A Writer and His Hookers

Every writer needs a few good hookers — opening sentences or paragraphs that seize the reader’s attention, that smack the reader right upside the fuckin’ head.  The following are a few of my favorites:

It’s a little-known fact that Tom Petty’s song “Don’t Do Me Like That” was originally titled “Stop Having Sex with My Butt.”

Just as New York City’s motto is “The City That Never Sleeps,” Bangkok’s slogan is “The City That Sleeps with Anyone, If the Price Is Right.”

Much confusion ensued after Alexander Pope named his firstborn son The.

“I can’t believe you came!” he ejaculated.

I guess you could say I was a rather precocious youth — when I was only a freshman in high school, I was already cracking sophomoric jokes.

It’s a little-known fact that the movie Scent of a Woman was originally titled Stank of a Ho.

My nastily bastardly neighbor was never a big fan of physical training — until fisting became an Olympic sport.

This morning, I awoke with a throbbing erection.  Now, normally, that’s not a bad thing — but this time . . . it wasn’t mine.

It’s a little-known fact that there was a spinoff of the hit TV show “Married . . . With Children” that was set in San Francisco and titled “Single . . . With Gerbil.”

Father Felcher may have been telling me the truth when he said his girlfriend was a sweet little honeyfuck, but he had conveniently failed to mention that his “girlfriend” was a schnauzer named Fritz.

I couldn’t believe it — the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen had just casually thrown me to the floor, nonchalantly stomped on my crotch, and lackadaisically shoved me down the stairs . . . which surprised the hell out of me, since we were on the elevator at the time.

Though I normally miss a woman’s subtle flirtations, I had a feeling Miss Jones was hitting on me when she stuck her tongue up my ass.

It’s a little-known fact that Elton John’s song “Don’t Let the Sun Go Down on Me” was originally titled “Don’t Let the Sun Lick Me Where I Pee.”

In the immortal words of the great Spanish philosopher José Ortega y Gasset, “Me gusta queso — me gusta queso muchísimo.”

Bob Costas was shocked and discombobulated when the crass world-class skier Bobby Bunker had the audacity to suggest that the Winter Olympics be held in China, since it’s “The Land of a Billion Slopes.”

As I approached the convent, a nun was crouched with her back toward me, plucking weeds out of the sidewalk, muttering profanities that would make a bartender blush.

     Suddenly, she spied my shadow on the sidewalk and quickly flipped around, saying, “Oh, sorry, I didn’t see you there!  Can I help you with something?”

     And so began a romance that would last almost as long as the average life span of a tsetse fly.

It started out like any other night.  I was lying in bed waiting for Aimee to come tuck me in and read me my bedtime story, but — instead of sashaying into the bedroom with her nightgown on and a storybook in her hand, as usual — she sauntered in wearing a provocative crotchless leather jumpsuit and a strap-on dildo.  And she was lasciviously swinging a bullwhip in her right hand.

     “It’s go-time!” she said.

     My little sister was becoming a woman.