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Mar
18

Whore Island

The greatest conversation I ever had was with someone I’d just met and barely knew. We sat at a diner making small talk and for the life of me I can’t remember how the topic even came up but we suddenly stopped talking business and instead he asked me what I would do if I came into a large amount of money.

I threw the dice and hoped he had a sense of humor. I told him I’d buy a small island and the only people allowed on it would be attractive prostitutes.

Not the typical subject matter you’d discuss with someone you’d just met but I was bored and feeling a bit devil-may-care.

He got a small smile on his face and the next thing I knew our lunches had come and gone we had created an entire set of laws for governing “Whore Island.”

I don’t think either of us had ever really understood just how jaded we were but once those balls got rolling, there was nothing we could do to stop them. They were moving under their own power. Fueled by the most powerful force in the universe: lust.

I felt the nucleotides of my DNA curl and uncurl ever so slightly.

The only people allowed to step foot on the isle were hot girls. They would be in charge of some aspect of daily life or other but the most important thing they had to realize when they accepted the position was that at any time the owner of the island could walk right up and penetrate any opening they desired as often as they desired. The maids, cooks, and groundskeepers were all fair game. There would be strict dress codes enforced in addition to a mandatory age requirement that included the guideline “If there’s grass on the field, play ball.” Then there was the regulation that at no time was there to be grass on the field.

The girls would be brought by boat to work one month shifts before euthanized and dumped overboard on the return trip.

I think the waitress overheard that particular bit and gave us a disgusted look. My new friend suggested she was just mad because she would have never made the cut to be asked to work on Whore Island in the first place.

Then things got a little weird.

If you’re familiar with the transgressive anti-joke known as “The Aristocrats,” you’ll have a basic understanding of where the conversation went from there. If you are not familiar with “The Aristocrats” I suggest you find the video of Gilbert Gottfried telling it at the 2001 Friar’s Roast of Hugh Hefner and watch it in all haste.

The sickest part of it all is I didn’t say a single thing that wasn’t true and I don’t think the other guy did either. I might have exaggerated a few things, but the more I talked the more I realized what a twisted fuck I really am and why it was important for the sake of humanity that I never come into a large amount of money.

We ordered more drinks, non-alcoholic of course. I don’t think I could have plumbed such depths under the influence. I needed all my wits about me if I was going to dig this deep.

Ties were loosened and we began to use the various condiment dispensers on the table to illustrate particularly involved concepts; it was a full two years before I was able to drink a glass of milk without shuddering after it was used as a prop in a way that if I described it here in any detail would cause you to become lactose intolerant. What we did with the plate of nachos would make a hardened crime scene investigator find religion.

Together we explored every inch of the sexual haunted houses that sat upon our shoulders, laughing every time something new came popping out of some dark recess. Sometimes until we couldn’t get a breath. Sometimes until it hurt.

We had the entire compound drawn on a napkin in such detail that any architect would nod his head in admiration and any law enforcement officer would reach for his handcuffs.

It was glorious. A truly freeing experience that I recommend to every man. I’m not sure you can even call yourself a man unless you’ve had this talk. So far beyond the birds and bees that I hesitate to even bring them into this.

Whore Island.

The funny thing is I never spoke to the guy again. It was almost like an understanding between us that while we both had a great time chatting, we could never again speak to each other. Ever. If I ever heard that he’d come into a large amount of money, I think I’d have to set sail and kill him and I’d fully expect him to return the favor.

Then I went home to Nerd Apartment.

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