26 Mar 2008, Posted by admin , 0 Comments

Stripper VS Gold-Digger

24 Mar 2008, Posted by jay rusovich , 0 Comments

Stripper vs Gold-Digger – We Report, You Decide

The following is yet another paraphrased, embellished, or otherwise, vastly improved iteration of an actual conversation between two women at a Houston wine bar.

S: They never see you coming, do they? 
    
GD: These men want a fix; a higher high. A faster car. A more expensive home. They want it all because they think they deserve it all. I’m just the facilitator. 
    
S: Meaning you con them under the pretense of what? Love?
  
GD: They don’t see it that way. They like the chase; pretense or no pretense.

S: My customers get exactly what they pay for because they know what I’m selling.
 
GD: Maybe that’s all your customers can afford. Rich, powerful men like a challenge. They like to imagine that they have you…even if they don’t. That’s the hook. The fantasy makes them feel alive. For that, I get my needs met; all without having to pole dance.
 
S: Let me see if I understand this: You’re saying that men are fully aware of your motives, but go along with the game because it turns them on; which in turn makes you feel validated for lying? 

GD: When you dance for your customers, you pander to their fantasies in some way. But in the end, you don’t give a shit about anything but their money.
          
S: I’m not a prostitute. I don’t turn tricks for cash. I don’t pretend to be something I’m not. The men who come in to see me know exactly what they’re getting into. 

GD: A bit self-righteous of you to think that stripping has more dignity than marrying for money. At least the guy gets something back; which is more than I can say for your twenty dollar lap-dances…not to mention the fact giving birth is often a sacrifice I have to make for keeping the money coming in.

S: When my clients pay twenty dollars for a lap dance, they get a lap dance. Not a baby. That’s my job. At least I’m upfront about it.
   
GD: It’s all the same. Everyone has to make a living one way or another. Our approaches are different, that’s all.

S: You know it’s interesting the way you spin this conversation into a referendum on moral relativism. There’s a distinction between telling a wealthy man that you’re in love with him, and telling him that what you’re referring to is his money.

GD: You do exactly the same thing.

S: In a strip club! As opposed to some country club you don’t belong to; but somehow manage to frequent.
    
COMMENT:  There is a fifth dimension beyond that which is known to admitted to by wealthy men. It is a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity. It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition, and it lies between the pit of man’s fears and the summit of his knowledge. This is the dimension of imagination delusion fueled by pathological narcissism. It is an area which we call the Twilight Zone.      
 
                   

19 Jun 2007, Posted by jay rusovich , 2 Comments

Bootcamp for Gold-Diggers [Chapter Two]

Listen up, girls…

Like other major urban centers across America, Houston is home to a large number of single and/or divorced men of means [MONEY]. And of course, where there is demand [for money], there is usually a supply — whether or not that “supply” is cognizant of its relevance to a food chain. Most of these guys have paid their dues [and half their adult lives] working for some multi-national public company; many have been married and divorced, had children…and now want to enjoy an unfettered good life. Lucky for you, what got them to the top has rendered them easy pickins for those of you on the bottom.
 
Put another way, would you train a battalion of U.S. Marines to fight a world war by sitting in meetings all day? Not in my world. 

The fact is, when it comes to attractive women, otherwise well-educated, middle-age, successful men are complete idiots. They’re sitting ducks, or, as we affectionately term them [in the trade]: “soft targets…” limping gazelles in the eyes of predators along the endless migration trails. This will be the guiding metaphor for your “professional” lives.
 
Don’t blow it.

Nailing these men requires a modicum of effort once you’ve achieved the basics outlined in Chapter One. Now it’s time to blend in with the herd. You must now worm your way into a casual, upscale establishment like, say, The Houstonian Club.  I don’t care what you have to do to make this happen, just do it. All you need is one invitation. I would suggest going with a “girlfriend” to a happy hour at a place like Flemmings. Dress for sex, girls. But don’t overkill it. You want to convey that you know what the hell you’re doing between the sheets [while reminding your targets of what they’re missing] without looking like a street walker. Just a hint of tawdriness is enough to make them salivate. Physically, you must be tan, very fit and sexy; everything their former wives are not.
 
Once you get the invitation – and remember most guys that frequent places like Flemmings and Pesce are members of The Houstonian [no matter what kind of shape they happen to be in] – you must carefully plan your attack. Meet your “John” at the club. Do not let him pick you up. You want to appear as available as possible, and you will need your space to stake things out. If the guy is single, you might get an invitation to join him at the pool. All the better, as you can now openly flaunt your physical attributes. Before you know it, the guys will sense that you’re from – you know – the other side, and will start making their moves. Tell them anything you want. I don’t give a crap how many social security numbers or felony arrest records you have, just make up something that sounds interesting. If your ass is round enough, they’ll forget all about your story.
 
The key here is to pay attention. You must learn to distinguish the posers from the heavy-hitters. You do not want a guy who can merely afford to join the club. You want the guy who can afford to buy the club and still buy you a Bentley and a Gulfstream. Believe me, it’s not that tough. Use the internet. Public Data dot com is a good start. Get their driver’s license numbers if they’re dumb enough to leave their wallet’s on the table while going to the restroom. Drive by their homes. Ask around. If your first date is successful, it won’t take long before you’re invited to the ubiquitous “benefit;” an event where you’ll meet some of the world’s most successful gold-diggers. They will see you coming, so just smile. Be nice. Be polite. Keep your mouth shut. Don’t make a single enemy. There’s plenty of room for newcomers who play by the rules.
 
COMING UP in Chapter Three: How to spread the word of your arrival…or how to get published in PaperCity.