Yes, I’m a whore. So…?

Published at the Libertines Pub, Hong Kong

Last week a famous Hong Kong actor openly criticised those hot teen models as disgusting. He even went this far to call them whores.

Judging from the actor’s bad-boy image and his history of being outspoken, I don’t find this news particularly surprising. What actually amused me was the models’ feedback. They were upset and denied that they were whores. They claimed what they were doing were just photographs and not immoral at all.

Thing is, what’s the big deal about being called a whore? If I were them, I would take it with self-respect because:

1. Being called a whore means I got paid for hard skilled work.

2. It means I’m pleasing people and people find me pleasing.

3. It means I’m someone who actually lives in the real world, not like those basement dwellers who keep whining about how unfair the world is and how universal suffrage can solve their problems, from housing to finding someone to date.

At least for me, being a whore is more respectable than those “empowered” chicks who hang around in some “trendy” membership clubs, thinking they worth a billion dollars from bankers, but end up giving them sex for free. Whores are at least more realistic than those wannabes, who invest for the future by sleeping with a random guy who claim himself to be a photographer/director/Feng Shui master. Whores make business travellers’ lives eaiser. Authentic Kong-gals simply can’t pick up the hints when these lonely roamers mention the time of their flight and the hotel they are staying.

Pseudo-models for Pseudo-book fair

Published at the Libertines Pub, Hong Kong

Last week the Trade Development Council lifted the ban of teen models, which was proposed earlier, from its book fair in July under the pressure of the models’ publishers. However, book-signing sessions are still not allowed because the council argued that the models’ risque photo books are of bad taste and too vulgar, which contradicts the fair’s image as being family oriented. They don’t want the chicks to hijack such significant cultural event as they did last year.

I can’t help worrying about the fair if it no longer allows some boob-flashing and legs-flaunting from the bikini-clad models. Who would then pay to see the show? Booklovers? Well, as an old-fashioned booklover who insists on 15-minute bedtime reading every night, I don’t feel the urge to cram myself into the venue to see Haruki Murakami or Stephen Fry for real. I am drawn to their writing talents, not their physical looks and autographs. Besides, most people nowadays just read everything from the Internet and their iPhones. Or worse, they don’t read, they watch videos. Taking a long way to Wan Chai and paying a fee to read something new is so 1990s. Only some jaw-dropping cleavages would provide enough incentives for lads to bother.