Archive for the ‘the-maitre-d-at-canal-bar’ Category
Whores; pterodactyls swarming.
In the-maitre-d-at-canal-bar on July 18, 2008 at 6:00 pmI’m getting pretty sick and tired of the missed used term of the word ‘whore’.
1. To have unlawful sexual intercourse; to practice lewdness.
When you sell yourself for money. And I’m getting real ticked off at everyone’s, “Oh I’m such a whore!” Yeah. Okay. Sure you are.
“Sorry, I scarred you, but that’s what happens when you fall in love with a whore.”
Guess again, sweetheart, you’re not a whore at ALL, so STFU.
“Example two: when she was at the rave, she would go up to RANDOM MEN, complete strangers at that, and would dance on them. Not with them, ON them.
Yea. She likes to act like she is some sort of whore.”
No. That’s not a whore. She’s fucking 13, what the hell does she know of sex?
What does everyone have against whores? I’m so sick and tired of everyone bringing the word into their vocabulary. I’m getting so fucking pissed off at how everyone just parades the word about like it’s fucking okay. So what does everyone have against whores?
Everyone has to make a living, don’t they?
Whores do not have sex because they want too, or because they want the feeling.
People, it’s about the money. THE MONEY. I’m on the verge of tears, practically sputtering with anger. Just shut up. Unless you know someone who actually is a whore, like I do, then you have no fucking right to even talk about it. And Lydia was one fine hell of a girl. She was never up front about what she did, never called herself a whore. Just said she had some business to take care of that lasted an hour in a hotel room.
“It’s like afterwards they can’t see me anymore. I could walk by them and they’d never notice. I’m invisible to most people…”
She was amazed that we had even seen her. Amazed. She said that usually nobody could see her, that we must’ve been special like her too, that she was surrounded by a bubble that only allowed people to glimpse her for a moment.
At seventeen she ran away from home, left school, to there, Alaska, and worked two jobs, living with five other people in a small apartment. Sometimes in her car.
She never threw herself at men. Never went looking for attention or sex or anything of that sort. She was just a cheerful twenty-five year old woman that believed in magic still, believed she was still able to make it out of there.
Just because any of you parade around flaunting yourself doesn’t make you a whore. It doesn’t make you anything. It’s the choices we make that decide what our futures will be like, and I can bet a shit load of money that you’ll never actually be what you idiots say you are.
You can talk shit all you want, have sex with as many people you can find, dress real tacky, have absolutely no self control or self respect and you’ll never know, never ever know, or have the privilege to call yourself a whore. It’ll never be a want, but a have to. A need to survive by giving away the only thing men want, what absolute strangers want–sex. There is no self benefit or great pleasure. You don’t even have to be pretty. But it doesn’t matter, because you’re hungry.
