Asif Khan Inc.

Saving the Whorehouse

St. Peter, it seems had some trick up his sleeve – for after all being appointed as the Gatekeeper doesn’t necessarily mean that you always open the door which leads to the right destination, at least as far as the image of the destination in the mind of the one crossing the gates is concerned. Which is why although Hades might conjure up images of an abysmal coal chamber, it might feel like a never ending orgy which always manages to just stop short of that orgasmic crescendo and stays at that level. Conversely, an overzealous incorruptible purist might see his expectations sent shattering down to the Earth from which he rose above to the Heavens, all just in case he exercised a overtly active imagination of rewards in anticipation of deeds performed while seeking a justifiably higher moral ground.

**

Damn, something does need to be done to wipe off the menace of global terror, I am really getting sick of my frequencies getting hijacked, oh no, not the Whorehouse again this time, weren’t we supposed to enter Hell’s Bells, after all I had made up my mind to tweak my receiver’s frequencies a wee bit to accommodate the changes there now, but whoa, this looks like I may need to compromise way too much than I would want to, but then these Pimps make sure that they have their frequency jammers equipped with the latest technology to take over your airwaves.

Recent years had seen the Pimps ramp up their technology by leaps and bounds which would have put a Flash Gordon on an interstellar sprint to shame; something which allowed them to hijack collective masses of frequencies and condense them all into one huge sonic ball in an attempt to resonate them with their subsonic airmines which promised to rig anything which closely resembled an airwave, although it does seem that they weren’t really as successful as they actually set out to be. You can’t really blame the Whores for all this; they are after all born to haggle for meat out in the street, who gets the biggest chunk of ‘em all is what matters after all. Just that this time around they weren’t being able to figure out who was supposed to get that choice cut which would have bestowed the honor of having bought about imagined perpetual favor as being the favorite whorehouse amongst Big Daddy’s entire harem. To a large extent, it’s the Pimps who deserve a huge credit of the immense disservice they have accorded to this blatant misuse of technology, and as with any dealings in this trade, they are the ones who keep the lions’ share, Whores grow old, and they get either too big or too small in absolutely unwarranted locations and times, simply put, reasons for being out of business, but Pimps are the ones who carry on by recruiting the next lot of nubile nymphets. Whores can be a noisy lot, and an entertaining lot at that too, and watching them haggle as they refute and counter-refute allegations of fair play amongst themselves is an fortuitous journey in time which evoke parallels of a much higher intensity compared to the most melodramatic compositions of the familial disjunctive syndromes which have spawned clones in yet another attempt to hijack frequencies (but then we will try to keep this phenomenon for a separate time, hopefully not because technology has enabled us to interfere with their transmission successfully).

Good fun, I actually don’t recall the last time I had so much fun from the Whorehouse, out of my bed actually, with the Whores entertaining my mind, rather than titillations of other varieties, and leaving it in raptures with their pretentious displays of comic debauchery, which would probably make a 5 year old walk up to them and box their ears to drill some sense into whatever is left between them, at least they should be quiet for some more time before erupting with who knows what this time. Till then, let me try and locate the gate I was actually meant to go through; St Peter is really tripping high time these days.