone. Especially when it comes to April. Neither of us has a great history of dealing with complications in relationships, it's kind of the main reason we've stumbled into what ever you might call what we have going.

I told her that I wanted to understand how arrangements like Spitzer's work. She said "Just like my agency. The client (not trick, not john, not customer) calls the agency and requests company for an agreed amount of time for an agreed upon fee. "Extras" are negotiated between the escort and the customer. The agency provides access to the woman and nothing more."

I had to ask "What does the customer get for the money." She said "Discretion mainly. We won't ever call them at home or intrude on the rest of their lives. They can ask us to do things that their wives and other non-professionals won't do." I figured Shit! Minefield! Change this topic! Now!" She said "Mostly, it's pretty mundane stuff." (my head says "I don't even want to get into what she thinks is exotic" and I tell the fucking head to shut up)

I had to ask though "What were they talking about when they mentioned he was into dangerous stuff? Condoms? Is the guvner one of those bareback riders?" She said "That's what it sounded like. (short pause) I. Never. Do. That. Ever. There's not enough money in the world for me to do that. Not with a bloodtest from yesterday. Never. Is that what you were worried about?" I told her that was not something I was concerned about. The only times I ever doubt her judgement is when she hangs in there with me. She laughed, that's a good sign. So I plunge on.

"When they talk about the discretion and the privacy how far should it go? Should a girl take extra time in an arrest situation to protect the privacy of a client?" She said without a second of hesitation "Of course. That's part of the deal. That's the main part of the deal. Because my agency is in Palm Springs we get a lot of big names. Business names, Show Business names, Political names. They come to us because they can't hang out in the singles bars or other pickup places, and, most of all, they know we won't talk about it. If we see them somewhere else, we look the other way, and they do the same."

I asked how pervasive these arrangements are in the halls of power. She said "Think about it for a second. Imagine you're a rising young star and you get tired of not being able to just latch onto a good healthy sport fuck without endangering your career. Or, you are afraid to ask your wife about maybe bringing in a third party for a three for all, you just want some no strings fucking, you have the money to pay for it and when it's over everybody goes about their business. Doesn't that make sense? What if you're a Congressman or Statie who talks about morality and sanctity of marriage but your wife quit giving head six years ago? If you like head, and want head, why not just get an escort who will go down and seem to enjoy it?"

I said "So privacy, and lack of inhibition is the main attraction?" She said "Yes. An escort service should be the ultimate safe sex." I asked if she was worried about her agency being outed and she said "We have tapes and records, too many captains of industry and politics would fall. So would the city and county governments, to say nothing at all of the police force. Including the feds."

I left it at that. I thought about getting into pricings but decided against it. After all, I love this girl.


In another call I asked the beautiful April how pervasive her service was in the society and culture where we live. She said, "It's pervasive and infiltrated enough that one of the girls I work with was at the fundraiser you played over the weeekend in Malibu. She said you spent most of the weekend hanging out with that backup singer you used to date. Is that pervasive enough for your ass?"

This means that the girl she is talking about was staying in the home of the event's organizer, either as a full pledged guest herself or as the escort of another invited guest.

harp and sword
10 March 2008

Elliot Spitzer: Governor by Day, John by Night

by: Dark Wraith

Elliot SpitzerNew York Governor Elliot Spitzer is expected to announce his resignation in the wake of reports that he had been a client of a prostitution service under federal investigation. Although The New York Times initially reported the story as if Spitzer was actually involved as a principal of the criminal enterprise, federal investigators are now indicating that initial suspicions that Spitzer was taking bribes from a company called QAT (pronounced "cat") were the result of money transfers he had made to buy sex from the company's dba, Emperors Club, which charges clients an hourly rate of between $1,000 and $5,500.

That's right: Men pay this prostitution service anywhere from a grand to fifty-five hundred for every hour they have with an Emperors Club prostitute.

Once more for the record: Rich men are paying one thousand to five thousand five hundred dollars per hour for butt, a rate that would compel any normal man, regardless of how desperate he was, to opt instead to beat his own meat like it owed back rent.

But Elliot Spitzer paid it (along with room service, liquor, cab fare, and train tickets), as apparently did other men, given that the Governor is identified in the government's criminal complaint as "Client 9." According to the Associated Press, Spitzer is currently linked to at least one session with a sex worker, an encounter that lasted four hours. No indication has yet been given as to whether the entirety of that four hours was devoted to sexual intercourse, a prospect that would go a long way toward explaining his lean, healthy appearance and apparently continued dedication from his wife, who was by his side when he made a rather vague announcement on Monday of his legal problems. His three teenage daughters were not at the news conference, where he took no questions and seemed, for one reason or another, to be contrite.

More news about clean-cut governors, their ladies of ill repute, and four-hour sex sessions with room service later here at Dark Wraith Publishing.

· · · · ·
25 January 2008

Thank Gawd for Saturday

by: blackdog

Being that I am a reclusive sort of thang, avoiding direct contact with most and doing my best to lay low and not make a scene in a small town where everything I do is most likely better known by my neighbors than I know, well, Saturday is special.

Used to be that it was the day to get up early and watch really good cartoons. Not anymore. And that is sad. Warner Bros had the best, and I always got up to see the Bugs Bunny Show.

But thankfully NPR has a pretty good slate on Saturdays. Starting with Bob & Ray, Click and Clack the tappet brothers. Followed by Whad' ya Know? Then a half hour of a local show about an Arkie goil talking about feuoood. Funny how you can make that a two syllable word. But now we're in the stretch, Say's You! at 1:00 pm cdt, then one of the best, possibly the most incredibly funny and enjoyable radio programs out there is Wait, wait...don't tell me!

By now it's 3:00 pm and the crown jewel is coming at 5:00. Garrison Keillor's Prairie Home Companion.

It's Saturday, the band is playing, honey could we ask for more?

And then, if your feet haven't started to shuffle a bit, comes Thistle and Shamrock. And that would usually raise a dead man. Or woman.

Amazing how mellow and relaxed one can get in their middle age, whatever that is. Thirty years ago I would not have approved, but somehow I feel that I am a little more intelligent than then. At least I sure hope so.

Ah, Saturday, I look forward to you so.


«  April 2014  »




Blog Headlines


Dark Wraith's Bookstore

♦           ♦           ♦
Free Sound Effects
Download Free Sound Effects from AudioMicro.
♦           ♦           ♦



In the News

Quote of the Day