Dara snuck into my heart through the back door. Cuban and Italian, she was dark like the wrong side of the moon, a devout coke addict who drank a pint of Scotch a night. She catered to my every desire, hugged me like a bear. It’s living hell to love a vampire when you’re a morning person.
Categories: Prose, Uncategorized • Tags: Burlesque, naked performance art, NY Burlesque, NY Press, Performance art
Prison is torture for your pride. The most frightening part for me was when the cops broke into the apartment. They entered like studs onto a beach. I was giving a nude “massage without a license” to an Asian man, who, come to think of it, did explode into a smug grin when I oiled his groin. The buzzer rang obnoxiously. “What the fuck?”Aggressive male voices were outside the door. I opened and three Popeye-the-Sailorman types pushed the door and […]
Categories: Prose • Tags: Comedy, Laura D., New York Press Underground Comedy
The internet is a horrible invention. It’d be one thing if Google was a portal to your dead parents or an app called “Waterboard a Banker” or if FaceBook scrolled jealousy updates, but instead, liars strip in its smoky cabaret. Videos, pictures and, of course, tweets written in black on a lily white screen are all shit out of a collective ass. Tweets about everything from China to religion to underwear are rarely wise, just hyped: they’re a list of […]
Categories: Prose
Laura Dinnebeil