OK, New York Gov. Eliot Spitzer got caught on a wire tap being "involved in a prostitution ring." Hardly shocking these days. And he oozes the usual biolerplate contrition, saying he acted "in a way that violates" his obligations to his family: "I have disappointed and failed to live up to the standard I expected of myself. I must now dedicate some time to regain the trust of my family." Fine. Dandy.
But this part of the story stopped me:
The Web site of the Emperors Club VIP displays photographs of scantily clad women with their faces hidden. It also shows hourly rates depending on whether the prostitutes were rated with one diamond, the lowest ranking, or seven diamonds, the highest. The most highly ranked prostitutes cost $5,500 an hour, prosecutors said.
$5,500? An hour?? Is this East Coast inflation, or are politicians just nuts? When I was in the military overseas, the, um, purchased physical act of romance was relatively cheap. But the cost kept going up and up, because the GIs who indulged in that sort of thing were not economic geniuses and didn't have anything else to spend their money on anyway. But I repeat, $5,500 an hour? That's enough for (referrring to our earlier story about the massive pot bust here) five-and-a-half pounds of marijuana. You tell me which would give the most pleasure.
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There's a story about the personnel manager hiring a new secretary for the company president.
"I'm embarassed to mention this," the manager says to the applicant, "but the president of the company is a real jerk. I blush to mention this, but the president demands that his secretary be, uh, affectionate, if you catch my drift. I'm sorry if you feel insulted by this, but the job pays $2,000 a week, and the president has asked me to offer you the job."
She thinks to herself, gee, $2,000 a week is $100,000 a year, and I end up screwing my boyfriend even after he takes me to Powers Hamburgers and then we watch a movie on TNT. "I'll take it", she says.
Monday morning, first thing, you know what the boss wanted. And after ten minutes, he tells her that she needs to go down to Personnel, that there's some stuff that needs to be done there.
She gets there, and the personnel manager looks at his watch. "Hmmm," he says, "twelve minutes. Well, we'll round that up to fifteen minutes. You're fired. Here's your paycheck: $12.50."