Sex and the City: 'Client No. 9' a.k.a Eliot Spitzer "takes responsibility"

Those of you who live on the East Coast who say you haven't been following the NY Governor call girl scandal are either lying or too obese to roll over and reach for the remote to switch the channel anywhere away from the USA Network.

Well, my Chips Ahoy addict friends, Fifth Avenue hookers are probably beyond your reach as well. The New York Post reported that the escort behind Mr Spitzer's fall from grace, a "Kristen", real name Ashley Dupre, commanded a $1,000 per hour fee. See, in Manhattan, they do everything just so much classier. Note how it's "escort", and not "rent-a-babe". "Kristen" instead of "Fanny the Tranny". Oh, the class.

The Post explains that the former governor was wiretapped following fishy bank transactions. It also states that Spitzer, whose nom de sleaze was "Client 9", spent over $80,000 on call girls during the past 10 years, but despite all this his wife stood next to him at the press conference, him in a Wall Street power suit, her in what I suspect was Valium-induced indifference.

See, one thing that New Yorkers will always get right, is that no matter how bad the scandal, make sure you're dressed for the photo op, provide free drinks to reporters and getting caught with a pricey callgirl will be next Fall's latest must have. Yeah, that's how we swing in the Upper East Side, bitch.

SIA Stewardess Slapped Mid-Flight (Could YOU Resist?)

Singapore's Straits Times earlier today reported that a Singapore Air stewardess, a Then Jiamin, was slapped by a prominent tycoon's wife while on a business class flight to Tokyo, proving once again that nearly everyone who works in the airline industry are descended from Satan. Of course, the brave woman who dared to rise against the evil regime that is Singapore's Aviation Authority was charged with what I suppose was an extremely biased reaction. I mean, how would you feel if you were served rye instead of buckwheat blinis with your caviar? What would you do if you were served - no, don't protest for me to stop - MERLOT when you SPECIFICALLY asked for PINOT NOIR? I mean, these are basic things you'd expect, like butlers to carry your shopping at the mall for you.

Of course, besides flight attendants, ground staff are also likely to make you physically violent, especially the troglodytes at the simulacrum of Hell that is London Heathrow. If you ever needed the perfect antithesis to Christmas Holiday Cheer (besides watching the Mormon Choir's billionth televised concert), go to Heathrow. London's gateway where the overspill of passengers forces you to queue for passport control starting from the parking lot. Where you have to choose between your medication or your favourite cologne because both can't fit into the little plastic baggies (I chose my cologne of course. Not so much for me than for whoever it was I had to sit next to). Where bored immigration staff without the remotest prospect of a personal life take their time inspecting your passport, obviously not giving a damn that you'd probably have to run as if offered timeshares, to your departure gate. Where inedible pie and mash costs 9 quid. Ah, London.

Since when was Rape Considered Mildly Entertaining?

Only in Japan. Dear God. If you ever needed proof that a repressed people have exponentially weird sexual tastes (think "Peek-a-boo, I'm touchin' you" Catholic priests), this is it:



Meet Reipuman (trans., "Rape-Man"). Reipuman is, apparently, a superhero. The cause he champions is the heroic rape of women who rejected him (how they managed to resist his charmingly lascivious gaze, I shall never know). This series of films (yes, series) directed by Takao Nagaishi was to cater to, wait for it...middle aged men. I know, I nearly died of shock, too.

According to IMDb, the "Reipuman" flicks were "surprisingly funny and humourous" and are "perfect to cheer somebody up!". How silly of me to have once thought the physical violation of women could be anything but lighthearted fun! I'm not sure about you, but that would be one killer costume to wear if you had to, I dunno, give a speech on, say, International Women's Day.

You can read a ridiculously erudite review of Reipuman and other sex-offender friendly flicks here

The Vatican is Relevant, Kinda...Not Really.

Jesus Christ's head office in Rome can hardly be accused of moving with the times. Being anti-birth control, anti-promiscuity, exclusion of women, infallible, anti-gay (are we talking about the Vatican or Republicans? I forget), thrillingly relevant as these are, make it less than popular with liberals, left leaning conservatives, feminists and, um, nearly everybody else.

Which is probably why it felt the need to add the environment to its salvation longlist (which must include me, Andrea Dworkin, and the founders of Pottery Barn). According to Archbishop Gianfranco Girotti, one "offends God" when one wrecks the environment or harm embryos. Here in Asia, where the air is "good" if you can't smell it, and you get your abortion the same place you get your hair done, we're pretty much damned to Hell.

Well Hell isn't so bad (I mean, it can't be worse than Singapore, can it?) especially if staying out of there means listening to a bunch of antique-hoarding guys in dresses. Yes, I know they're called vestments: bright shiny vestments, with matching hat and oversized rhinestone rings from QueenMeUp.com.

Believe it or not, I am Catholic. Laugh it up. But I am also emphatically against what I call the Fox News theorem (i.e. not with us in War on Terror = Osama Bin Laden's Bitch). I don't believe in moral dictation, but I believe in the Apostolic Succession of Peter. I believe in the Sacrifice of Mass, but how about giving women a chance to wear gold dresses with matching pointy hats in Church instead?

Before you tell us why we're going to burn in Hell for littering, how about listening to why a 15 year old raped by her father who has to dig through her herself with a coat hanger might not be eternally damned? How about keeping your pervy hands out of server boys' pants? I mean, I'd hate if you had to auction all your lovely jewelry to finance all those mounting out-of-court settlements.

For God's Sake, Change the Channel

If you turned on the news at all this March (I know, it's almost asking too much, Heil TiVO), you'd probably have noticed that almost everywhere in the world there is some restless erection. I mean election. Which is basically the same. Aren't politicians always "working hard", clutching their mikes, (and maybe later upstairs, their Mikes), impassioned, with what looks like phallic rapture? Yes they do, but I digress.

Elections, like erections, are often worked "hard" on, yet equally often disappoint. They disappointed in Spain, where Zapatero's Socialist Worker's party, after a boring campaign, won practically by default. They will likely disappoint in America, where even Republicans now grudgingly vote Hillbama, all frowny faced that, to date, there hasn't been a bible thumping showdown, and half expecting the flip-flopping McCain to announce that he is in fact, a woman. And a covert Democrat. And Jewish.

Yet for the tired, the poor, the huddled masses yearning to breathe free in Malaysia, they probably didn't disappoint , where the Opposition quadrupled their seats in Parliament, giving dissenters to the mighty National Front a louder voice. And by louder voice I mean a freaking megaphone. This was an unprecedented result which shocked millions. Which leads me to the conclusion that erections and elections have yet another thing in common - an unexpected twist makes things a lot more fun. Who says politics isn't sexy? Politicians on the other hand....for God's sake change the damn channel. I gotta eat.