"Crackwhore island
"
Reality
shows are polluting the airwaves with their so-called-ordinary-folks
tested by the elements and each other in remote regions
(re: Hollywood locations) around the world. Hell,
I'll tell ya what's real: bicycling to the auto parts
store on a sunny Saturday afternoon, pedaling through
lower southeast industrial, and as I cross Ankeny a slim
black tart on the crackstroll hails me from the corner.
Locks eyes with me, like, what? I'm gonna pull over and
get a quick bicycle blowjob? Half block down the road,
a guy in a beat-up old red pick-up has done just that.
As I peddle by, I look down through the driver-side window
and see her leaning across the seat to polish the knob.
It's broad daylight, Saturday afternoon, two blocks away
from Schuck's auto parts and this guy couldn't wait to
get a blowjob. The true test of endurance would be to
place six ordinary middle-aged white guys out on some
desert island with six of the most persistent crackwhores
scoured from Chicago, LA, New York, San Francisco, Philadelphia
and, of course, Portland. And let them go to work on the
contestants. A bunch of pick-up trucks, some fast food
outlet, an auto parts place and a convenience store could
comprise the mock set on some island off the coast of
Peru. Coca provided by the Shining Path, cooked up into
crack by some brothers from 'Crooklyn.' You get the picture.
Each day, the salesmen, 'cause they'd all be, like, software
supporters who work for microchip companies, would be
given the task of surviving an entire day without getting
a blowjob. And the crackwhores would have to successfully
sell their 'smile' to the salesmen in order to get their
crack.
Out on the island, the poor slobs wake
up, buy snacks from the convenience store, sloppy burgers
from the Jack-off In The Box and some obscure hose or
relay switch from the auto parts store, maneuvering around
the hungry crackwhores like starved alligators to accomplish
these simple tasks...just like in real life.
Now say hello to Ginger; she's all sweet
caramel and spice, the kinda crackwhore you'd take home
to mom 'cause she's so nice. Ginger comes all the way
from the Chicago Loop where she had hoped to be a dog
groomer one day till she discovered the joys of sucking
State Street dick for crack. Inside that Windy City windbreaker
are some ribs that are finger lickin' good. And under
that hood is a mouth that purrs and gets hungry every
five minutes if there's no dick in it. But what about
Bob? They say he was married once--like back in Computer
School somewhere. But now he just jerks off to Japanese
Manga, stuffs himself with ice cream and has always wished
he had the guts to go out and 'date' a crackwhore on Saturday
night. Bob will be the first one to tell you he hasn't
had any fun since, well, his mother spanked him for getting
in her panty drawer and he got wood over her nylonic knee.
Even his therapist falls asleep when he's talking.
Then there's Kat, the TV crackwhore from
West Hollywood, whose claim to fame is that Eddie Murphy
once stopped to give her (him) a ride...only. With the
sidewalk crouched at her long, lean legs, an ass as hard
as a basketball and lips that could suck the Titanic up
from the bottom of the ocean, it was obvious the poor
'girl' just needed a ride. And say hello to Tim, permanent
resident of planet geek. He's a salesman for Tektonics
who likes to rent DVDs and eat light butter microwave
popcorn and--whoops!--"How'd that crackwhore get in my
Ranger XLT on the way to 7-Eleven?"
And here's Tina, the crackwhore from the
Tenderloin in San Francisco, who once thought about being
a dental hygienist; and Tom, the forty-something white
male who's never been outside of Marin County, who once
had sex after a basketball game back in high school when
the girl was so drunk she didn't realize she was fucking
Geekboy till it was way too late--like, after he'd cum
inside her two whole seconds after he entered her.
But what about Billie? She was once a
bona fide manicurist back in Portland. How about those
perfect gold nails digging into your tight nutsack as
you're getting ready to make her day, or, at least her
next pipe dream come true. And that's no wig. Those are
real hair extensions that come all the way down to an
ass that gets smaller and tighter with every hit she takes.
That's right Billie: Every twenty you take, every orgasm
you fake, we'll be watchin' you. Back in Portland, the
cruisers in their pickups on the lower east side call
her the mouth that keeps on giving. And when she takes
out her teeth, well, you'd better be ready for crackwhore
heaven. And who should we find overseeing this test of
wills? Why, none other than Kathy Lee Gifford, scolding
each and every guy who strays off the path and into the
crackwhore drink.
Who will survive? Who will cave in and
get a blowjob first? Who will get voted off for having
the raunchiest junk food farts? Who will punch Kathy
in her little chatty mouth? Which crackwhore will conquer
the most small, pathetic white pricks? Because the crackwhore
that sucks the most dick gets to give a blowjob a week
for life to Hugh Grant. And should any one of these
white turds endure the whole three weeks without getting
blown away, he will receive his very own, life-sized
Kathy Lee Gifford blow-up doll that says, "Fuck you,
Regis! I'm going to Crackwhore Island." And double cheeseburgers
for life at Jack-Off In the Box.
Tune in tomorrow for episode one where
the white bread arrives on the island in little rubber
rafts and gets greeted by the hungry horde of crackwhores
wearing nothing but leopard-print bikinis and see-through
vinyl raincoats.
Because reality TV this good is hard
to swallow. Or, as Sartre would say: "Sex is
a hole."
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