A Job By Any other
Name: Different Kind of Sex for Sale.
I’m sure some of you heard
of suicidegirls. If you haven’t, the
idea is that very beautiful women -- who are into certain extreme sports such
as piercing or dying hair pink – post their nude pictures as well as diary
entries online. You can talk to suicidegirls on the phone, you can try to hook up with them, you can watch them live
on a webcam.
The most interesting thing
is that they actually pay to be on this website so I’m assuming they make money
off this thing too, but I’m not about to join just to check. I’m
sure you can purchase suicidegirl items such as a vial of blood, ripped out
earring or bloody underwear. The phone
chat lines certainly ain’t free. I’m
sure you can get them to pose in this and that fashion, with this or that
extreme thing stuck where it doesn’t belong.
The suicidegirl idea is
old. Probably as old as Internet
itself. Probably older. It’s perhaps as old as one of those oldest
professions in the world, and I don’t mean accounting. Sucicidegirls irritate me. You know what? Same reason the crazy ”new” trend of burlesque dancing irritates
me. The ”empowering” tit-shaking around
a polished pole, and no-touch policy. Dita
Von Teese makes thousands of dollars for ”old-school” stripping and gently
blowing bubbles out of her ass in a giant martini glass. You know what? Screw you. Oh, I’m
sorry. I am not allowed. You’re not a real stripper. Not really a sex worker, right? You’re ”empowering” yourself.
I went to one of those
burlesque events, once. Nipples covered
in shiny ”pasties”, little twists and bum shakes that I used to practice long
time ago when I was about three-years old.
I’ve been to a strip club. For
twenty bucks you can really get a lot of stuff off. But you’ll get those burlesque dancers arguing that their thing
is nothing like what Double Daisy does in Solid Gold because their thing is
pure and nobody gets, you know, paid for sex.
Actually. I don’t think there’s
a difference between a suicidegirl and Double Daisy. Double Daisy too has to pay a fee to rub her ass in dozens of
anonymous male faces just like a suicidegirl pays her membership to have same
dozens do whatever they do but over a keyboard. They both are naked, in the end.
For money.
Lots of so-called feminists
will argue that this type of sex work – through Internet, or on a stage
protected by barbwire -- has nothing to do with real sex for sale and that it
only serves to make women feel better about themselves by having those stupid,
dumb, dumb men ogle them without touching.
Validating their unique beauty.
Their womanliness. I say, you can call it whatever you want but
it is essentially the same thing that Double Daisy does. Double Daisy could perhaps invest in some
brain implants and do what those empowered peelers (suicidegirls) do but
whatever, a job is a job, you just have to address it by its real name, dear
suicidegirls.
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