Why Hookers Love Republicans
At the GOP Convention, where scores of sex pros gear up to party with "moral"
conservatives
"BoBo? It's Syndee. You ready, girl? The convention starts in an hour, and the senators are salivating!"
"Hi, Syn! Almost ready! Just finishing my makeup. Hey, which outfit you think I should wear tonight? My red, white, and blue glitter spandex halter with the peekaboo panties, or the red vinyl skirt with the Velcro tear-away crotch and the big picture of the M-1 tank on the butt?"
"Oooh, I'd go with the tank, Bo. This is the GOP convention, girl! These Republicans love their war, you know? It's all about big phallic missiles and manly howitzers and 'weapons of bellybutton destruction.' Be sure to use that line, too -- they eat that stuff up. Hurry up! The cab's waiting!"
"Howitz-what? Hang on one more minute, Syn -- I wanna look my best. After all, I hear we got a lot of competition this week."
"Bo, there's so many strippers and hookers in town to play 'hide the WMD' with these conservatives, it would make Larry Flynt proud. They flew in from London, Seattle, L.A., all over, just for this, because demand is so high."
"Wow! Wait wait wait, I'm confused. Aren't the Republicans supposed to be the 'moral,' sex-hating, anti-women, Bible-quoting ones? I don't get it."
"Worst-kept secret in all of politics, Bo. It's a fact: Demand for sex workers is at an all-time high when the GOP convention's in town. Hell, there was even a New York Daily News article about it a while back. These Repubs are such a desperately horny, repressed bunch, they just can't get enough of paying for 'amoral' sex. So ironic. If Middle America only knew how this group is so fulla perverts and horndogs, they'd have a fit."
"I bet they already know, and just don't wanna 'fess up to it? I mean, I even heard that little Johnny Ashcroft has a secret fetish for tequila and handcuffs."
"So true! It's funny, people think the GOP convention must be all about square dancing and white-wine spritzers and bow ties and wistful Reaganomics. Ha! Remember, BoBo, this is the party of guns and corporate money and repressed homosexuality and big oil, misogyny and Xanax addictions and war war war. These GOP boys have some good issues. Deep-seated anxieties and fears and the most extensive secret gay-porn collections you've ever seen! Cut these boys loose among their own and it's like putting a priest in a schoolyard."
"Mysog-what? Wow, you sure know a lot, Syn! Are you, like, psychic or something?"
"Girl, I've seen enough Repubs sneak out on their wives to make Jerry Falwell quiver. Working this convention is like giving candy to starving children. Plus, I was a speechwriter for Bush the Elder back in '92. I worked the convention floor as a delegate."
"What? You? No way! You mean to say you wasn't always in the sex biz? You was one of these weird GOP people? What happened?"
"Simple, Bo. I realized I'd make a helluva lot more money sucking terrified corporate GOP donors than I ever would sucking their party's hateful, anti-everything policy. What, you think there's really a difference between sellin' yourself for sex and sellin' yourself for some conservative senator's store-bought hypocritical stance on gun control? In this game, Bo, we're all potatos for a cause. We're all gettin' screwed. I'm just turning the tables."
"Damn, Syn. Now you're depressing me. And I'm still confused. You tellin' me these Republicans, they ain't got high values? It's all a bulls-- game? They don't really believe in anything?"
"Oh, they believe, all right. It's what they believe in that's the scary part. Most of these johns long ago sacrificed their creativity, their sexuality, their individual identities for some vaguely totalitarian, self-flagellating thing they think gives their lives meaning and virtue, when it actually does the exact opposite. Sorta like born-again Christians, but with a lot more alcoholism and nightmares about flesh-eating leeches."
"OK, that is just so, like, gross."
"Remember, Bo, when the Catholic Church flew us to Boston to go work that priests' conference? And they told us to dress up as nuns so the media wouldn't catch on? Remember that desperate look in the eyes of those sad, lost pastors as they gave us "communion"? Same thing here, except these boys pay cash. Lots of cash. Funny thing about repression and guilt: It makes you a great tipper."
"Are they really all that bad? I mean, I always sorta liked that Bill O'Reilly guy on TV. Isn't he all conservative? Gettin' all red-faced and frothy about gays and liberals, while you just know he's got a thing for ball gags and latex."
"Got that right, Bo. All's I'm sayin' is, there may be a lot of "escorts" here this week, but demand is so high you won't be hurtin' for business. And don't worry about looking all that spectacular, neither. These boys haven't seen much by way of hot sex since they logged off AOL's Hot Lonely Teens chat room at RNC HQ. They're so desperate for nookie, they'll giggle like schoolgirls if you let them see your thigh."
"Don't sound all that different than those other ones, the Democrats, right? I heard they're just as lonely and horny. And uptight."
"True, but at least they can still look you in the eye when they pay you. Sad thing is, the Dems ain't been the same since Clinton left. They used to have it so together. I mean, how great was it to have a president who was so appreciative of the female form, so unashamed of having an active libido? Sure, he was a little sleazy about it, but, damn, I'd take that in a heartbeat over these dead-fish Viagra-poppin' GOP hypocrites, thumping their Bibles with one hand while the other is sliding up my skirt."
"Ha! You nailed it, Syn. Hell, the best customer I ever had was some guy who claimed he was a Clinton adviser. Man, could that guy work the Hitachi. Said he learned it all from playing poker with Bill. Or was it Hillary?"
"That reminds me: Remember what I told you about these Repubs, BoBo. Never, ever use their real names, or look 'em straight in the eye. Makes 'em all jumpy. Just pretend you don't know they're Paul Wolfowitz, or whatever.
"Paul Wolfo-who?
"Wolfowitz. Deputy defense guy. Very slimy."
"Wolfo ... yuck. Sounds like some sort of mangy dog."
"Oh, trust me, he is. Three little words about what he likes: cold, cooked spaghetti. And one guess as to where."
"Ewww!"
"You got the notes I gave you?"
"Yep, right here: Mr. DeLay likes to be called "Thumper," Mr. Lott loves it if you pretend to be a naughty 13-year-old Amish girl, Mr. Santorum loves to be tied up and spanked with a dead salmon and they all love it if you pretend to be Hillary Clinton and carry a whip."
"You got it. And don't forget Lynne Cheney and her lesbian-fantasy thing. She'll pay extra."
"Martha Stewart wig, check."
"I'm tellin' ya, you can never go wrong with the gay-fantasy thing for these people. For the men, just dress up as a schoolboy or a Greek towel boy and sit on their lap and whisper about how you really, really love the feel of the Patriot Act rubbed up against your cheeks. They'll melt in your hand."
"Schoolboy uniform, check."
"You about ready now? Damn, that tank miniskirt looks hot, Bo! You're gonna have to peel 'em off you."
"And check this out! Little American flags painted over my nipples! Wolfo-whateverhisnameis can count the stripes!
"Perfect! I love it! Raise the flag and see who salutes, girl! Let's roll!"
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