The Piss Prophets of Europe (Amsterdam, part 4).

Casey Chase
The International Dirty Webmaster show ended yesterday, and from what observed, the only way to you make big money in this business anymore is “working in the gray areas”. As if being in porno isn’t gray enough. You better either be a thief or selling shit like “Beastie Porn” if you wanna make a living. That’s what they referred to it here — simply “Beastie”. When someone first said the dudes flashing all the big money and living in weird places like the Antilles sold “Beastie”, the first things to flash through my head were The Beastie Boys — and Paul’s Boutique — which is, perhaps, the greatest rap record ever made.

I guess they recently outlawed Beastie Porn production in Holland, but sales are legal…unless the stores I saw in the Red Light District featuring covers with chicks sucking horse dicks are breaking the law — which I doubt. Oh yea, I also found out there’s also something called “Sim Beastie” — which means the model might play with herself in a stall, with a bunch of horses and dogs and pigs kind of milling about, but she never touches them.

I wanna meet the twisted fucks who jerk to Beastie or Sim Beastie. Not literally, of course, but if this is your thing, please e-mail and tell me why. Include in your e-mail why this sort of thing pushes your button and when you went to the 8th grade dance, were you a Wall Flower?

Oh, and please don’t take offense to the “twisted fuck” label — there’s a lot of us out there.

Happy Yom Kippur!

I’m no Jew, but I know today’s the day cause I took a walking tour through the “Jordaan” neighborhood on my way to Anne Frank House, and fuck me cause it was closed. But that’s OK. There were tons of other cool shit to see, and I ended up scoring these weird, fold-out maps of France in an antique store for 20€ each, which was probably 15€ more than I should have paid. But they’re the kind of thing I don’t mind paying too much for.

Before that I kinda got fucked at the Rijk’s Museum, cause almost the whole thing is closed while they renovate. I could see they were tearing the place apart, but I didn’t know to what extent. They didn’t reduce the price any, either…but I was still down, cause I had to see the Vermeers, and I was figuring there was gonna be at least 10 or 15. On the way to the Vermeer Room, I caught two paintings featuring distressed ladies, seated, with a Wise Man beside them. Wise Man in Painting #1 is inspected a bottle of piss; in the second, Wise Man has already inspected the piss, which he has set on the ground. Turns out this was a paying gig in, say, 1600; “Piss Prophets” inspected the golden nectar in an attempt to see what was causing The Fair Lady to act whacky. Could it be? Pregnant!? Call The Piss Prophet!!

I am a modern-day Piss Prophet. And in order to be 100% accurate, I require it directly in my mouth.

I get to the Vermeer Room, and I’m out of luck. Call this and Anne Frank a Dirty Deuce. I was expected a dozen or two; they only have four god damn Vermeers in the whole joint — and two of them are on loan. Ends up I was in and out of there in less that an hour, and that included listening to the audio tour on most of what’s being displayed.

After the Pistols’ last show at The Winterland in San Francisco, Johnny Rotten sneered to the audience, “Ever get the feeling you’ve been cheated?”

That makes two of us.

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