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The
sexy country crooner, Shania Twain, has joined a "no-sex
cult," no less than the National Enquirer has reported.
They said it. I believe it. And that settles it. Shania's
half (baked) brother, Darryl (living in abject poverty in
Winnipeg, Canada), is the principal source for this piece,
published last month. According to Darryl (who doesn't even
own a car!), Shania's husband, Mutt (Lang, famous music
producer), is to blame for "her bizarre new life." Sounds
like she married a dog with fleas.
Shania's Sant Mat cult practices a strict vegan-yoga-abstinence
regime with confessional Catholic undertures; they must
fess-up to all violations of the cult's rules in writing
to their guru. Actually, this regimen doesn't sound all
that different from my own life lately, except the written
confessional part is shared with you, my guru, dear
reader. The other glaring difference is, unlike Shania,
I don't own a 500 acre Swiss Chalet on which to practice
my vegan, yoga, abstinence program.
It may seem "shocking" to the Enquirer, but I've
been in relationships that seemed like a bizarre no-sex
cult. So it sounds to me like a good way for Shania to get
out of having any sex whatsoever with Mutt--who looks likes
like a cross between Jerry Springer and maligned and fined
Atlanta Braves pitcher John Rocker. This cult thing looks
like the perfect Hollyweird cover story for a bad marriage.
After all, why would you give up the goodies unless you
weren't getting any in the first place?
Nice arrangement. You're married but you don't do it because
your guru tells you so. And then, well, if you mess around
with anyone else, you have to tell on yourself to your guru.
And what's he gonna do? Kick you out when your six figure
"tithings" are keeping him in Rolls Royces and roasted pig?
I don't think so.
I wonder what brilliant publicist came up with this scam?
Mega star marriages managed by a publicist for appearance
sake have been going on for as long as cameras have been
clicking. Michael Jackson and Lisa Marie Presley. Clint
Eastwood and Sandra Locke. Nicolas Cage and Patricia Arquette--who
get together only for the time it takes to dip down to the
awards shows together.
Don't get me wrong. I have nothing against a vegan-yoga-abstinence
from alcohol, drugs and sex regime (does watching pornos
for a living count as sex?). Which may seem surprising in
my position writing for
Adult
Entertainment magazines. A dissolute lifestyle would seem
to follow. Or, so people think.
Which is why I'm contemplating starting my own vegan-yoga-abstinence
cult for people like me--working on the inside and the fringes
of the sex industry. Like Shania Twain's cult, my followers
would have to keep a detailed diary of every time they fall
off the no-alcohol-drugs-meat-or-fellatio wagon. And submit
their confessions to me, for my (hungry) eyes only. Of course,
I'll have to wear a turban, dye my goatee white and come
up with some guru sounding name, like, Bhagwan Rexor Beatoff
Relief. I've already got the beleaguered Bhagwan bags under
the eyes--from all the sexless pain in the world. So you
can see how this whole guru/cult thing is all about turning
perceived negatives into positives--the essence of good
politics and 12 step programs. Tithings from members will
be expected,
say, 10% of your rack money, honey. Then we'll have to name
the cult, Noh Saltimbocca For Ewe (pronounced 'you,' a female
sheep, you dummy [Like those ones in last month's Fantasy
Video ad. Ewww! --Web Editor]) and build a chalet in
Wilsonville, Or. Maybe just takeover the dormant Dammasch
state mental hospital. Our slogan: "Abstinence makes the
heart-on grow stronger."
Needless-to-say, all cult members who fall off the abstinence
wagon would have to take their proper penance. I'd subcontract
local dominatrixes to administer punishment to the men,
while I handled the female "slippers" personally. Actually,
there would be one exception to the no-sex rule: they could
have sex with me--their beloved guru who restored them all
to meatless, martini-less, methamphetamine-less, menage-a-trois-less
sanity. Granted, the Noh Saltimbocca For Ewe cult would
permit, hell, encourage smoking, gambling, dirty movies
and internet porn. We could even start a website: "sex starved
sex workers must relieve themselves now! @nonookieforu.com."
As an organized religion, the cult wouldn't have to pay
any taxes on the membership fees. And every surfer who joined
up could feel good about their credit card contributing
to such a worthy cause: getting strippers and doormen and
drivers and escorts off the crack, cock and cunt.
And finally, I could have my picture in the National
Enquirer for abstaining from alcohol, drugs, meat and
pussy. Get the long lost recognition I deserve as burned-out
porn stars flock to my Wilsonville abstinence chalet for
rice and tofu and black belt blackjack tournaments.
You can join me on this "Lost Highway." I call out to you,
my potential flock--gagging on meat and fellatio, who have
had enough, who want to serve a higher purpose (while making
money off the lower)--to bring me your pain. And let us
walk together toward the dawning of a new light with our
heads held high in absentia from hamburgers, Hefeweizen
and heterosexual relationships (sorry, no gays or lesbians
allowed; bi-women encouraged). Bhagwan Rexor Beatoff Relief
is waiting to ease (and please) your not-so-gentle suffering.
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