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eXile - Issue #160 - Whore-R Stories - Whore-R Stories: the Sluts of Slutsk - By Mark Ames Moscow-based alternativenewspaper Search the eXile All Issues This Issue This Author This Column | Advanced Search... Email thousands of beautiful Russian Ladies! Home | Archive | Club Guide | Restaurant Guide | Songs | Field Guide To Moscow | Political Trading Cards | About Us Browse Column (19) Previous (1) Next (17) Whore-R Stories: the Sluts of Slutsk By Mark Ames ( editor at exile ru ) Browse Author (147) Previous (54) Next (90) I n the last issue, I made the claim that the line between a slut and a whore in Russia is rather blurred. In this, the second installment of Whore-R Stories, I'm going to examine the other side of the equation: The Slut. What better place to test the slut-whore-equation theory than in the Belorussian town of Slutsk. I nit you shot, folks. There really is such a town, located about 100 kilometers southwest of Minsk. Ever since my first and only visit to Belarus over five years ago, the land of Europe's last dictator has always held a special place in my heart (and other organs). Minsk, after all, is where I first discovered the White God Factor. But a provincial town with a name like Slutsk must have something much more than a White God factor - say, a Big Bang God Factor ... As a professional investigative journalist and veteran explorer of the FSU's hinterlands, I knew that fate, as well as desperation, would draw me to Slutsk and, like Stanley in the Congo, I'd report the exotic findings back to my readers. Only instead of bringing back shrunken heads, I hoped to bring back carefully preserved samples of chlamydia, smuggled on my person. The two-and-a-half hour bus ride from Minsk to Slutsk cost two dollars. On the outskirts of town there is a familiar cluster of 8 and 16-story paneli, Brezhnev-era housing projects, dirty white with blue or purple stripes straight down the elevator shaft. In the center of town the structures are smaller, a mix of pre-Revolutionary two- and three-story houses painted yellow, green and pink, side by side with Soviet concrete boxes. Slutsk is run by a Saiko. Literally. The head of the Slutsk city council, with its cookie-cutter Lenin statue out front, is named Saiko. Slutsk has one hotel, aptly named "Hotel Slutsk," on the main street, Ulitsa Lenina. There was fresh blue paint in the lobby. The elevator didn't work. I was given a room on the fourth floor. A single for $33, not exactly cheap. After wandering around town freezing my ass off for most of the afternoon while trying to get noticed, I took a rest in my hotel room then headed back out. It wasn't looking good. The two top restaurants were butt empty. I found a cafe that looked promising, slut-wise. Standing outside the entrance were two women - not girls, but women - bundled in cheap fur coats and hats. They smiled as I passed, and I said hello with a pronounced foreign accent. The cafe had only two patrons. One man was slumped in his chair; his friend scowled at me, one eye open. I sat at the far end and ordered 150 grams of cheap cognac. Just then, one of the women from outside the cafe entered, walked towards and then passed me, turned to leave, then turned around a second time and said to me, "We feel sorry for you being alone. Would you like to join us somewhere else?" "Sure," I said. "Meet us outside." She walked out. I downed as much of the cognac as I could take and asked the bartender, an aging woman, "Are all Slutsk girls this friendly?" "Only if the person is from out of town," she answered. I joined the two women outside the door. "That cafe was horrible, we couldn't even stand being in there," said the one who'd rescued me. Her name was Olga, and the other one was her younger sister, Yulia. They told me that there was a much better caf down the street with a better crowd. They were waiting to join a friend of theirs, Alla. We powerwalked along the ice as best we could to the next cafe, called V Dalee ot Zhyon, or Far Away From The Wives. It was crowded, packed mostly with young banditibees in black leather coats. A few had young girlfriends on their arms, cute ones too. Alla stood at the counter and ordered: a carafe of vodka, four crab and mayonnaise salads, sliced ham, bread, Sprite, and a bottle of Medvedovskaya Krov wine for Olga. Adding two more vodka carafes and other goodies, the whole bill came to nine dollars. I sat next to Olga, who told me that she'd spent the whole past week inside her apartment and that today, she'd decided to go out with her sister and Alla. I didn't really get a good look at Alla yet. Her face was either hidden in a full fur hood on the street, or she was at the bar giving endless orders. It wasn't until she took a seat directly across from me that I literally yelped, knocking into the table: her face looked exactly like the possessed witch in Army of Darkness, the same long shock of silver hair, a gray complexion, gnarled nose and a mouth full of metal teeth: "You shall never get the necronomicon! We shall feast upon your sooooooul..." I had to drink fast. It was clear that I was supposed to be paired up with Olga, who was passably attractive despite the complex wrinkles around and under her eyes. I stole glances at the mini-mafia molls, wondering to myself why I, considering my White God Factor, was stuck with a bunch of old hags, and whether I should try my luck elsewhere. But there was no elsewhere. Olga was thirty-three years old. She told me she'd been to Poland many times, and had recently been to Moscow. Her sister Yulia was twenty-seven. She was one of three sisters and two brothers in the family. I asked Yulia if all Slutsk families were so big, five children, not exactly the norm in modern Russia. "Yeah, we're all like this. I know a family of ten. There's nothing else to do." Yulia said she'd worked for six years as a dancer at Stary Zamok, the town's top restaurant. I assume that meant she was a whore, if the distinction matters. She seemed both proud and unhappy about having been a dancer there -- "It's the best restaurant in Slutsk" -- after six years, she had nothing to show, and now she worked in a factory. That's how she met Alla. Alla told me that the owners of the cafe respected her because just the night before, she'd found her "man" there with three other women and she beat the shit out of him and one of his lovers who hadn't managed to escape. "I beat him unconscious," she said, brandishing her fist and laughing. "You shouldn't mess with me. That bastard. I did everything for him. I worked and put a roof over his head, and he goes and takes three lovers." None of this was helping my mojo: aging women, a haunt who doubled as a man-beater, images of Alla having sex with some unemployed, salo-fattened prole, and him with his three lovers... Alla told me she'd once beaten the shit out of Yulia. That's how they became friends. Yulia lived in the same podezd as Alla. And Yulia carried on an affair with Alla's then-boyfriend. Alla found out, stalked Yulia, and stomped her. After that, they became friends. To prove it, they kissed like a pair of football players, smacking loudly but very un-sexually. Olga quietly emptied the bottle of Bear's Blood next to me. She was amazed that I was American. "I've known Polacks," she said. "I thought you were a Caucasian. You seemed nice and handsome, a foreigner, so I decided we should rescue you from the club." The night starts to get blurry here. I pushed myself to go on until the bitter end, to get the story. But the cheap liquor, the travel and cold suddenly put a sleeping spell on me. I remember we stumbled across the road to Stary Zamok, but it had closed early for lack of a single client -- on a Thursday night! They led me to some kind of second-floor club with a bar and a small disco. All I remember is ordering the worst pelmeni of my life, and eating it. Then stealing some of Yulia's horrific fried meat balls -- tongue meat in a brown chewy foam-like batter. I was burping up bad pelmeni meat into Olga's face as she tried to keep the mojo going. "I smell your pelmeni." "I know." "You want to sleep, don't you?" I was sound asleep in my chair for most of the rest of the evening, I mean deep REM sleep, until they mercifully decided to leave. Olga pulled me away from the other two and walked me downstairs. "You want to stay with me at my place, don't you?" she said. "Yes, I want to stay at your place," I said. She bundled me into a taxi, and I passed out again. Then awoke in the projects. We rode the elevator up to her apartment. A mountain bike blocked the door -- she moved it aside -- and in the first room next to the entry hall, I noticed the head of a young teenager, the Bobby Brady of Belarus, resting on a pillow. He told Olga that "he" had called a few times. "He" turned out to be her "man," as she called him, a Czech businessman who was part husband, part sponsor. Olga closed the door to her son's bedroom, which probably doubled as the TV room as well, and whispered to me, "My man feels that I'm with someone. Men can sense these things. You understand?" "Yeah, I understand," I said, stung, because for the most part men don't understand. She called her "man" on her phone, while I crashed on her bed, a double made out of two twins pushed together covered with a pink comforter. Olga woke me up and asked me if I wanted to take a shower. "No." She came back again what seemed like hours later with a towel. "Go take a shower," she said. I snapped the towel and lifted myself up. I couldn't pass out here. Good money had been sunk into the Slutsk expedition. And here I was, in the slut's very own habitat, as close to the kill as anyone could hope to be. The eXile's shareholders would never forgive me if I copped out now. She took her obligatory pre-sex dyev shower after seeing mine through. I kept myself awake by trying to record the details of her bedroom. It was modestly luxurious by early 90s Warsaw Pact standards. She had a gaudy pink light fixture, a kind of mini-chandelier with pink glass orchids and various blooming lamp pedals. Above the dresser mirror was a collection of German hair styling spray bottles. They must be hard to find in Slutsk -- I remember Czechs and Poles displaying their Western cans of spray and soft drinks in the early 90s. Olga also had large posters of scantily-clad women on her walls, including one in a bikini thong whose figure had been cut out from the rest of the poster and glued to the wall. When Olga returned I pounced. She wasn't what I'd expected: instead of the lumpy, smelly, sweaty body of a typical aging provincial slut, she was thin, much prettier with all her clothes off, with something of Meg Ryan's mouth (not that I like Meg Ryan) and a fashionable mom hairdo. The other surprise was how dry her snapper was. I remember what Dr. Limonov had written about older women's pussies -- "like glue" -- it was one of the reasons why he "gave advices" to "throw away older wife, get yourself young teenage girl." Her small breasts had large No. 2 pencil eraser nipples, but no matter what tricks I tried pulling out of my bag, her snapper was like cloth, like putting your fingers between worn leather cushions on an old couch. "It's been so long since I've been with a man," she told me. I tried to close the deal, but it wasn't working. "I'll get some cream," she said. She stood up and opened a drawer in her dresser. God knows how I managed to maintain wood during this -- I'm not happy about it, believe me. She squirted some cream into her hand and worked it into her gluey snapper. That made things marginally better. Finally I worked my way in. But for all my effort I didn't get much pleasure and nothing close to an orgasm. I passed out after - maybe five minutes, maybe thirty, maybe an hour, I really have no idea. Early the next morning I awoke with a rancid hangover and a mouth nearly as dry as her pussy. The neighbors upstairs were stomping around. "Let me put on some music," she said. She played some kind of Italian pop cassette on her box. "I've had a problem with my neighbors ever since I moved here," she said. "They don't work. They're both alcoholics. They wake up every morning at six and stomp around loudly. It used to be worse. They'd put on some kind of hard soles and stomp loudly on their wooden floor. I called the militia on them. It only made them angrier. So I went upstairs and demanded that they not wake me up at 6am. I screamed. They're a couple, in their forties, with a 16-year-old boy. They were rude, so I forced my way in and beat the hell out of both of them. They were so drunk, and I was angry. Alla's not the only one - I can do that too." It was hard to imagine Olga like Alla -- in the morning she appeared, in spite of her sandpaper snapper, even prettier. "I bought them carpeting. They took it. It's much better now, but it's still unbearable, isn't it?" "It's pretty loud," I agreed. It was hard to imagine that there was carpeting muffling their shoes -- it must have sounded like a construction site before. "I tried everything. I tried being nice. I brought back chocolates from Brno when I visited my man. The 16-year-old upstairs loved them too much. He called me a later and said, 'Those chocolates were so good. If you don't bring me more of those chocolates soon, I'm really going to make a racket upstairs, and much earlier than ever.'" "You should have told him that if he ever threatened you again, he'd never see another Czech chocolate in his life," I said. "I did. I told him, 'Who the hell do you think you are, you little bastard?! I should come up there and tear you to pieces. You're threatening me?! Forget the chocolates! If I ever see you..." " -- Okay, I see," said, interrupting her. These Slutsk girls...someone should hustle them in mud wrestling competitions. I asked her about her "man." They'd met a year and a half ago. She took a job in a factory in Brno, working on a line, tying ribbons around packages of paper napkins. "I had financial difficulties, I had to find work," she said. The owner of the factory walked the floor one day and spotted Olga. "He saw me, pulled me off the line, told me he didn't want to subject me to such work ever again, and said he'd fallen in love. Just like that. I wasn't so sure. He's almost 50. He's an older man, with a stomach." So I'm not the only one acting out Count Tolstoi fantasies. The Czech understood the true advantage of running a sweatshop using cheap Slavic labor: that stroll down the factory line, inspecting the women workers, rating them, fantasizing about how desperate they are, and finally, choosing whichever one he wanted to "rescue," acting out some 19th century European fantasy. "He wants me to move to Brno, but I don't want to," Olga said. "My son, I want him to stay in school here. He also wants me to move to Moscow, where's he's considering opening up another factory. Assembling furniture and other stuff. I went to Moscow with him a few months ago. There's a Czech mafia in Moscow. We all went out for dinner and a long night at the casino: me, my man, the Czech mafia and the local Russian mafia who would be the krysha for his factory. At the end of the night, most of them had left their phone numbers in my purse. I was so surprised when I saw what they'd done. Of course I didn't tell my man. It would just upset him." Olga had married and birthed her son when she was nineteen. Her first husband was an Army type and a loser. He always wanted to punish the boy. They divorced after five years. The boy didn't want to see his father -- he was happy to have him out of his life. The father moved to Minsk. They saw each other once every year or two. Olga's own family were sluchyaninie on her mother's side, Siberians on her father's. Her grandmother told her about the Nazi occupation of Slutsk. "Most of the time the Nazis were okay. My grandmother and grandfather lived out in their dacha. The Germans would come back and say, 'Ekks!' They wanted eggs and food. My grandma said they were polite and paid for everything. Then they went crazier. Once they locked up as many people from the village as they could fit inside a barn and set it on fire. My grandmother heard the screams." "Wasn't Slutsk a Jewish town before the Nazis came?" "Yes, there were many Jews here. The Nazis killed all of them." "Are there any left?" "Not that I know of." Her parents both worked in the railroads. Her father was a signal man. Now he's an invalid. About two years ago he'd injured his leg badly in a railroad track accident and didn't get proper treatment for it. Being the hardy peasant type, he didn't complain as it got worse. Then it turned green and black. "He got gangrene. They had to amputate it. Now he doesn't want to live. He tells me that he wants to die and not be a burden to us. The gangrene may have spread to his other leg. He may have to have it amputated soon." I asked about Belorussian medical insurance, the one I was forced to purchase through the hotel as a tourist. "Ha! What medical insurance! You're on your own here. Actually the burden is all on my shoulders. Everyone barely survives. My man helps out a lot. It's one reason why I'm with him. He's good for my son, for my family. He helps with so much." Issue In #160 20 Feb 03 (2 years, 10 months old) Also in this Issue Adventures in Real Estate byMichaelAndrews It's getting towards the end of the month, and since my rent comes due, it's time to step up the search... Tapochki "A Health Threat" -Ministry Russia's Health Ministry finally admitted that "tapochki," or slippers, do not help to illnesses... Your Letters SIC! A TOTAL DUMBSHIT... FELCH-AN-HOUR... PLAYING WITH DONG... NECKING... DORK-U-MENTARY... Remedial Slander: Bhutan A low-oxygen entry taking up one-eighth cranial page... The Two Faces of Fred: A Journalistic Moral Tale Press Review byPhilbyBurgess Journalists are wonderful creatures in many ways, but on reflection I think it's their utter lack of self-awareness which most impresses me... Wilhelm Klink Invades Eastern-Front Real Estate Market Posing as a German consultant, we contacted Penny Lane Realty to see what it would take to get Comrade Andropov's apartment... Introducing the Schopenhauer Award! We're proud to present a new feature that will entertain and educate you, the knowledge-hungry eXhole!... Let 'Em Send Me to the Bughouse Again! Feature Story byDarZhutayev It's a quiet night here, by Shchukinskaya metro station. If you look out the window, you can see the twin towers of the swanky Aliye Parusa apartment complex... Bardak Calendar The Residents... Night Life Awards... Salvation Army Band... Slade And Sweet... Alisa... Death Porn WHEN THE CAT'S AWAY, THE MICE WILL DIE... THE BABYSITTER... NOBODY LIKES ME... MEANWHILE, IN PODMOSKOVIE... Appointments Receptionist... Maid... Personal Assistant... Driver... Security Guard... The Schmaltz Ghetto Book Review Some genres consist of one good book followed by thousands of disastrous failures... One Of Us Is Wrong Kino Korner byMarkAmes I've never gone out on a limb or exposed my hard-earned reputation to such total destruction as I will this issue... Social Awkwardness Among the Red Flags City Beat byJohnDolan Last Saturday your intrepid Ace City Beat Reporter set out for the antiwar demonstration at the American Embassy... Algeria: The Psychos Will Inherit the Earth War Nerd byGaryBrecher Some wars make it onto the TV news, and some don't. It's got nothing to do with how bloody or big they are... Fit to Print? In New York? byJakeRudnitsky It isn't every day you catch a journalist blowing their own lie. I'm talking about incontrovertible evidence, a smoking gun... Dork-A-Rama Club Review byDenisSalnikov A week ago Thursday, a group of my friends gathered at JUSTO's for sushi and cocktails... Temple's Prayers Answered Restaurant Review byKevinHooper For my final eXile review, I was invited to taste a brand new bar/pub/restaurant, TEMPLE BAR... The Medvedeva Woman byThierryMarignac The Medvedeva woman was impossible as everybody knows. She was prone to bouts of drunkedness, fits of hysteria, you name it... Set Font This feature requires JavaScript. Other Formats Printer-friendly Plain Text Email Article Email address(es): Note: Affiliate Links By buying from these merchants, you help to support and enhance our online presence. 200 beautiful RussianBrides a week! Photo galleries, personal profiles, introduction services. Travel to Russia Visa support, hotels, train tickets, tours and cruises. See your message here! Write to web_adv at exile ru Interested in advertising? Write to the_exile at mail ru "the eXile". Tel: +7 (095) 795-3376 , fax: +7 (095) 245-1415 E-mail: office at exile ru (website-related issues: webperson at exile ru )
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www.myspace.com/suspiciousclowns MySpace.com | Home The Web MySpace Help | SignUp Home | Browse | Search | Invite | Rank | Mail | Blog | Favorites | Forum | Groups | Events | Games | Music | Classifieds SUSPICIOUS CLOWNS "Where's the love? Right here, bitches!" 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( view more ) You've told us which one poops the best! ( view more ) Another Goddammed Winner! ( view more ) NEW CONTEST! The Kyle Ramos Question ( view more ) Listen to this Blog!! Clowns on the Radio!! ( view more ) [ View All Blog Entries ] SUSPICIOUS CLOWNS's Blurbs About me: We are not a band . We are, however, whorish by nature and want to be your friend. We are Suspicious Clowns , a sketch comedy group that has been tickling and/or offending people for four years. Our pictures are over on the left-hand column of this page. PLEASE NOTE that we all have access to this page --- thus, any one of us may write you or leave you random comments or make inappropriate suggestions for your pictures. THANKS TO EVERYONE FOR A FABULOUS 2005! "Suspicious Clowns is a marvel" Chicago Reader "A new way to do sketch comedy" Pioneer Press "Unpredictable" Chicago Arts & Entertainment ____________________________________ WWW.SUSPICIOUS CLOWNS.COM Chockful with sketches, pictures, diaries, performance schedules, more pictures, merchandise, even more pictures and some other things. ____________________________________ SUSPICIOUS CLOWNS STREAMS! Sample some of our material from your very own computer. ____________________________________ SUSPICIOUS CLOWNS MERCHANDISE! Stuff to make people nervous. SUSPICIOUS CLOWNS on MYSPACE Vincent Truman Robert Felker Kyle Ramos Caryn Culp Sharon Katzourin Andrea Hill The Puma S. Clowns Muzik Who I'd like to meet: Anyone, really. SUSPICIOUS CLOWNS's Friend Space SUSPICIOUS CLOWNS has 1560 friends. Mars Chad Billy T- Tank Girl .... Wa Bam!!! tinab. Phantom superlative View All of SUSPICIOUS CLOWNS's Friends SUSPICIOUS CLOWNS'sFriends Comments Displaying 50 of 788 comments ( View/Edit All Comments ) soulbeforeflesh Jan 10, 2006 11:23 AM show me them sweet titties Patty Jan 6, 2006 01:58 PM wait a minute...i barely noticed this about your comment... are you calling me fat ?!? *sobs dramatically* Anthony Frank Jan 4, 2006 06:39 PM wutup suspicious clown posse happy new year Got Emilie? Didn't think so. Jan 3, 2006 11:56 PM who is chris? i'd fuck anyone who likes sharks. happy new year. love, emilie i am a revenant. Jan 3, 2006 08:05 AM You guys are surprisingly nice clowns, unlike the ones that tried to disembowel my father back in 'Nam. Thanks for the Birthday/New Years lazer eyed Queen Elizabeth....she'll look great on my mantle. chris Jan 2, 2006 06:02 PM I must commend you on your customer service. Prompt and professional. If you need somebody to burp on command, or a mooner at your show, Im available. chris Jan 2, 2006 03:48 PM I didnt get a Queen Lizzie with Laser Eyes Happy F'n New Year comment and I am requesting one please. x$!Profeser^Kaos!$x Jan 2, 2006 02:00 PM hey u funny bastards......hope u had a suspiciously drunken New Year........ya bunch of clowns P.C. bite to break skin.™ Jan 2, 2006 01:09 PM windy. bleh. Doctor Who Dec 29, 2005 01:34 PM Happy New Year from Doctor Who...! Amy :P Dec 29, 2005 01:08 PM Katie Dec 29, 2005 09:59 AM Hello SP. *WARNING* The following will not make a lick of sense as I am pissed the fuck off: I feel like ranting and there is no one home and I cant find my bloody cell phone and I was looking at your new Top Eight and so I figure I could rant you a comment. Why the hell not? I look forawrd to getting a smart-ass response in my comment box. I fucking hate fucking dirty old pervert men who you never should have talked to in the first place who cant get out of your life when you call them out on being dirty old pervert men who prey on young girls with low self esteem. Dear dirty old pervert man, I told you up front I would simply use you to boost my self-esteem at a particular low point in my life which I am NOT proud of and do not wish to revisit. That's called honesty. You are creepy and will not get out of my life now that I am in a better place and realize how inappropriate and just gross you tend to be. So when I ask you to get out of my life and you tell me I am "acting my panty-size" and that I am "psycho" well sir, that does not reflect any better on your already smudged character. Fuck you, you icky, icky, ICKY man. Ah, thats better. Interesting how I complain about unwanted attention in such a way to get more attention, no? Random comments Dec 29, 2005 09:19 AM Clowns scare people Patty Dec 26, 2005 11:44 PM gosh darnit. now it's baby pictures for the top 8? what do i have to do to be on the top 8? Jellyfish in my head Dec 25, 2005 04:23 PM Oh yeah... and uh Happy Hannukah Jellyfish in my head Dec 25, 2005 04:22 PM Happy Jesusmas Mindy Dec 25, 2005 01:49 PM Merry X-Mas! Whatsername? Dec 24, 2005 06:30 PM Merry Christmas!!!! XoXo, Heather ~*Boom*Boom*Betty*~ Dec 24, 2005 11:29 AM MySpace Backgrounds at MySpace ToolBox I'd be medication for you Dec 24, 2005 09:52 AM MERRY XMAS EVE Anthony Frank Dec 24, 2005 07:27 AM merry clownmas Jennifer? Dec 23, 2005 12:38 PM Ahhhhhh. Happy [insert preferred holiday here & leave blank if you are a 'sinner' like me]. ~Jennifer? leyerle Dec 23, 2005 10:56 AM merry christmas dudes and dudettes. oh yeah, here's someone that should be a future friend of the week for you guys. http://www.myspace.com/sc0ttley Butterfly Princess Dec 23, 2005 09:27 AM MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!!! Amy :P Dec 23, 2005 08:19 AM Merry Christmas!!!!! Sharon Dec 21, 2005 07:16 AM fiona Dec 20, 2005 06:57 PM how'd you guys know i wanted a tough irish guy?! crazy. FANK Dec 20, 2005 11:13 AM Bling! Bling! FuCk OfF mOtHeR fUcKeR! Dec 19, 2005 12:29 PM I'm lovin my comment!!! How did you ever know I have such admiration towards Colin Farrell.... He's so dreamy.... He makes me creamy... ~K Patty Dec 18, 2005 10:50 PM Kyle Ramos, eh? ok, just set the date. I'm free everyday up until January 17. omg it's elvira! Dec 18, 2005 10:42 PM bah humbug! silly clowns i don't believe in christmas. Patty Dec 18, 2005 11:27 AM You bet I'll give and get what I want! Now the question is: Which of you guys would like to be first? FANK Dec 17, 2005 09:21 PM What's the going rate on the black market these days for a Vincent! original? Superficial Space Cadet Dec 17, 2005 08:30 AM youre new picture is pretty snazzy. just thought id share La Condesa Dec 15, 2005 03:21 PM I was thinking the same... but what I really miss is that "friend-of-the-week" spectacular. Carly Dec 14, 2005 09:10 PM I miss contests =( Can you still have contests...even if we don't win anything? I need something to keep me entertained! leyerle Dec 12, 2005 03:25 PM holy shit! i've met the guy in the tutu before! his name is baton bob and he's from st. louis. i would talk to him in soulard when i was waiting for the bus. Whatsername? Dec 12, 2005 12:23 AM HAVE A NICE DAY!!! :) leyerle Dec 11, 2005 08:35 PM you guys are my fucking heroes. J to the Izzoe Dec 11, 2005 01:21 PM sao I was wondering since Chrsitmas is coming and all. Did jesus get shafted on Christmas presents cause he was born on Christmas, or did he get double presents. I bet you he got something realy cool like the Friday the 13th box set man I love Jason Vorhees, almost as much as I love Lark Vorhees, do you think they'll ever do a saved by the bell reunion special? Cause if they do, I'm there J to the Izzoe Dec 9, 2005 11:24 AM I think your page needs more enormous pictures of barnyard animals.....HOLY SHIT! Fiddler Dec 9, 2005 08:47 AM Dec 9, 2005 02:49 AM You guys are so much fun! Congradulations! La Condesa Dec 7, 2005 11:19 AM Well, you know, we can't all be so talented ;o) A name like any other Dec 6, 2005 08:27 PM Wow. Witty comment. Good for you. Daniel Deuce Dec 6, 2005 10:33 AM mmmmmmm, , , cleavage. Tanya Dec 6, 2005 06:32 AM I thought it was really funny, had a good time. Add Comment About | FAQ | Terms | Privacy | Safety Tips | Contact Myspace | Promote! | Advertise ©2003-2006 MySpace.com All Rights Reserved.