I saw this in the paper yesterday, and I nearly died laughing. Dallas Candidate worked as prostitute – Democrat for House cites religious conversion, has no regrets

The Web page touts the “hot uninhibited” services of a male escort identified as Todd Sharpe, displaying a blurry beefcake photo and listing a Dallas phone number.

But the number belongs to a salesman and former actor named Tom Malin, a Dallas Democrat who is seeking election to the Texas House.
Tom Malin

Mr. Malin acknowledged Thursday that he once worked as a prostitute.

“I’ve made mistakes in my life, and I’ve stood before my Creator and I’ve accepted responsibility for my behavior,” Mr. Malin said. “I’ve also accepted his grace and his redemption and his love and his forgiveness, and that’s what’s important.”

Web pages that have been used to advertise the sexual services of “Todd Sharpe” say he previously worked in the New York City and Los Angeles areas. His rates ranged from $200 to $600, according to graphically detailed reviews from men whom the pages described as satisfied customers.

Now, I personally cannot freaking wait to hear all the crawdadding that is going to come from all the holier-than-thous who lost their simple minds about Jeff Gannon, Man-Whore. Jeff Gannon, as you may recall, was the guy drawing a private paycheck who attended White House press briefings. Tom, on the other hand, is a guy who is looking to draw a paycheck from the State of Texas and answer questions. In other words, he won’t be asking questions of people in power, he will be in power.

Will there be the horrified outcry, from my little web-buddies who lean left, that there was with Jeff Gannon, Man-Whore? I, um, doubt it. Regardless, it’s almost worth starting a whole new blog just to compare the reaction. Almost.

Watching winter sports all day long, combined with a winter storm advisory in effect for my region of Texas, has made me powerful hungry for brats mit kraut. Ain’t got none.

So it’ll be Slovacek’s Jalapeno Sausage, on a bed of fresh sliced onions and japs, swimming in an amber bock. Baked at 375 for, hell, I don’t know yet. 45 minutes? We’ll see. Till the bock bubbles. Smells ambrosial right now…

Know what else would be good? Gumbo — big ol’ pot of gumbo. Posole, too. Funny how instinctual eating gets when the temp drops. Lard it up, man…no time for no salads.

The Hooter’s Casino and Hotel in Las Vegas

I mean, could life possibly get any better for an over-the-hill, crappy-poker-playing, hot-wing-eating, cold-beer-drinking hayseed schlub like me? I don’t want to go to those $30,000-millionaire fancy-pants joints (*koff*Wynn*koff*Bellagio*koff) that overrun LV like crabgrass…I’m not a fancy-pants, and I have zero aspirations to be one, no matter how much money I have. Elegance, style and class are completely wasted on me (just ask Herself.) Somehow, I don’t see the gelled-up*, sunglass-wearing, untucked, unbuttoned long-sleeve shirt crowd clogging up the tables (and staring deep into my soul over a $20 pot) here either, since Hooter’s aggressively markets down-market.

However — if they play music in the poker room as loud as they do in their restaurants? That would completely ruin it. Somebody check that out and get back to me, OK?

* Speaking ofthe gelled-up, I saw a very unfortunate example the other night at the poker room. Poor young bastard had the dreaded widow’s peak and a rapidly-advancing case of MPB. I pinky-swear, he’d gelled up a row down the middle of his head and a row projecting out at a 45° angle over each ear. Each row was about three inches long. He looked like a community theater space alien. I happened to be sitting next to a fellow old geezer, and we just looked at each other and burst out laughing. Of course, you can’t explain it to anybody, since the rest of the callow yoots at the table had spent at least as much time and money putting Jell-O in their hair, and I just hate to insult a man to his face.

I’ve found a new winter Olympic sport that I can get behind with great gusto: Snowboard Cross, or, as the kids say, SBX. I’ve always wanted to see some of this skiing stuff in a head-to-head racing format, and this is it. It’s totally Generation-iPod (Gen-i?) Slacker Youth, but it’s still pretty dang cool to watch four dudes flying down a mountain through twists and turns and over jumps toward the finish line.

Of course, it is Gen-i Slacker Youth, so show-boating is going to happen, and it cost the young lady the first-ever gold medal in the sport:

Jacobellis insisted that she wasn’t showing off.

“I had been having trouble with that jump all day because of the wind,” she said. “I was trying all different kinds of grabs to try to stabilize myself in the air.

“But it just didn’t work.”

“I’m definitely disappointed,” Jacobellis said. “I was focusing on that jump because I was having trouble with that jump all day. I was feeling myself getting thrown by it.

“And when it came down to it, I wasn’t able to pull it together.”

Jacobellis went a little further a few hours later during a conference call – “I was having fun, and that’s what snowboarding is.”

U.S. coach Peter Foley said Jacobellis has always had a tendency to grab her board for stability, but after looking at a frame-by-frame breakdown of the jump shot by Associated Press photographers, he conceded that Jacobellis probably had gone over the top.

“She definitely styled that a little too hard,” he said.

That’s a hard, hard way to learn a lesson you would think wasn’t needed. Anyhoo — time to get those wussie downhill skiiers four across.

As I type this, too, the biathlon is on. Such an oddly compelling sport. I shudder to think what those fancy .22s cost.

Finally — bring on the hockey, baby…

UPDATE: That was a heckuva game. I love that the ancient bad-ass Derian Hatcher is playing, and I love that there’s a Hispanic hockey player from Alaska named Gomez. Only in America, huh? Take that, Gumball-Head, you race-baiting egomaniacal toad. The Slovaks looked like better passers than the Americans, but I’m a hockey idiot who just loves the game. Looks like we’ve got the Swedes & the Russkis to go. Guess I’ll be setting alarms and such.