I don’t believe in the negative connotation of the word “whore”. It’s so passé in today’s society. Your mom’s a whore, my mom’s a whore, we’re all happy whores. It’s more a term of endearment, if you will.
The name is Babs Belle (heck yes that’s my real name, I told you, my mom’s a whore).
Unlike my comrade-in-exploitation writing, I stayed in-state to attend one of the nation’s top party schools on a full academic scholarship, no less. The name will be withheld to conceal the site of the sins of my youth. This great institute of higher learning was equal parts bliss and mortification. Despite my current efforts, I have yet to find the same levels of pure fun and utter embarrassment anywhere else.
While obtaining my Bachelor’s of English (oh yeah!) I became part of the most despicable organization known to this middle class, ex-prude, former argyle sweater wearing whore. I am ashamed to admit it, this is true. However, it was this very organization that opened my eyes to the great WhoreLand that I live in now. I never wanted to be a “sorority girl” I swear. But in a sea of 30,000 nameless faces, lets be honest, I needed friends.
So I did my time, I wore my Greek letters, I paid my outrageous dues, and I even lived one long wretched year in the sorority house (which I’m convinced is the epicenter of WhoreLand). I’m not proud of the things I’ve done, or the people for that matter. But looking back, I’m convinced my glory days are long gone. And all that is left are the permanent bruises, car dents, memories of those awkward mornings after, and this need for a constant flow of vodka through my veins. All of which will be presented for your viewing pleasure (and mockery) with sheer anonymity in this great outlet of cyber purging.
-Babs Belle
