Big boys dont play with dolls

We Decided to try our luck at children’s toys, dolls in particular. Recently there has been a much public out cry as to the “Barbie” type doll lines as creating harmful stereotypical damage to our young girls and future gay men. We are going to take a stand and change the idea that all girls must sport huge racks and tiny little waists. We are going to spoof the myth that all women have smooth shaven beavers. No dream house, or yacht, not even a fucking Corvette. No, we are going to launch our own reality based line of dolls and doll sets. Below are a few prototype dolls. Please tell us what you think. We are soliciting corporate sponsors to back us. Thank you for your time.
The first doll will be called “White Trash Betty”. She will come with her very own trailer house and have a male counterpart Billy Bob. Other accessories will include food stamps, chewing tobacco and a Chevy truck on blocks





Our second idea would be “Suicide Bomber Barbie”. She would have an optional “Barbie Dream Mosque” available and backpack bombs. She would come standard with her very own Koran. Of course, we would need permissions from Mattel and figure a way around the one time use.




Another catchy theme would be the “Loose your virginity, get pregnant, drop out of school Barbie”. She could come with pamphlets on abortion and maybe unopened forms of birth control
These are just a few of the ideas we are trying to promote. Other dolls in the works are, “Bag Lady Barbie”, “Crack Ho Barbie”, “Used to be a Rich and Famous Singer, But Married Bobby Brown Barbie” and “Has-been Child Star Barbie”. Another line in the works will be geared toward the boys. The G.I. Joes’ now a day looks more like the “Village People”. So one idea we’re prototyping is a doll set based loosely around the Donald Trump show “The Apprentice”

"Going Up"

Why me, why me I ask. Today I had to go see a client in his downtown location. No big deal, it gets me out of the office for the day. The meeting will actually only take less than a few hours, so the rest of the day is screw off time for me. Yes, it was a beautiful day indeed. I was anxious to get this over with. Just nod and tell the fat bastard what he wants to hear and I’ll be outta there quicker than a “Ho-ho” at a weight watchers convention.
I arrive at the building and realize that I am going to have to deal with the whole parking situation and “Ali” the proprietor of the over priced parking slab. Again, no problem. The price one must pay for a day of screwing off. “Dank you berry much,” Ali says as I slip him extra to keep a good eye on my ride. In this city, cars disappear in minutes. As I cross the intersection with all of the “go getters” hurrying to get their noses up someone’s ass I notice an older lady hobbling. I notice that one of her heels has snapped off, probably a “Buy on get on free” deal from Payless or somewhere. She was carrying a bag along with some files and I thought that she might fall, so I offered her a hand. She turned and looked at me with a scowl that reminded me “Witchy Poo” from H.R. Puff N Stuff, and told me to “Fuck off”. Oh, life in the big city. I continued heading for the building imaging her getting hit by a bus. I enter the building and look at the information board to see what floor my guy is on. The 11th floor was my destination.


I enter the elevator with 4 other people. A rather large black lady who could pass for a younger version of Aretha Franklin, an older guy wearing polyester high waters, who had a hearing aid, a guy wearing one of those funny Jewish caps and braids, and this really smoking looking red head. I announce my floor and “Free Willy” Aretha labors to push it for me. “Thanks” I say, wondering how many calories she burnt doing that. No one says a word as we start to ascend. Somewhere between the 4th and 5th floors, my day took a turn for the worse.
The elevator slams to a stop and the lights flicker. Now picture this, Aretha starts some “oh, Lord Jesus help us chant”, the old guy begins to sweat profusely and the guy with the funny beanie is eye balling all of us like we were all in on this. I glance over to the hot chick. She calmly smiles and I am thinking, “I wish it were just her and I in this predicament”. Within seconds, the walls feel like they are closing in. I coax Aunt Jimima away from the elevator panel to see if the is a phone or a call button. There is. I pick up the receiver and wait. The other side comes alive, “Yello”. “Yeah we’re like stuck in the elevator somewhere in between the 4th and 5th floors,” I say into the handset. “I’m jest the Janitor,” the voice says. “Well, can you let someone know” I ask. “Si Senior, jest wait,” he tells me as if I were going anywhere.Minutes now seem like hours as we all pretend that we are not in the situation that we are. The lights once again flicker, go out, and come back on.

You know how your mind starts wandering and thinking all sorts of things in panic mode. That is where I am folks!

I start wondering if we would survive the fall. I think about my funeral and headstone. I wonder if my family would honor my wishes of being buried naked. I wonder what we will do if the old guy has a heart attack and dies. There is no way I am giving him CPR. I wonder if the Jewish dude is circumcised and then begin to wonder why I would wonder that, questioning my sexuality. I think it is their religion or something. I wonder what will happen when Shanaynay gets hungry. Who will she eat first? Right about now, we have to all be looking like some chicken wings to her. I wonder if the hot chick is single. I wonder if she swallows, I wonder if it is appropriate to sport wood while stuck in an elevator. I wonder if anyone has to fart and technically, since we are stuck, if it is an instance where it would not be perceived as rude? 45 minutes later, we begin to descend and the doors open. Again, “Baby’s got back” starts with the “Thank you Jesus” chanting, the old man looks as if his diaper needs changing, the Jewish guy still looks weird with the beanie and the braids and the hot red head approaches, smiles and hands me her number saying “call me sometime”.
So I missed my appointment and called the guy and explained. Laughing, he tells me that we were the talk of the building. He continues telling me he was booked until 3:30, but if I stuck around, he would see me. So my day of screwing off turned into a day from hell. But I called the hot red head’s number and we are meeting for lunch this Thursday! So all wasn’t lost.

Blogger Intervie-Doxie

There are a lot of blogs out there today. Some funny, some serious and then there are others that, well, are just unique. We stumbled across the blog "Joe tell me when the panties are". We went in expecting something entirely different, but what we found instead was Doxie. Since that day, she has intrigued us, made us laugh, and also had us questioning her real age. She is witty and knows how to keep an audience captivated. Just recently we heard that she is auctioning off her panties. Why didn’t we think of that? We had the opportunity to sit down with Ms. Doxie, and this is what she said:





Where did you come up with the name for your blog?

My friend Joe bought some Paul Mitchell girl’s underwear, and I demanded photographic evidence. He’s rather shy about his body, and it showed when the first photo he sent me was of his rear end…fully clothed. The first thing I say to him was, “Joe, tell me: where are the panties?” and it, thankfully, stuck. I still have those pictures, too. ::grins wickedly:: Blackmail is fun.

What inspires you to write?

Nothing, at the moment. My muse is as dry and shriveled as Margaret Thatcher’s coochie. I suppose I keep up my blog because I feel obligated to those few, brave souls that tolerate my ramblings, but I haven’t written any fiction/anything entertaining in three or four months, at least.

You have quite the imagination and vocabulary to back it up. Where does that come from?

Well, I’ve been reading since I was two and a half, so I suppose I’ve accumulated quite a vocabulary over the years. I’m not sure whether it’s learned or genetic, however: I took an intelligence test and I got the absolute highest score possible in both ‘Linguistic’ and ‘Musical’ categories. I’ve been singing and writing since I was a wee ‘un, so ::shrugs:: I’d like to think I’m just born superior. ::grins::

Who has most inspired you in your life?

Bah, I don’t know. If anybody, it’d be my freshman Honors English teacher. I want to be just like Durkee when I grow up—except not bald, and with a vagina.

Seeing that you could be running the country while we are in nursing homes, what are your thoughts on the world?

I think we’re in a downward spiral. Fuel is running out, resources are running out, ...integrity is running out. ::shrugs:: It’s inevitable—we’re going to crash and burn. Figuratively, if not literally.

Where do you see yourself in 10 years?

Let’s see…I’ll be twenty-five. I’ll be near the end of my education, if not already done with it, and I’ll probably be married. I’ll be published and live in a castle in the sky. Or something like that.

If a reader were to meet you, what would be one of the first things they would notice about you?

I’m short. And I’m pretty outgoing around new people.

What are your thoughts on farting? Just curious.

I think people are too immature about it. Farting is natural, which doesn’t give you cause to laugh wildly, but it also doesn’t give you the right to actually TRY for louder/longer in duration/worse-smelling/colorful, does it?

Any body modifications? Tattoos, piercings?

I have my earlobes pierced once. I’d have a silver ring through my left lower-helix, if it weren’t for the boyfriend voicing his opinions. I want to get my triangle pierced, and I’m hoping like hell I’m anatomically suitable. (I can’t explain what a triangle is, since I’m supposed to keep this “PG”, but by that alone I’m sure you can guess, at least, what general area this piercing will be on my person.) I want a tattoo, too: I’d love a tribal design going from a little bit above the side of my right breast, down my breast and ending at my sternum. I’d never get it, though, just in case I hated it later. I’d get a smaller, more inconspicuous one, like a potato on my ankle.

You once commented that you’d like to be a stripper, why? Or were you just joking

I was most certainly not joking! I would love to be a stripper—but one in a fancy joint with huge cover charges and respectable clients. I’d like to pole dance, too. If I lost ten or fifteen pounds, I’d probably strip to help with college. It just seems like fun. ::shrugs:: I know that’s an odd thing to want to be, but…hell, I think I’d enjoy it.

Can you share with us the Craziest thing that you have ever done

Hmm… I gave myself a concussion doing a back flip off a bench in Foot Locker. I can’t admit to the OTHER crazy thing I’ve done
(well, and continue to do on a not-so-regular-anymore basis) because “Remember, keep it PG!” ::winks::

Tell us something about yourself that not many people know.

And it has to be appropriate? Jeez, you guys, could you MAKE this any harder? ::winks:: Hmm…something about me that not many people know? I can’t think of anything that I actually WANT people to know.

Is there really a Santa Claus?

Wherever there are ridiculous tales told for the sake of sparing young children the fact that there isn’t; wherever oysters are eaten by walruses and carpenters; wherever fine young writers like Christopher Pike and the idiot authors of Harlequin Romance novels keep getting royalty checks, then yes, there IS a Santa Clause.

Can you make a “Taco Tongue”?

I can! I can indeed! I can’t make a lotus with my tongue, though, like my foreign-exchange-student-friend Pedro can, and I can’t turn mine almost completely 360 degrees like my boyfriend can, but I can make a taco tongue!

What’s your sign and do you think that it has anything to do with who you are?

I’m a Capricorn and, honestly, the only thing I find that I have in common with the “stereotypical Capricorn” is my birth date. I think I’m more like a Sagittarius, or even a Gemini. I’d like to get my full chart someday, so I can find out what the hell is going on. I don’t even like my birthstone, I favor peridot much more.

Can you dance?

I’d like to think I can. I’m going to take salsa lessons as soon as I’m able, just to make sure that I actually CAN dance, and don’t
just have a hugely inflated opinion of myself. I do know, however, that I’d have loads of good, clean, sensual fun dancing to the pulsating beat of Latin music, with my skirt whipping about and my heels slick on the floor.

Ever see yourself on a reality show, like Big Brother or something?

Hell yes! I would love to do something like that. I’ve always wanted to be on one of those. It’d be so awesome, with all the cameras and new people and alcohol! Not that I’ve ever drank before, of course.

If you won a million dollars, what would you do with it

I’d build the sex tower in my backyard that I’m coveting. I’d also buy a marble bath-spa. Then I would donate the rest to Cindy Sheehan to go buy a nice big cup of Shut-The-Fuck-Up.

What other blogs do you visit?

www.wingedman.blogspot.com is a good one. I normally don’t have regular blogs that I go to: I drop by every once in a
while on one I especially like, but I like new material more.

If you could say anything to the readers, what would it be?

TELL YOUR FRIENDS. Please? ::smiles winningly:: Seriously, I’d like more people to know about me.

Who would you like to say hi to?

To my darling Joe; to my other Joe who isn’t quite so darling; to my hero, Mr. Durkee; to Jay, who says what he means, except when he doesn’t; and to Tyler, who is…interesting, to say the least, and steadfast, to say more than that.

If you were to become famous, where would we most likely see you? What would it be that you were famous for?

I’d either be a famous writer, singer, or criminal. ::laughs:: The women in my family have a history of insanity

Missing Person

Folks, I am sorry to report that my colleague and friend Michael has turned up missing. Not seeing him for a few days is normal, but this time he is MIA. This is not the first time that he has disappeared. Once while over the border in Mexico, we visited the infamous “Boystown” were sin is in. After a full day of Donkey shows, liquor and a girl that did incredible things with an egg, our Michael slipped of with a local, well, OK a female companion. Days went by and finally I decided to go back across the border in search of our friend. After hours of searching and asking the locals if they have seen this Gringo, I happened upon a shanty town of rudely constructed building. The aroma was eye opening and babies were playing naked in the mud puddles on the dirt road. My Spanish isn’t the best, but I could tell that the locals (which were mostly females) were trying to get my attention. As I approached, I recognized some of these girls. I had seen them that night at Boystown. There was an older lady who seemed to be in charge. She grabbed my arm and pointed to a brick building where the door stood open. I went to the door and was stung by the smell coming out of the place. Inside I see my friend Michael, laying on a pathetic cot in nothing but his BVD’s and white socks holding a half filled bottle of tequila.
Since then and the numerous stories and rumors he has not pulled something like this. If you should happen to run into him, please email me at isitmike@excite.com. In the meantime, I will continue to post. If he doesn’t show up I will have to take applications for his replacement.

Why is it that?

The East Coast, it is a “tag sale”, in the Midwest, it is a “Garage Sale”, and on the West Coast, it is a “Yard Sale”? How come in the west, it is a “Freeway”, in east, it is a “Highway”, and in the Midwest, it is an “Expressway”? In California, they go to the beach. In Jersey the head for the shore. In Ohio, they order a “Pop”. In Atlanta, they order a “Soda”. In San Diego, they order a “Coke”. On one side, they go to the movies. On the other, they go see a show. In places, it is pronounced “Oregun” and in others, it is “Oregan” when it is really Oregon. Some have a “Car Phone”, while other may have a “Mobile Phone”, and most have a “Cell Phone

Girl of my Dreams

There is this girl that I have been flirting with for months. She is everything I’ve ever wanted in a woman. She has a killer body that I have dreamt of kissing from head to toe. She is smart. She is funny and she even likes football. What a girl huh? I have had reservations about asking her out for many reasons, but mainly I think that I may be a bit too old for her. But recently I have been getting vibes that she’s into me, so last week I asked if she’d like to go out. She accepted and we made plans for the weekend. Nothing big, a movie, a meal then we were to go to the park and listen to some live music. I’m in.
So I arrive to pick her up and she is as gorgeous as ever. I told her to dress casual and she did. Wearing shorts, and one of those shirts that allow you to peek at her belly when she moves just right. She got in and we were off. She smelled really good. Like women are supposed to smell. You know what I am saying.
Things started off great. We ate, then went for a movie. There was some handholding, brushing up against one another that sort of stuff. Life is good. We arrive at the park and lay or blanket out. The music was already playing so we kicked back to enjoy the evening.

That is when it happened.

Now, try and picture the moment, I am lying there gazing upon this beautiful lady who I have been lusting after for months, her hair rustling in the wind, her smell teasing my senses, just perfect! She slipped off her sandals to come lie next to me, and I saw her toes! OMG! Besides being the ugliest little crooked things I have ever seen in my life, they all were hairy. Yes hairy folks. Now most guys have hair on their toes. I am not talking that sort of hairy. I am talking primate at the zoo freaking hairy! I am in shock and really traumatized about this as she lies down next to me. She gets close and decides to play with my foot, with hers. I am ready to hurl. All sorts of images are now going through my mind. Is her back hairy? What about? Oh, I can not go there. I am now 100% turned off by her and her freaky little hairy toes. I feel like I am in a Seinfeld episode. OK, now what. She has that look in her eye like she wants me to maybe kiss her. I now wonder about her breath. If her toes are that hairy, her breath must stink. I look at her and give her my best sincere smile. Trying not to be obvious of my offense to her toes, I notice her shirt raised exposing her belly. Instead of the former thoughts of bliss and kissing her there, I am now trying nonchalantly to inspect it for hair or some other deformity. She sits up bringing the hairy little bastards in direct view, almost in my face. I jump. She asks me what is wrong. I tell her that my head hurts. Good one huh? I could have been more creative than that. I mean really. She asks if I need an aspirin. Again, the toes are in sight. “No”, I reply. “I think I need to get away from this music and go lie down”, I tell her. “OK, I’ll go with you” she says. Yeah right I thought. “You and those freaky little monkey toes are not getting anywhere near my place”. She smiles and says, “I’ll make you feel better”. Again, OMG. What does she mean by that? Look an hour ago I would have been down for “Making me feel better”, but now all I can think about are those hairy little stubs coming out of her feet. How am I going to get out of this one? What would you do? What would you say? And what’s up with the hairy toes? Can you shave toes? Oh, I have the visual. Not good!

To Be Continued – See what I did

FARTING ETIQUETTE

Why is it wrong or rude to fart?
I was in a meeting this week. In this meeting there were about eight or nine others that looked about as interested in this meeting as I was. Who calls a fucking meeting at 7:00 AM? I am tired of hearing “Well it is 7:00 PM in China”. That is who was on the phone in this meeting. As my mind pondered as to this early hour and why the hell are we doing business in China it started! That undeniable pressure beginning to build deep in the bowels. It makes perfect sense to me as normally I would be on the shitter taking my morning dump at this hour, but instead I am here listening to concerns and issues about getting product from Asia and the cost of doing so. “It’s a cost savings,” I say to myself. Then again the pressure, a bubble just churned inside me. I need to release it. Can I sneak it out? Will it stink? Will they know it is me?

I hate situations like this. Why must we have to hold in and endure the pain of what is natural. Why is it that my fart would be offensive? We have come so far in today’s world. When are we going to say it is OK to fart? I know that you all agree with me. Why must people look at you like a maggot because you farted? It is not like one can control his or her bodily functions.

I look at my watch, 7:45. Through watery eyes, I look over at Anthony. Does he have to fart, I wonder. I listen to Chung Chang on the phone. He could fart if he needed to and we would never know. Is farting OK in China I wonder? My cheeks are clenched as I hold back the massive pressure within my crack. I begin to sweat. Elisabeth looks across at me. I must be white or something. I wonder if she knows I need to fart. Maybe she is holding back a wet one as well. 8:00 am. My mouth is bone dry. I have chills. I now can hear the fart churning in my bowels. I wonder if they know. Maybe they think it is my stomach.

Why must we as a nation suffer like this? I would love to be in the isle at the grocery store and just rip one. If it were acceptable, you’d have people say, “Good one”. Instead, if we fart in public we embarrassedly say, “Excuse me” as if we committed a crime. Imagine how liberating it would be to squeeze one out on a bus, or in an elevator.

8:30. I had my chance. Too late. This once harmless fart is now a raging shit I can no longer deny. With my bung puckered, my only concern now is weather or not I can hold out and not shit my pants. That would be offensive! But if I could have just farted when I needed to all of this could have been avoided. I get up. Everyone in the room is now looking at me. Of course, the door is across the room. I make my way toward it, excusing myself as I bump into people and their chairs. Martha looks at me as if to say, “I knew you wouldn’t make it”. I free myself from the anti farting session and make my way down the hallway. I see the place, my freedom. It looks to be miles away. Do I run and risk premature bowel release? No, act like everything is OK. I get to the bathroom. I head for the stall, drop trou, and before I hit the seat, a stream of liquid shit explodes from my anal canal.

I say that we petition to make farting acceptable in this great land. I am sure that the president can fart anytime he wishes and no one says a word. Just once, I would like to be able to fart in a public setting and hold my head high, be proud that I released my butt demons and was not ashamed. Think of a world where farting was the norm. A whole new world of topics and conversations would evolve.

There I sit. Spent, tired and weary. The stench of what started as a harmless fart has ended as a wet soupy mix in the bowl beneath me. I wonder what they are saying in the meeting. I wonder if they are relaying what has occurred to Chung Chang on the phone. I clean up with the pitiful excuse of toilet paper the company provides to wipe my ass with savings, and compose myself for the re-entry into the meeting. I exit the stall and notice the look on the other users faces in the room. A look as if I have somehow violated company policy by shitting such as I did. I go wash my hands and notice how they quickly pee and get out of there. As I wash my hands and look in the mirror amongst the stench that was once a harmless fart, I feel proud. I rise up and push my shoulders back as if I just scored. Yeah, that was me, I think to myself as I strut back up the hallway to my 7:00AM meeting.

Camel Toe Contest between Miss Canada and Miss Detroit

First Up Miss Canada


Next up Miss Detroit

Strip Club-The Manor

Welcome to the first of what will be regular reviews of strip clubs from around the globe. My career path is such that I get to travel often to new and sometimes exciting places. Mostly it is limited to the US, Canada and Mexico. But once in a blue moon, it extends beyond. It doesn’t matter if I am in Bishopsville, SC or Las Vegas, NV, if there is a strip club or “peeler” in the vicinity I will find it.
Today we are going to focus on the legendary "Manor". Nested in the quaint University town of Guelph, Ontario Canada. The Manor is housed in the old Sleaman’s beer family’s mansion. It is an old style mansion with a European feel. It has foregone many names, but ask anyone in Guelph where the “Manor” is and they will be able to point you to it

Most nights if you get there before 9PM there is no cover charge. I think after 9PM there is a $15 (CAN) cover. Once inside you will notice the place is very elegant. Marble statues of beautiful nude females are strategically placed. The doormen and other staff are dress in formal wear. There is a “game” area with 2 very classy billiard tables and a few video game machines. Further on into the gallery there is a wonderful full bar with many ladies sitting upon the high bar stools, dressed in various lingerie themed attire. Behind the bar up high are televisions playing the most recent porn release. The place is very dark. So it will take your eyes a moment to adjust. I suggest that you enter the gallery and wait a moment before trying to seat yourself. There are many tables available most that seat 4. Once seated you will be greeted by a waitress. You can order your favorite beverage, even alcohol. I suggest that if you are into beer try the Labaat 50. Within minutes, one of many beautiful young ladies who will ask if they can sit down will approach you. What the great thing about the Manor is that there are a mix of girls in the place. This guy is smart. I asked around and it is rumored that every 6 months he travels to the Ukraine. He recruits the best looking young ladies to come do a stint in good ol’ Canada. He houses them, pays them, and gives them the opportunity to stay and become Canadian citizens or they can return home after the 6 months. There are also local Canadian beauties. Now everyone thinks that the best thing out of Canada is the hockey and beer. Let me tell you, the Canadian women are what make Canada great. Not only are they hot, they are well refined, so there is a good mix of girls to choose from. Yes, choose from!
The stage show is great. The music and the D.J. keep it interesting. Each hottie’s routine consists of three stages. First, they will come out and dance dressed in everything from formal wear to hooker wear. They will then disappear backstage and re-appear and dance, and strip down to the butt floss. Once again, backstage they will then come out and take it all off. Tipping in the Manor is a little different than most places. You wait until the 3rd song, and then you get on stage lie on your back with the tip. Most guys lie on their backs with the money folded between their teeth. The girl will come and get the tip in the most creative ways. I have seen girls who will undress you down to your underwear on stage, use your belt to spank that ass and many very erotic scenarios depending on the number of guys on stage and the length of the song. One word of advice, while on stage DO NOT TOUCH OR ATTEMPT TO TOUCH THE GIRL. I think that it is common sense, but you have been warned. The craziest stunt I have seen a girl do to a guy on stage was literary sit on his face totally nude. She humped his face with the bare beaver and he could do nothing. Torture I say!



Moving on to the private dances. There is the open area where you can get your lap dance on couches. Drinks are allowed and the girls are 100% in the buff. The cost is $10 CAD per song. You are not allowed to touch so I suggest that you sit on your hands. But they can and will touch you. What is distracting about this is that there may be several people getting dances. The area is open and I often find myself looking at and watching the other girls and not giving my full attention to the girl performing for me. All of the girls give high quality lap dances. If you leave there without a hard on you’re gay.




For you more experienced and refined men there is the “Flamingo Room”. The girls are going to pitch this to you and often. The Flamingo Room is behind this huge oak door. There is a doorman in a tux at the entrance. It costs $22 CAD to enter the Flamingo room. Keep this in mind because if you go in, come out, and want to return, it is another $22 CAD. Once inside it is dark, even darker from the gallery. There is a podium where another gentleman in a tux will ask you what you would like to drink. You can order anything you’d like. Go for the hard stuff. After all, you just paid $22 CAD for this drink. He will escort you and your choice of a lady to a very private cubicle. I must note that this mansion is incredible. It is a maze of hallways and corridors with all of these private enclaves situated about. There is candle light all around. These cubicles are much better than the open couch area outside the oak door. The only downfall to the cubicles are that the have no doors. I say this because you need to keep this in mind as ushers make their rounds and may peek in. The music in here is not the same music out on the stage. (The songs are shorter) The cost is $20 CAD per song for a dance. Make sure you pick the best girl in the place for back here. This is where you will want to spend your hard earned cash. I always ask the rules of each girl. All the girls are consistent so I know the place has “Official” rules. It is always the same with each girl. “You can touch my breasts, my back, my legs, and my stomach, but you can not touch my pussy”. OK, got it. When you get the girls back here and start spending cash, you’ll get the best lap dance of your life. Make sure that you keep count of the songs. The girls will act like they have no clue but they do. They are trying to keep you back there all night. I have seen and experienced some crazy shit back in the Flamingo Room.If you are the guy who doesn’t mind spending the money and are looking for “Happy Ending”, the opportunity is there. I am sure that it is not legal, and I would suggest that the management does not know, but “Happy Ending” does occur in the labyrinth that is the Manor. If you’re out for happy ending, make sure you do your negotiations outside of the Flamingo Room. I usually say to the girl when she asks if I want to go to the Flamingo, “What happens in there”? The response will be the key to your success. Make sure you communicate “How” you want the happy ending to occur. Once the deal is struck, the routine will be the same. Go to the oak door, pay the $22 CAD, and order your drink. You will then notice that the girl will tip the usher. This means, leave us alone. You will follow him down passages and through secret doorways to your private spot. There the pre negotiated “Happy Ending” will occur to your agreed deal.

There is also another club in the lower part of the mansion. I hear it is or was a male strip review. It is only open certain days. If it is ever open while I am there, I will review it for the ladies.So next time you’re in the area (between Kitchener and Toronto) stop on into the Manor, tell them Mike sent you.Disclaimer: All information pertaining to the Manor, the events and or actions of the dancers, and management or employees are hearsay. I have never taken part in anything illegal there. :)

McDonald Exposed!

We grew up knowing Ronald McDonald as this happy go – lucky successful clown. Always happy, chillin with Mayor McCheese and the Hamburgler. How times have changed! Recently a “new” ad has come out with a more health conscious Ronald. But it is not the same clown. It is an imposter!



What is this world coming to when you have to replace “Ronald McDonald”? Well we have the story. It seems the real Ronald after years of cheeseburgers and fries along with the strip clubs and booze could no longer deliver that happy go – lucky clown image. In fact, it is rumored that Ronald has a crack addiction. Our investigation has revealed that Ronald has several health problems along with many STD’s. Friends close to Ronald say that he has recently been dealing with genital warts. Can Ronald turn his life around? Was the Jareed pitch too much for him to swallow? We recently caught up with Ronald, but he declined to comment.