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Whore-R Stories September 17, 2004
 
The Sixth Crusades
By Mark Ames Browse author Email
 
 

A couple of weeks ago I moved from one apartment to another. For 100 bucks I got a GAZel truck and two movers, a middle-aged Georgian and a young, aggressive Uzbek, who constantly yelled at his weary Georgian sidekick for not carrying things fast enough.

When they were unloading the truck at my new apartment (destroying my old bedframe in the process), we all noticed a young girl in a slutty sky blue outfit and white high heels waiting outside the podyezd. Then this bald, bespectacled Western European man appeared, he and the young girl greeted each other awkwardly, and they walked into the building together.

The Uzbek said to me, "You know what that was?"

"A prostitute," I replied.

"That's right, she's a whore," he sneered. "Everything's for sale in Moscow. There are whores here everywhere. Russian bitches. For them, it's all about money." He spat then asked, "What do you think about them?"

"I like prostitutes," I said, shrugging.

"We don't have whores in Uzbekistan," he said. "Only Russian women are whores. In Uzbekistan, they'd kill her if she tried doing that. We have values. I think it's disgusting, if you ask me. I hope that bitch dies. She's a shame to herself and to humanity."

As a guest of Russia I found his Wahabbite ranting pretty offensive.

"Maybe she is desperate," I said.

"Don't be a fool!" he answered, raising his voice. "It's a question of morality. An Uzbek woman would rather starve to death than become a whore. This Russian whore isn't starving, she just wants to buy herself nice clothes. I hope she dies."

His anti-Russian, pro-Islam rant left a bad taste in my mouth. Two weeks later, after the Chechens slaughtered hundreds of Christian Russians and Ossetians, I decided that it was my Christian duty to stand up for my besieged faith. And that meant nailing a Muslim prostitute. After all, my Savior is still the world's leading pro-prostitute savior.

To make sure that I found myself a Muslim whore, I checked out the various internet sites, including dosug.org and publichouse.nu. It seemed that only about one in every fifty girls was possibly Asiatic (most Asiatic-looking CIS-ers come from Muslim republics), and only a few had clearly Muslim names. I saw a Chinese-looking Gulyera, a Fatima with a harsh face, and a Zhasmin who claimed to be Tatar. Neither Zhasmin (who seemed disappointed over the phone that I didn't want to do BDSM or golden showers with her) nor the Chinese-looking Gulyera would leave their apartments for mine -- and both lived at the end of the metro line -- so I was stuck with what appeared to be the worst of the three options, the harsh-looking Fatima.

I warned Fatima that it's hard to find my apartment, given the different korpusi, podyezdi and codes, but she insisted she'd find it if I just gave her the address. Seventy-five minutes later, she was in the wrong building, in the wrong podyezd on the wrong floor, calling me from her cell phone and snapping at me. So I went down to the street and met her -- and was shocked. For the first time in the history of all internet whoring, the whore actually looked better than in the photo! Jesus was smiling upon me that night -- He wasn't going to let Allah win this Crusade!

I took Fatima into my apartment and offered her something to drink. She asked for mineral water. I would say that about half the times, whores ask for wine or martini, the rest ask for juice, but only rarely do they want only water.

"Don't you drink?" I asked.

"No, not really."

Fatima relaxed on the couch next to mine and took off her sweater, revealing a red halter top with exposed midriff above her rynok jeans. That's when I noticed Jesus' second miracle -- Fatima's knockers were huge!

She asked me for her $100 up front, plus 500 rubles for the taxi. I obliged, then tried to pry into her life.


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Ames
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Email Mark Ames at editor@exile.ru.
 
 
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