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Club Review September 8, 2006
The Sounds Of Katz
By Hannah Katz Browse author

I've decided to add a layer of suspense to my reviews. I'm kind of tired of stripping bare my punch before the second paragraph rolls around. So all you Katz fans that are just dying to know where I've been for the past two weeks are just gonna have to keep reading.

So promptly on my arrival in Moscow, Yasha starts blowing up on my cell. Where have you been? Why did you leave without telling anyone? You realize that we were counting on you last issue to write a club review and you just up and disappeared? His questions were starting to annoy me.

"Look," I tell that bald freak. "I don't owe you or the eXile nothing, you dig? You don't pay me enough for me to give a fuck about your puny little publication. In fact, you haven't paid me in two months. Do I look like I can live off comped booze for that long? Well, maybe I can, but that's not the point. Don't fucking push me. You know, I'll quit in a second."

And that's the truth. With the popularity I've been gaining with my club review columns, I could start my own club review web page and make more money off Internet advertising in one month than the eXile makes in an entire year. In fact, I should look into it.

Anyway, Yasha apologized and this time politely asked if I have the time to do a club review. "Yeah," I said, "I know a place where I could go." Click.

The next night I grabbed Michael. He's nothing special. Let's just call him a friend. A rich, handsome, well hung and perfectly sculpted British banker friend. Well, actually he grabbed me. Or rather his driver grabbed me.

Michael was stuck in a international conference at work, so his driver picked me up and delivered me to his flat on Pushkinskaya where his cook had a freshly prepared stir-fry made to order with tofu waiting for me.

I like Mike. He's simple, works hard, fucks like a rabbit and licks like a dog. Basically, the man has got his priorities straight.

We arrived at a new club called GNEZDO, ordered some drinks and even before it got good, it went bad. There's one thing about Mike that I don't like. He's one of those audiophiles. He told me that he spends a few hundred grand a year on upgrading his equipment. And this boy doesn't brag. Anyway, he ran into a fellow audiophile who started pointing out that Gnezdo has Meyer Sound speakers.

"What did you say," I asked his buddy.

"This club uses the world's most prestigious concert-series speakers. They're called Meyer Sound."

I looked up and sure as hell, there was that blue fucking decal with the glittering Meyer Sound logo, that exact same decal that I was trying hard to forget.

I was back in the states at my parents' house in LA. Bored and starved for sex, I stupidly caught a flight over to SF to get in a few fucks over the weekend with my ex. What a mistake. We used to have great sex. If he told me that he got on anti-depressants six months ago, I would've rather used my 10-year-old vibrator I still had stashed away at my parent's house.

I spent my entire weekend with flaccid. Instead of fucking we ate at Burritos and listened to shitty garage bands. But you know I get my pleasure where I can, I forced him to go down me for at least an hour each day. Twenty minutes in the morning. Some during the afternoon time and a nice big half hour session to lull me to sleep. He lapped at my cunt so much that he developed a weird lisp by the time I left. That'll be sure something he'll remember.

What's the Meyer Sound connection? Mr. Flaccid's apartment is all decked out in MS. No, he isn't a wealthy audiophile like Mike. He's not so fortunate. He's just another working stiff -- and that's about the only type stiff he'll ever be. Fucking asshole.

Nizhgorodskaya 29

M: Taganskaya


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Save The eXile: The War Nerd Calls Mayday
The future of The eXile is in your hands! We're holding a fundraiser to save the paper, and your soul. Tune in to Gary Brecher's urgent request for reinforcements and donate as much as you can. If you don't, we'll be overrun and wiped off the face of the earth, forever.

Scanning Moscow’s Traffic Cops
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We’re happy to introduce a new column in which we publish Moscow’s raw radio communications, courtesy of a Russian amateur radio enthusiast. This issue, eXile readers are given a peek into the secret conversations of Moscow’s traffic police, the notorious "GAIshniki."

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eXile club reviewer Babooshka takes a trip through time with the ghost of Moscow clubbing past, present and future, and true to form, gets laid in the process.

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Jared comes out with yet another roundup of upcoming bardak sessions.

Your Letters
Richard Gere tackles this week's letters. Now reformed, he fights for gerbil rights all around the world.

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Everybody complains about celebrities, but nobody does anything about them. People, it’s time to stop fretting about whether we’re a celebrity-obsessed culture—we are, we have been, we’re going to be—and instead take practical steps to clean up the celebrity-obsessed culture we’ve got...


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