Russian Whore Shortage

Is there some kind of Russian whore shortage going on in America now?

I only ask because several of the worst Russian whores that I know were recently given American visas without, seemingly, a second thought from the American government that these girls are. . . well, that they're whores. They all speak no English and their only ambition in America is to be lap dancers, and the American embassy is seemingly dispensing visas like breath mints.

I read that the low dollar and high inflation in America is driving a lot of immigrants out; obviously the lap-dancing industry has been affected as well.

Rest assured; relief is on her way. The girl from the picture above is working somewhere in Atlantic City, if she hasn't been murdered yet.

Fun Inflationary Facts

Found out something interesting regarding property prices today.

I live in a smallish one-bedroom apartment, comfortable enough, but just a bit shy of being shabby. It's in a big ugly square gray building with an only marginally-vandalized entrance foyer, in a reasonably central part of town, near some trendy bars, modern supermarkets and restaurants, about a twenty minute walk from the riverside embankment.

I could have purchased this apartment, or a comparable one, for approximately $18,000 - $20,000 back in like 2001, 2002.

It's worth upwards of $150,000 now.

Now of course buying an apartment, back then, would have entailed putting $20,000 into a bag (no such thing as mortgages back then) and giving it to a Russian, which didn't exactly seem like the wisest idea in the world. . .

Clocked In the Snot Locker

No, that's not the result of excessive drinking -- I got punched in the nose (and mouth, and side of the head, etc) last Saturday at a nightclub.

This wasn't even at a nightclub considered one of the more dangerous ones in town, but I came out of the toilet and one of my esteemed colleagues said, "That guy is angry because English Groupie A bumped into him."

I remember going up to the guy and offering to buy him a vodka, and then fists crashing into my nose and mouth, and then picking myself dazedly up off the floor.

I'd describe what happened as a sucker punch, I suppose, although as somebody pointed out, what was he supposed to have done, announced that he was about to hit me?

Things have changed since the school yard of my youth, though, I seem to recall a lot of shoving and shouting usually prefaced the punching.

The general deterioration of good manners, right enough. . .