Skip to main content

Striking In Pink

by The Urban Blabbermouth
At his daily news conference, Grand City's Police Chief, George Trueblueblood, mentioned that his patrol officers reported that they have not seen any prostitutes on the streets for the past week. 

When questioned by reporters, the Chief commented, "There are rumors about a dispute between the women and their pimps.  The Vice Squad is looking into it. This is a good trend and I hope it continues. Yes, it looks like the Ladies of the Evening have gone on strike and have stayed home."

I visited a local bar with a reputation as a meeting place for men and women.  I interviewed some of the men there and coincidentally, they were all named John. 

Said one John, "I just wanted to have a little fun.  I don't want them to strike."

Said another John, "What are we suppose to do?  Go home to our wives?"

Since none of the wives were present, I could not determine if they appreciated the increased attention from their husbands.

This reporter was confronted by two women in slinky pink dresses with over- exposed cleavages.  The first identified herself as Lady Holly and apologized for intruding.  She claimed to be a Working Girl and wanted to express their position, "We are on strike to improve our working conditions.  We want a better share of the money.  We do all the work and they, our pimps, get all the profits."

Her companion stated, "We are also looking for some other improvements too.  We are demanding softer mattresses.   In this business, we take quite a pounding and a softer mattress is a must." 

She continued, "We want some physical training too.  If we improve our skills, we can offer more services and charge more.  Every one benefits.  We want some acting lessons.  We can't just lie there and let things happen. Our customers like it when we participate.  We have to fake it to please our customers.  Its not easy to fake it time after time, hour after hour."

Added the first, "That’'s right.  We want uniforms too.  The way young girls dress now, It’s hard to tell who is a working girl.  A uniform will tell our customers who we are.  Give us a professional look."

None of the pimps present would comment on the ladies' demands. 


Popular posts from this blog

A Subway Journey Home

by The Urban Blabbermouth. Comments are welcome! ~ There is a ritual to theNew York City subway system. Once there, you lose your humanity.  You are transformed into a savage, brutal and selfish automaton.  Savage in that you push and shove other riders out of your way to get into the subway car.  Brutal in that you never excuse yourself for any atrocities that you commit to get in the subway car.  Selfish in that you never give up your seat to anyone, no matter how crippled or old or pregnant they are.  Automaton in that you never look at any one else as a human being.

Now there are certain strategies that you can employ to be a successful subway rider.  You can stand by the door and obstruct the way just to be selfish and ornery.  That strategy is designed to increase your standing with your fellow passengers by impressing them with how vicious you can be pushing back at people trying to push into the car.  Whenever I see this strategy employed, I immediately piggy back on it.  I move …

Gone Shopping

by The Urban Blabbermouth
Dracula escorted his newly created undead aide into the store.

"...and you need to sleep in the daytime," he explained.

"But what are we doing here in Sleepy's Mattress store?" asked his aide. "I thought we slept in coffins."

"We are modern now," replied Dracula. "We use a mattress like anyone else. I tell you, after two hundred years of sleeping on rock and dirt, this is a joy. So much more comfortable and you don't have to haul it around from place to place."

"Amazing," said the aide.

"For a newbie like you, maybe you want to go traditional. Sleepy's has a Posturedic that will fit inside a coffin."

"What do you use?" asked the aide.

"I have a sleep-number bed. I love it. Mrs. Dracula can toss and turn and I don't feel it on my side."

"Now that you mention the ladies, I think I will skip the coffin. A moo…

I Swear!

by Vol-E

I've lived in the south for over 30 years. Having grown up as a New Yorker, there were some changes to get used to once I crossed the Mason-Dixon line.

Language was a big one. My parents were well-behaved in public, but behind the closed doors of our home, they taught me all kinds of interesting vocabulary words, as they took their everyday frustrations out on one another. "Jerk" and "bastard" were two of the earliest ones, but by the time I was about eight, I knew pretty much every one of George Carlin's pet no-nos.

It was only in college that I met people who were outspokenly offended by swear words. The ones that raised eyebrows initially were related to religion. I began to think twice about using "hell" and "damn," and was politely informed one day that "God's last name is not 'dammit.'" So I gradually began censoring myself a bit, which was probably a good thing, once I joined the work force. Macy…