I hope the fuckers are happy now

Brandy Britton is dead.

Britton, formerly a professor of anthropology at the University of Maryland, was the founder of the Institute for Women and Girls Health Research, and up until last year, also a part-time prostitute. She was arrested in a police sting at her home last year (that’s right, a sting at a private incall) and charge with four counts of prostitution. Her trial was to have been next week.

She committed suicide this last Saturday.

She was harming no one; bothering no one. She worked at home. Police came into her home and arrested her for the hideous crime of selling what is perfectly legal to give away for free. As a result, her home went into foreclosure and she was to be evicted today.

Her attorney issued a statement that speaks truth to power:

“Brandy was and always will be a good, kind and generous soul who will be dearly missed by her friends and family, but her death underscores an important question: Was the public benefited at all by the resources spent on her arrest and prosecution? As we ponder the apparent senselessness of her passing, we must openly wonder about the purpose, necessity and utility of a criminal justice system that seeks to punish a person rather than to heal them.”

And the prosecutor’s response? Merely a shoulder-shrug:

“On a first-time offense, I doubt if she would have served any time,” said Wayne Kirwan, a spokesman for the Howard County State’s Attorney’s office.

Bastards, all of them.

Momma Said

The story from Lexington, SC is disgusting. A drug addicted mother of three teenage daughters is in custody — charged with child neglect and promoting the prostitution of a minor. Authorities allege that she had repeatedly forced two of her daughters into prostitution to support her own crack cocaine habit. Three men, all friends of the mother, are also in custody and being charged with related offenses.

The media has uncovered an outrageous coda: It was all preventable. Officials from the South Carolina Department of Social Services had tracked problems within the household — including child molestation and drug offenses — since 2000. Three years ago, the oldest of the girls was removed from the mother’s custody. Inexplicably, the two younger girls were left behind.

And yet, there is a punchline. I see dark humor here… levity rendered through the combination of poor wording and over-the-top political correctness:

“These children, they’ve been taught, if you want anything, sex is the way to get it,” said Metts.

As if that attitude would be a rare trait in an American female.

There’s More Than One Way to Skin a Cat

From the “Found en route to looking for other things” department: A different way to run a Bad Client List. How ’bout right out in the freakin’ open?

That’s right. No super-secret clubs. No oath of fealty to the list-keeper. No hand-wringing because “Oh my God! They will fucking kill us all if they see this!”

And — no surprise, this, given that it’s right out in the open — no sketchy bullshit, either.

But of course, since the person who runs this list doesn’t want to use it to fuck people over, there is no need for secrecy.

TNA — Tek’s Not Around

Tek wrote:
The migration went very smoothly (knock on wood). We were down for only a day and a half and no posts were lost.

I’ve finally figured it out: Tek works for the government. Only a government worker would spent 30 hours on a 30 minute job, and then congratulate himself for not making any mistakes.

Look Inside Yourself

“I’m a hooker: Should I tell my boyfriend?”

(hat tip: The Courtesan Connection)

My first reaction on reading this was, “Wow, what an incredibly dishonest, self-centered cunt!” Think about it… here’s a woman in a committed relationship, leading a double life in epic fashion — and some poor slob out there thinks she is all his. She let’s him think that… she’s probably told him that… and she has the gall — the unmitigated gall — to ask ’should I tell him that I’m a prostitute?’, as if she is wondering how to handle things when she just noticed that her prom date’s fly is open.

This woman shouldn’t be wondering if she should tell her boyfriend; she should be asking herself why the fuck she even has a boyfriend. She should be questioning if she deserves a boyfriend. Can you imagine having this bomb dropped on you by someone who supposedly, for all you know, loves you? But our letter writer is worried only about herself. Only a sociopath would let such a situation develop with a significant other.

And then it hit me. I thought about all of the married guys out there who keep women like this in business.

If you go to the link and read the advice columnist’s reply, you will see the theories about the writer’s unresolved issues and one particularly good-sounding theory about her upbringing. It rings true with me, because it squares nicely with the family background of more than one hooker that I have gotten to know particularly well.

But, in my mind, I keep coming back to the clients. The married clients. What of them? And is there any way to get to the bottom of dishonesty and denial that deep?