01 June 2007


We bring you this special report from our resident consumer investigator, Eddie McNamara.


You know that old line about a guy being such a loser that he could walk into a whorehouse with a pocket full of $50’s and not get laid? Hi, I’m Eddie and I’m that guy.

Over the last 2 years Asian back/foot rub joints sprung up all over NYC so fast that there was one on every block right next to the nail salon and cell phone store. I’m no Wharton graduate, but the business model seemed to be completely out of whack. In order to pay their rent and cover overhead + employees I conservatively estimated that each store front would have to give nearly 7,000 massages a month, which is completely unreasonable given the competition.

Massage parlors and legitimacy hardly go hand in hand so I naturally assumed that their income was coming from extra favors and not the advertised $5 neck rub. Every guy I talked to had their own happy ending story that they would share in great detail. In my mind it was settled, I just had to go about proving it................

The place I chose to visit seemed to be the dodgiest of them all. It was across the street from the projects and it’s exterior just screamed “Trafficked Women Here!” I gathered up the courage to enter and was greeted by an old lady Mama San (I know what’s up, I saw every ‘Nam movie) who sat me down and offered me tea. She asked if I wanted energy or if I needed to relax. Bingo, here we go it’s the code word game and “relax” means hand relief, I get it. Naturally I said “relax” and she poured a cup of tea and ushered me into a cubicle with a massage table and told me to disrobe and go under the towel.

A few minutes pass and a woman old enough to be Grand Mama San enters the cubicle and starts rubbing away at my neck. Her hands were as big as 2 canned hams and as rough as longshoremen's. She was strong like bull and my back was cracking like she was squeezing a handful of Rice Krispies. It was the single best massage I had ever received and I was stress free for quite some time afterwards and actually walked upright like a human being for once in my life. Thankfully the old broad didn’t try anything funny because granny porn ain’t my thing. Strike one.

I continued on my mission and continued to get regular ass massages but not even a single offer to finish the job. My only glimmer of hope was when a Chinese dude slammed the door in my face in Bay Ridge, leading me to believe that his place was the real deal, but still no solid proof.

I explained my plight to a few friends and they whipped out business cards from the places they frequented. This was not the original intention of my noble experiment, if I wanted to do it that way I could pick up a copy of the Village Voice or check Craigslist for a sure thing. I wanted to uncover a secret underworld, not pay $50 bucks to get jerked off. Total fucking failure. Shame on me like Arnold Diaz was in the room.

Next demystification: $5 Psychic Readings…What really goes on when the curtain closes?

Do you have a tip for Eddie McNamara to check out? Email us.

1 comment:

Gotham City Insider said...

Bravo! It truly is harder than it seems to wander into the "right" place. Its sort of like buying fireworks back in the day or buying a fake handbag on Canal Street; they are capriciously discerning of round eye; not just anyone can "get" the goods whether the goods are a hand job or a Fauxlex.