Interview with a Bunch of Guys I Tricked - Part 3

And we're back! Your third installment of Interview with a Bunch of Guys I Tricked. If you missed the beginning, go back in time to catch up.
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Although I have seen pimps on television, I'd never actually met one up close and personal. That is until I was introduced to one D. Magical, arguably the most infamous purveyor of women as a commodity in the Tenderloin District of California.

I will admit I was nervous about this interview. It wasn't so much the subject or the man as it was the place where we were to meet. His secretary, or D.'s Ho as she announced herself, informed me he would only allow me an audience if I came to his office.

Turns out a pimp's office is in reality a seedy motel room behind an abandoned Salvation Army. Despite my general aversion to seediness in most forms, I'm a professional. I asked myself, WWCCD, and off I went. (What Would Connie Chung Do?)

Mr Magical, or Sweet Daddy as I was instructed to address him by 3 large men with diamonds where their teeth should be, wasn't there when I arrived. Instead a full half hour before his arrival was spent preparing me for my time with him. I was instructed not to ask any questions about his alleged link to a recent homicide involving a rival Pimp and a trombone, or about his Momma. It was also recommended that I try not to look him directly in the eye. I didn't ask why.

In his own good time he strutted in the room decked out in fur, gold rings, diamonds and a purple hat so cliche I almost laughed out loud. He sat down across from me and in an effort to take control, he asked the first question.

Sweet Daddy: Sobriquet?

(Clearly he thought Sobriquet was the French word for cheap wine served in a plastic cup.)

Sher: Thank you, but no. Mr. Sweet Daddy, I'd like to start our interview by thanking you for agreeing to sit down with me. This is important work we're doing. There is some chatter about a Pulitzer.

(I smiled at him only to have one of his diamond-toothed posse firmly shake his head NO at me.)

Now, would you mind telling me in your own words what exactly it is that you do?

Sweet Daddy: This concludes my question and answer session.

Sher: What the hell? That was my first question! I've visited with lots of other men and they've all answered my questions.

(The biggest in the posse walked over to put his hand on my shoulder. I became alarmed that he might in fact pull my head out by the stem.)

Sweet Daddy: If I was a completely uneducated hillbilly type, midwestern, tobacco chewing, wife beater wearing, Nascar watching, beer drinking, good ole boy I would.

Sher: So why are you even here if you aren't going to talk to me? Would you at least answer a couple things?

(The grip on my shoulder tightened signaling it would be best to change my approach.)

Please Mr. Daddy? Just one or two?

Sweet Daddy: I'm working and must sometimes spring to action at a moment's notice.

Sher: I understand. You're like Super Pimp. Gotta jet off to rescue a ho any time Commissioner Gordan sends up the bat signal.

(No one laughed. I thought I might throw up, but I chewed it back.)

Let's try this again Sweet Daddy. Without mentioning your business specifically, let's talk a little bit about the kind of woman you most appreciate having in your employ. What might she look like?

Sweet Daddy: A Georgia peanut farmer with bucked teeth. Dirty white dress. Fake boobs are out of the question.

Sher: I see. It sounds like you know exactly what you want, or perhaps more to the point, what men want.

Sweet Daddy: The thing for cool boys.

(This everyone in the room thought was hysterical as they high-fived each other and congratulated Sweet Daddy on his brilliant & insightful comment.)

Sher: It's my understanding you have one special lady in your stable. Is that correct?

Sweet Daddy: The One. The most perfect woman in the world. No longer here.

(I thought I saw a single tear run down his cheek.)

Sher: What happened to her?

Sweet Daddy: An unfortunate smelting accident.

Sher: Wow. I did not see that coming. Sounds tragic. I'm sorry.

Sweet Daddy: Makes you feel dirty, doesn't it?

(He leaned in toward me, leering as though telling me the love of his life was dead might somehow have flipped my on switch.)

Sher: It does not! I don't know why you think it would.

(The smallest of the scary men now folded his arms and cleared his throat. Signal received.)

I can't help but notice your beautiful ensemble. Is this how you always dress? Is there like Pimp casual when you're not working?

Sweet Daddy: Cloth diapers.

Sher: That sounds both disgusting and ridiculous.

Sweet Daddy: It makes for a fun time had by all. Why become aghast in public at a man's sexual misconduct only to be secretly causing intentional sexual arousal under a table, in a darkened hallway, at a different time etc?

Sher: I can assure you that I am aghast both in public and in private. There will be no misconduct on my part Mr. Daddy. There is absolutely nothing you could do that would warrant my ever causing you intentional arousal in any way. Ever.

Sweet Daddy: I will not ask for a penis prosthesis.

(The posse all nodded in agreement as if he were somehow making a huge concession just for me.)


Sher: What the hell are you talking about? What is a penis prosthesis anyway?

Sweet Daddy: Knowing the definition of the word kinda takes the fun out of it.

Sher: Mr. Daddy, please just answer the questions. If not, I'm going to have to bring this interview to an end.

Sweet Daddy: Makes you feel dirty doesn't it?

Sher: Stop saying that! That's it. I don't see anything further we can gain from this exchange. Before I literally burst into a dead on run and flee, is there anything additional you would want my readers to know about you Mr. Daddy?

Sweet Daddy: Two part answer. Strangers, friends, and acquaintances are strongly encouraged to enlarge their breasts and not be afraid to share them with me via text/picture messaging.

Sher: And?

Sweet Daddy: Thanks to my many friends for making "Operation Shake-a-Ho" a complete success.

Shake-a-Ho indeed, Mr. Daddy. Consider this "ho" completely shaken.


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Come on kids. What else could today's music be?




Copyright © Sherri Bailey
This blog may not be reproduced in whole or in part without the express written permission of the author.

Interview with a Bunch of Guys I Tricked - Part 2

Gentle reader - In order to enjoy this, the 2nd installment of our series, you would do well to first read this. Do it now. I'll wait for you.

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I've never cared for things found in nature, but I will admit to an odd fascination with lizards. Lounge lizards that is. Something about them I find strangely intriguing. Their slicked back hair; their cheesy song medleys; their over use of the question, "Where you from?" I can't get enough.

As I settled into a booth at the famed Kit Kat Club by the airport I was a bit anxious to finally meet the one and only Vince Giovelli. Giovelli laid claim to being the most legendary of all lounge singers since Bobby Cochran hung up his microphone after the 90's scandal involving a 19 year old stripper named Raphael.

Just as I ordered a shot of tequila to help calm my nerves, the heavy aroma of Musk Oil announced the arrival of the man. I looked up to find Giovelli standing beside me, cigarette in one hand, dirty martini in the other. He wore a black tuxedo despite the fact it was only 3 in the afternoon; his white shirt left open to reveal a tuft of dark hair and a gold chain so thick it looked more like a rope one might use to pull a skier behind a boat.

Sher: Vince,it's a pleasure. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.

He winked at me and motioned for the cocktail waitress to bring me another shot.

Sher: OK, Vince. As you know, I am doing a series of interviews with a diverse group of men across the country so that I might finally learn what makes men so different than women.

Vince: Mom pre-made about 40 sandwiches for us.

Sher: Thank you but I'm not hungry.

Vince: Mom made them with a loving amount of mayo on each: pimento cheese, bologna, banana, and my favorite, peanut butter and jelly without the mayo.

Sher: Seriously. I appreciate that your Mom put mayonnaise on a bunch of food for us, but I can't eat a bite. I licked the salt off all the crackers in my house before I left. I'm stuffed.

Vince: In keeping with the green theme, she placed them all back in the plastic sandwich bags the loaf bread came out of.

Sher: Oh for godsake then. Give me a mother truckin' sandwich. I'll take the PB & J without the mayonnaise. Vince, let's get down to it if you wouldn't mind. I think my readers really want to hear about your legendary womanizing.

Vince: Funny you should ask that one. That subject comes up almost every day.

Sher: How many women would you say you have in your stable at any one time?

Vince: I’m too drunk to understand that question.

Sher: Women, Vince. How many women do you currently date?

Vince: This is torture, OK? One of my buddy's wives. Angelina Jolie. I love the hell outta that woman. Stewie Griffin. Why? I don't know. He's not gay is he?

Sher: He is rumored to in fact be gay, yes. So you're seeing a buddy's wife, Angelina Jolie and Stewie Griffin. Anyone else?

Vince: Pam Anderson looks like crap.

Sher: OK. Pam is not one of your women. Got it. Would you mind telling me a little about what an evening with you might be like for one of your lady friends? Or Stewie?

Vince: A metallic green 1970 Ford pickup truck with a camper cover to match. All the amenities: AM Radio, no air conditioning, a big Johnson CB, vinyl seats, 3 speed in the floor, and on the rear bumper a twelve foot long bright orange CB antenna. Did I mention no air conditioning?

Sher: You did. So it's Saturday night and you've picked up your date for the evening in your admittedly awesome green truck.

Vince: While Mom was making the sandwiches, Dad filled the old cooler with can drinks and ice, then placed the sandwiches on the top to prevent them from getting wet from melted ice.

Sher: The sandwiches again? Are you kidding me with this? OK, so you have a cooler full of sandwiches, drinks in a can and ice. Assuming your date is still with you at this point, why don't you tell me specifically about your last date? I'd like you to be as detailed as possible without any mention of sandwiches.

Vince: We started eating the sandwiches, which after 12 to 24 to 36 hours in the cooler all tasted of bologna. This is where I first understood the term green. Talk about sick! But soon enough, and as my favorite verse in the Bible says, “and it came to pass”, we finally arrived at the campground. That’s right, campground. As in tent, no electricity, no running water.

Sher: So you and your lady ate sandwiches that had been in the cooler for between 12 and 36 hours and for some reason you've not explained, you then took her to a campground. Is that what you're telling me?

Vince: We fell asleep in the blistering hot heat of central Florida. I think bologna spoils very quickly.

Sher: Mr. Giovelli, I have never in my entire long-legged life met a man so obsessed with bologna sandwiches. Could we please move on to something other than the nasty lunch your Mom made you?

Vince: Oh my God you did not just ask me that! Well,I was in a bar in Greensboro, NC and one of my buddies’ wives was sipping on an unusual drink called a Tequila Sunrise. I ordered one. Nothing happened. After the 5th one I remember everyone telling me to slow down. From there I was doin’ shooters, singing karaoke and the limes kept falling in the floor. I had salt all over my sloppy face, then the owner of the bar offered me a free Cuban cigar if I would just leave his establishment.

Sher: Now we're getting somewhere.

Vince: I do remember my face flat on the bar as the bar maids and bartenders went through my wallet looking at my pictures. I was completely paralyzed. My buddy said it took a solid hour to get me out of the car and into my motel room. I don't know why I woke up completely naked in a chair by the door.

Sher: Your buddy's name wasn't Stewie by any chance?

Vince: Stewie sounds good, I’ll go with that. High heel boots, short shorts, tattoos I still don't understand, halter-top unbuttoned to the navel. Scared the bejeezus outta me. I was literally shaking.

Sher: And so there you are, naked in a chair by the door in some motel room. What did you say to your friend Stewie the next morning?

Vince: I showered for 2 hours just to get the scare off me.

I could see on Giovelli's face that he'd realized he'd just shared his homosexual one night stand with me, and in doing so, with my readers. He took a long draw off his cigarette and winked at me.

Vince: Sweetheart, lets go get some dinner and later I’ll buy you a sobriquet.

Sher: What exactly do you think sobriquet means, Vince?

Vince: An old mobile home.

Sher: In fact no.

Vince: Cherry Bomb mufflers.

Sher: Not even close.

Vince: Bologna.

Sher: Yes. That's exactly what sobriquet means. Bologna.
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I find Bo Burnham delightful. If you concur, you and I are now BFFs.









Copyright © Sherri Bailey
This blog may not be reproduced in whole or in part without the express written permission of the author.

Interview with a Bunch of Guys I Tricked

That's your reporter. A real reporter. Not just a crudely pasted head on the body of Katie Couric. Seriously.

Note to reader: Recently I had the distinct pleasure of interviewing a random sampling of handsome and learned men. My goal as a scientist was to delve deep into the psyche of the male of our species so that I might learn what makes them tick. I asked them each the same questions and they dutifully provided their thoughtful answers which were meticulously documented.

Unfortunately for them, once I had their answers I went all Bobby Brown on them and invoked my prerogative to change the questions. I did not however change so much as one word of their answers.

Now I will share these interviews and in good time, my ultimate findings with you, my tens of readers. Following is the first in a series we'll call Interview with a Bunch of Guys I Tricked.

Please note: A good journalist always protects her sources therefore I have changed their names...but mostly because their real names were stupid.

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When first I met Smythe Livingston, he was serving a life sentence in Alcatraz for kidnapping a humor columnist and forcing her to go on a float trip. Although Alcatraz had been long since closed except to flip-flop wearing, camera wielding tourists and the occasional moaning ghost, Smythe was as dedicated to finishing what he started as he was to Johns Hopkins, his pet toad and constant companion.

On the first of our many sessions together, I found Livingston sitting in his cell humming show tunes and whittling what appeared to be make shift teeth out of a rat carcass. Without aid of a knife, he was gnawing away with his real teeth which this amazingly talented and beautiful reporter/scientist/fire baton twirler admittedly found ironic, if not completely disturbing.

Sher: Smythe, Hello. It's good of you to sit down with me.

Smythe: Sonofabitch. No cursing. You stupid asshole.

Sher: I only said hello. I didn't curse.

Smythe: Notwithstanding, we sometimes encounter situations in the woods that require the use of a colorful metaphor. Crude and vulgar is acceptable.

Sher: Of course you do and thank you for the clarification. Later I'll tell you about a friend of mine from Nantucket. Now if I might Smythe - I'm sorry, may I call you Smythe?

Smythe: My preference is Sonofabitch.

Sher: So Smythe, let's talk about what landed you here in this the most notorious of penitentiaries.

Smythe: What can I say? Not much to tell, but then I'm not a very interesting person, unless you want to know about plants, trees, insects and animals. Most women don't.

Sher: You're right, and I don't. I'm more interested to hear about the woman you kidnapped and what drove you to such a dastardly crime.

(Sidebar: please note the awesome Geraldo-ness in my use of the word dastardly.)

Smythe: This chick was so far beyond my hotness level that I felt compelled to date her. I'm sure from the first date she was confidant she would control the outcome of the whole relationship. I just let her do most of the talking.

Sher: Some say date, some say held against her will. Tomato, tomahto. So you're a good listener then?

Smythe: If you ever need a carb for a 1948 Massey Combine I have one.

Sher: So noted.

Smythe: I wish I had a real humorous or scary story to tell about my worst date ever. Now if you would talk to some of the women, maybe I would qualify as their worst date.

Sher: So the kidnapping victim then; she was what you would term your worst date ever?

Smythe: Prior to her entrance I caught the faint odor of a crisply starched white blouse followed by the heady aroma of a long denim skirt. Then I heard it: the unmistakable slap of Birkenstock Sandals. Enter the date; long black pony-tail very little makeup and big round glasses.

Sher:Was that brought out in the trial because I'm thinking no judge would convict you?

Smythe: She was actually very pretty, but I knew instinctively our relationship was doomed. Hey, I've seen that look before. I knew she was a Tree Hugger. She was. A PETA person too. Not really a bad date, just awkward.

Sher: So is that why you kidnapped, I mean dated, her? Because she was a tree-hugger, as you put it?

Smythe: This is a really a deep secret, and something I'd never share with anyone else. You must never tell, even if you are offered a monkey.

Sher: I'm interviewing you. I plan to tell everyone who will listen and I'd do it for a lot less than the gift of a monkey, although that would be AWESOME.

Smythe: 1976. I was 14 and had a newly acquired drivers permit. Yes you can drive at 14 in this state. Of course I had already been driving for two years, but it was still a source of pride. (I was the only kid in second grade driving).

At this point in the interview, Livingston became pensive. He sat silently stroking his toad for what seemed like an eternity until finally he looked up and continued, misty-eyed.

You know how they say events are sometimes funny after a few years. That one still isn't funny yet. Maybe another 20 years or so.

Sher: You kidnapped a woman and held her hostage in the woods for 7 years, Mr. Livingston. I wasn't expecting a joke.

Smythe: While all men are Buttheads, some are not as bad as others, and some of us (hopefully I'm one) try daily to overcome it. We fail often, and have so much to learn though. This is no joke I'm serious here!

Sher: OK. We'll leave this one alone for now. Let's talk a little about your upbringing. What was your Mother like?

Smythe: Sleeveless Western shirts or pocket T's, Jeans, (bibs in winter),& boots.

Sher: Sounds like a diva. And your Father?

Smythe: We waz in the same grade, but then he dropped out. That lyin' SOB.

Sher: I sense you have some unresolved anger toward your Father. How did he feel about you?

Smythe: I never owned a pair of sandals. The old man said that's one of his favorites of my good qualities. He also said there's so few to choose from.

Sher: I think we've covered a lot of ground today Mr. Livingston and I must get home to let my cabana boy out of his cage for a quick "walk". Before we end this visit though, is there anything you'd like to ask me?

Smythe: This is a very serious question, and not to be taken lightly. I suppose under some circumstances this could be a life altering (or ending) experience. Hey wait, is this one of those "trick questions"? Oh well. I forgot, you're gonna rip me no matter what I say.

Sher: My intention is not to "rip you", Sir. My intention is to peel back your skull and look into your brain so that I may finally get to the nitty gritty of what makes a man manly and in so doing, make the world a better place. For women.

Smythe: I assume the size of the boobs is irrelevant.

Sher: I assure you Sir, I could not care less about your boobs.

Smythe: Are you nuts? They look great to me. They feel like concrete covered in a half inch of foam rubber.

And with that, my first conversation with the infamous Smythe Livingston was over. As I turned to walk away, I heard his raspy voice calling after me.

"I like opera!"

Smythe Livingston. An enigma, wrapped in a riddle, rolled in bacon, deep fried and sprinkled with sugar.

Stay tuned kids for the next installment of "Interview with a Bunch of Guys I Tricked". (Follow me. Do it for Uncle Kracker.)
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Your daily dose of sublime...







Copyright © Sherri Bailey
This blog may not be reproduced in whole or in part without the express written permission of the author.