Wonderland Burlesque's 'The Big Interview' Quiz - Part Five

Wonderland Burlesque's 

'The Big Interview' Quiz - Part Five

For today's quiz, we'll be finishing up with a few categories that are of a more personal nature, limiting it to five, so it's a bit less time consuming.

The rules remain the same.

Imagine if you were a television, radio or newspaper reporter and it was your job to conduct interviews with people you either admire intensely or from whom you would like to demand answers.

That's the fantasy that fuels today's quiz. I want to know whom you would like to interview, and just as importantly, what is it you want to know. What's the burning issue? What's that one question you're dying to get the answer to?

Explain your reasons for picking the individual. What is it about them that intrigues you? Approach this as if they have to answer the questions you ask them! They have no choice. They have to answer and answer honestly. And they can't walk out on you.

Here are the final five:

Social Warrior

So how is a social warrior different than an activist? An activist is an outsider, typically tilting at windmills - not that their enemies aren't real, but that the methods of an activist generally lack true effectiveness. 

A warrior, on the other hand, operates from a position of authority. One is definitely smarter than the other and no one is smarter than... 

AOC 

Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez

When Nancy Pelosi insisted on retaking Speaker of the House, I was fuming. She's a magnet for ill will. She's been vilified and is an easy target for the far right. It was time for some new blood.

And I couldn't think of anyone more suited to really shake things up than AOC. So, when Nancy wouldn't step aside and let someone new take the heat, that is the moment I was done with the old guard. I support the Dems as the lesser of two evils. If this country is survive and thrive? AOC is the only way to go. 

Ocasio-Cortez is one of the first female members of the Democratic Socialists of America elected to serve in Congress. She advocates a progressive platform that includes support for workplace democracy, Medicare for All, tuition-free public college, a federal jobs guarantee, a Green New Deal, and abolishing the U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE).

Yes, I was skeptical when Bernie Sanders was hawking this same platform, but AOC is the future and we need to embrace it, her, and her ideas. Capitalism as currently defined in the country? A failed experiment. It's time to even the playing field. Anyone who doesn't understand that is of the old guard and either protecting some self-interest or simply too afraid to make the leap. 

The other thing I love about her? More than any of her colleagues, she recognizes the importance of social media. It is the future of politics and the primary reason the Repulsivcans are flailing. There's an on-line gaming community for a game called Animal Crossing where people play a cute little critter inhabiting an island full of other little cute critters. You build a house and fish and pick fruit. It's harmless fun. If you subscribe to the Nintendo Switch service, you are able to visit other people's islands. One day (it was a holiday), AOC spent the day dropping in on people's islands, just to say hello. 

That's the kind of warrior spirit I am interested in supporting. Smart wins it (eventually) every time. And if she can turn my head around to her way of thinking? She has a gift and a brilliant future.

A Socialite or Heiress/Heir

I like my privilege served old school. None of this Paris Hilton/Tinsley Mortimer/Oliva Palermo bullshit.  

Dominick Dunne? Doris Duke? An Astor? A Vanderbilt?

Sigh.

Also, quite possibly, known as: "bem-amada" (beloved)!

That's what Brazil's President Getúlio Vargas most likely called her. She'd married his secretary of state, but was believed to have been Vargas' mistress. She is also believed to have lived in the presidential palace, Catete. In addition, she served as part of Brazil's secret service; dispatched to Paris in the guise of a fashionista, she gathered intelligence information on the powers of axis during WWII. The information she gathered convinced Vargas to turn down the axis' invitation to join their efforts.  

As a young woman, she befriended Thomas Edison. She was also the friend and confidante of designer Coco Chanel and had a huge impact on French society.

As US Vogue editor, Bettina Ballard recalled: 

"I particularly remember the season when Aimee was lionized in Paris. She was so pretty, so genuinely nice, carried gaiety with her like a fan, and she was almost eaten alive. Hung with diamonds, she was pushed from fittings to balls, never allowed a moment for private conquest because every hostess needed her for her party to prove that she could draw the lioness of the season. Aimee just wanted to dance and flirt and have fun. That wasn't what Paris expected of her."

Later in life, she became a part of the Kennedy enclave, flitting between homes in Paris, New York City, Palm Beach, Florida and Biarritz - never remaining in one place for very long. She remained a high profile guest at elaborate receptions throughout the world up until her passing at the age of 103. When 102? She swam daily in the Atlantic!

As for the rumors that she was Vargas' mistress and lived in the palace? 

Aimée remained mum. 

I wonder what other secrets "bem-amada" took to the grave?

A pity that Cher never played her in a movie.

A Social Media Influencer

I don't understand the need for social influencers. Those YouTube kids with their million dollar deals, sipping some energy drink while filming themselves engaged in some selfish, self-aggrandizing pursuit? They make me ill. I can't think of a nastier way to make a living, although reality television is right up there. The only talent most of these people possess is the ability to whiten their teeth. Watching their videos or listening to them? Like having knitting needles shoved in all your face holes. I find them obnoxious, not entertaining. Their lack of purpose is only exceeded by their absence of shame and need to exist. But this, thanks to corporate America's greed (yes, another reason that capitalism as it exists does not work - we reward people for the wrong reasons) and their willingness to fund these shyster's worthless lives, is what passes as social media influencers. 

So give me someone of substance. Someone who's smart. Someone with talent, wit, and a sharp eye. 

A true survivor... 

Kathy Griffin

I never thought of her in this manner until The Boyfriend suggested it. We were talking about social influencers and he mentioned Kathy. And, just like that, another piece of the puzzle fell into place. 

You see... we have Kathy before... and Kathy after. Before? She was our gossip queen and it was harmless fun. Now? Since the orange ogre? She's developed teeth and the ability to connect the dots. Her mind is as quick as Dennis Miller's ever was - without all that white male privilege mucking up the message. I can see the day when she's a political commentator. 

That's the power of redemption. 

That's the power of being smart. 

 A Person On The Street

That Person Who Litters

The other day, I was sitting in my car in the parking lot of one of our local grocery stores. The Boyfriend was inside foraging. I didn't have my cell phone with me, so I was people watching. A car came zooming in and parked. Two huge dumps got out... young, overweight, scraggily beard, unkempt, a snap cap put on backwards covering greasy hair, wearing clothing that one could only describe as beyond comfortable. (Yes. I am a judgmental a-hole.) I could only imagine what video game they tore themselves away from (Grand Theft Auto) as they left their parent's basement long enough to make this trip. They returned moments later, a chilled 42 oz. Mountain Dew clutched in their privileged, fatty, white boy mitts. 

As the one getting in the passenger side enters the vehicle, he leaves his door ajar just long enough to deposit two sacks full of fast food garbage on the pavement before slamming the door and speeding off. 

I was aghast. In shock. Not so much that I didn't attempt to get out of my vehicle and say something, but my seat belt was fastened and I was so gobsmacked I couldn't disengage quickly enough.  Instead, realizing they'd gone, I sat there watching as the wind threw their garbage about the parking lot like a kitten with a new toy. 

Such nonsense? It breaks my heart. And enrages me. 

Those are the people I want to 'interview.' Where do they get off? Who raised them? What the capitol F are they bloody NOT thinking? Who are they to inflict their waste upon the rest of the planet in such a manner? Where is the disconnect? Would they want me coming into their parent's basement and taking a dump on their game console? I very well think not!

And it's such a senseless, meaningless, thoughtless crime. So easy to remedy. Right outside the grocery store doors? Giant trash receptacles, there for... I don' know, let's say all the trash you've accumulated in your car. It just takes a bit of forethought. As you go into the store, take all that crap with you and put it in the bin, you stupid, selfish, thoughtless ninny.

And who lives like that? Bags of fast food rubbish on the floorboard of the passenger side of your car? How lazy and disgusting are you? 

These people? They are the enemy. They are the real problem and a waste of oxygen. 

And of course...

Neither of them could be bothered to wear an f'ing mask when they went in the store.   

A Family Member

My Aunt Kate

She was a latecomer to our clan; the second wife of my grandfather's youngest son. An outsider. 

Kate came from privilege. Landing in our little world she must have felt like she'd landed in the world of The Hills Have Eyes, also known as hillbilly hell.  Well-traveled, well-read, well-educated and smart as whip, she managed to keep her thoughts to herself (as long as my grandfather kept his hands to himself.) I once wrote her a letter sharing with her what her arrival meant to me. She was a breath of fresh air. And signs that there was another world 'out there.' 

Sadly, I have never been able to shake the dust of our history from my feet - one firmly entrenched in different worlds - the real one and the one the clan inhabits. I tried to break completely free, once, but life failed me, my health ultimately making all my decisions for me. And since then? Well. One foot entrenched. 

But not Kate. She's always lived life on her terms and I know very little about who she is and what formed her way of thinking. She was a feminist. A health nut. A fitness guru. And up on current events. Currently, she is in charge of voter registration for her community in Florida!

These days? I see her once a year, when she makes her yearly trek to Mayo Clinic for her annual physical. The visit is always a shared one - my mother and the ex, included, and terribly brief. So there has never really been an opportunity to find out who this lady is and what makes her tick. 

If it were not for Covid, I would be on a plane to Florida now, spending a good three days peppering her with questions about her life. I think she would be receptive to the idea, though she's not been much of an open book. 

She fascinates me, as all women of a certain bearing and a sense of style do. And I would hate to think that she might shuffle off this mortal coil without sharing at least a glimpse as to the source of her radiance. 

And, of course... due to the absence of information, one fills in the story where needed, assessing qualities and attributes not necessarily part of the truth. She's human. So, I wonder... where does the reality of her begin and fairy tale I've created about her end?  

--- ---

And that's it for this set of quizzes. I believe the only one of my interviews that has a chance of happening is the one with my Aunt Kate. 

Your turn. Leave your answers in the comments section or post them on your blog and leave a link here. 

Thank you for reading... and participating!

She's A Lady - Tom Jones

Spy In The House Of Love - Was (Not Was)

Acquired Tastes XLIII: Gay Pulp Fiction, Part 65 - Gay Way Books, Part 3 of 3

Acquired Tastes XLIII: 

Gay Pulp Fiction, Part 65

Gay Way Books, Part 3 of 3

Today, we finish up our look at Gay Way books, which very well may be related to Trojan Books' GX Incorporated of Chatsworth, CA. For one thing, they share a common distribution center, Zorro Distributing Company of San Diego, CA, as well as a similar cover art scheme - black and white pencil/ink drawings on a solid color background, changing the background color every two novels. They also, with the exception of the first four books in this series, have a 'mask of Zorro' icon in the upper left corner on the cover.

Gay Way's story is a bit complicated.

Gay Way began life under the umbrella of the F.S. Publishing Company as Gay Power Line. After four titles, GPL became GW, and after 12 titles in the series, the F.S. Publishing Company became XXX Inc. - both operating out of Pasadena, CA. The reason for all this cup and ball chicanery? It could be a number of things: a means of tax and/or debt evasion, or a means of avoiding prosecution; local law enforcement with the support of the feds were always working to shut these publishing houses down by any means necessary. Censorship laws during the Nixon administration were strictly enforced, the prosecution of those charged, seen as a priority. It was the beginning of the Republican Party's marriage to the fanatical Christian right.

As I researched this imprint, I discovered that many of the books were published without a date. Those that had a date, are from 1970 and 1971. I did my best to find all the covers (35 titles in all), failing four times. Utilizing the archive lists of various libraries, I was able to discover the titles, authors, and catalog numbers for all.

Here are the remaining titles for this imprint.

--- ---

Swim Meat

Author: Bob Cochran

GW 123

'Meat' for 'meet? One of my favorite double entendre. It took me a second to appreciate the cover. They are doing the back stroke. Though it appears the dude on the right is interested in trying out a different kind of stoke - one I am certain is not an Olympic-approved event... yet.

--- ---

Taming Of The Stud

Author: Rick Lane

GW 124

Ah, noting like Shakespeare. I had the pleasure (though I can't speak for the audience) of playing Petruchio once. My cod piece? The envy of the entire cast. And when I swooped in and planted one on my dear Kate? Now that was what we called real acting! 

Something tells me that poor unsuspecting patient is about to get a bit of a surprise from Dr. Strange-Glove. Hey, doc? Is that a suppository in your hand, or are you just glad to semen?

These latest illustrations? Much better than last week's. These all tell a story. I think Gay Way got themselves a new illustrator... one with a sense of humor. His work is eerily familiar to that of Trojan Books. Hmm...

 

--- ---

Comin' Thru The Y

Author: Lance Rogers

GW 125

Comin' Thru The Y? Is that like Bringing In The Sheaves? I am not sure what's going on here, but blondie looks a little long in the tooth to be given a bris. Also, I am pretty sure the invites said, please leave your pitchforks at home!

--- ---

'Midst Pleasures and Phalluses

Author: Christopher Ford

GW 126

Huh. This appears to be the work of two different artists. There's the prone figure in the foreground in on style. Then there's that frog-faced man with his puffy leg and weird root foot. I know what's supposed to be going on here... but, to my eyes, this looks like an alien abduction (or should that be seduction?) And then there's that terrible, terrible title. If Twitter existed back then? This would be a #FAIL.

--- ---

Man Rape

Author: Gorman Holst

GW 127

Gorman Holst gets right to the point. He calls it what it is. Why bother with poetics? I rather like the illustration (although it is a bit 'rapey'.) That blondie is a cutie with a sweet package, while the dude attempting to ummm... 'seduce' him has something in his jeans that I would love to unleash.

--- ---

Guess Who's Up In The Loft?

Author: Karl Young

GW 128

I thought this might be a take-off on Guess Who's Coming For Dinner?, but it's the other kind of loft - the with hay! I have no idea how or under what circumstances the young man on the right got into that position, but having had a couple of romps in haylofts during my lifetime I can tell you... straw is not something you want to press your dick into - or any flesh whatsoever. It will tear you up in a way that blondie there never could.

--- ---

Never Quite Alone

Author: George Kiva

GW 129

Does this illustration look familiar?  It should. We've seen it before, but I can't place it. I remember writing something about the worst landlord ever. Well, I can't find it because, guess what? Another faulty USB Thumb Drive just ate my entire collection of vintage gay pulp covers! I am heartbroken. Ah, well, they all exist... somewhere on the internet. I just have to track them down again. Again.  Sigh.

--- ---

Prickly Heat

Author: W. Esbee 

GW 130

(Cover Not Found)

--- ---

Things Never Went Right...

Author: Vic Carter

GW 131

Book blurb:

“The trouble began for Randy soon after his new stepfather, Pete, moved into the house. Randy hated him; hated lying in his bed at night listening to Pete and his mother fucking in the next room; hated the way Pete ignored his right to privacy and thought nothing of walking into the bathroom when Randy was using it; hated the way he sometimes caught Pete looking at him, as though they shared some really dirty secret.”

And here is a plotline for this one, provided by Maitland McDonagh, of 120 Days Books.  The read the rest of her review, click the link. 

"Randy is only 16 when Pete, his new stepfather, catches him jerking off to some dirty pictures and rapes him. Within a year Pete is selling his stepson’s ripe ass to every pervert in town and Randy’s mom has made it clear that she couldn’t care less. Randy eventually demands a cut of the profits and has accumulated a substantial nest egg by the time he’s 18. After an anonymous call to the police that gets his mother and stepfather thrown into jail, Randy moves to Hollywood and strikes out on his own, quickly becoming – not surprisingly – the worst sort of hustler, the kind who ruthlessly rolls and beats johns in a vain effort to quiet his inner demons.

Randy eventually gets arrested and sent to prison, where he learns some new tricks and decides to set his sites higher: Instead of hustling, he wants to find a sugar daddy or mama and really doesn’t care which. Fortunately, Randy cleans up nicely and quickly gets a job at the ABC Manufacturing Company, where boss lady Marcia Banning looks like a good prospect, except that she’s already married. But her husband, Ralph, seems sort of gay, so Randy gets to work. First he seduces/sexually assaults Ralph, then takes him to gay bars followed by a gay party that ends with Ralph being gang raped; that, Randy figures, should convince him to leave Marcia. Which Ralph does… but he turns up at Randy’s door, suitcase in hand, just as Randy is scoring with Marcia’s secretary, Rose. Rose bears uncomfortable witness to Ralph’s last humiliation: Randy mocks him and throws him out, which is enough to convince her that she doesn’t want to stay either.

Ralph commits suicide, and Randy–whose veneer of affable normality lies lightly over a truly disordered inability to understand the way most people think and feel–puts the moves on Marcia right after Ralph’s funeral. He rapes her when she resists, and she retaliates by hiring a pair of goons to beat the hell out of him. When he turns to Rose for comfort she tells him to go to hell–she doesn’t know what he did to Marcia, but she can guess. "He had a stupid urge to cry like he hadn’t done since he was a kid," writes Carter. “The last time he had cried had been the time his stepfather… raped him."

Randy goes on to get drunk, pick a fight with a barfly that gets him thrown out onto the street, picks up a young guy in a nearby park (“there was always a faggot where there was a park,” he figured) and beats him to death just as a cop comes by on his nightly rounds. I’ll leave the rest to Carter: “There was only, suddenly, a quick, hot pain in the small of his back and it seemed as though he had… become lighter, as if his feet had taken wings. Then he realized that he was falling, tumbling over and over into the damp grass. Things had never gone right for him."

Okay... now? Go ahead. Try to whack off to that!

--- ---

Wyoming Stallion

Author: Jerry James

GW 132

That pretty lil' cowboy is about to mount something, but it is not a horse (though he might be hung like one?) I take it this is one of those 'dude' ranches.' You know, the kind gay divorcee's run away to right after the divorce decree becomes final. Though... come to think of it. I might be confusing this book with a scene from the classic motion picture The Women.

--- ---

No Holds Barred

Author: William Bent 

GW 133

(Cover Not Found)

--- ---

Navel Maneuvers

Author: Jack Wood

GW 134

This one is available as an eBook or a PDF at Hommi Publishing for only $1.95!

Here's a small excerpt of the book provided by the site:

“Take it out for me,” Don whispered.

Jerry’s hands shook as he pulled down the zipper. He fumbled around inside Don’s pants and shorts and pulled out his cock. His breath caught in his throat. “Jesus,” he breathed as he saw the huge, thick, stiff cock he pulled into view. It was gigantic. It was the biggest, hardest prick he’d ever laid eyes on. It was magnificent!

“Suck it,” Don urged.

Jerry hesitated. He thought of Tommy and high school. “No, I can’t,” he said. “I’ve never done that,” he lied.

“Well, start now,” Don said.

There was an edge of nastiness in Don’s voice, Jerry noticed. He wanted to suck the cock into his mouth but he couldn’t make himself do it. Don inched his hips forward; the prick was right at Jerry’s lips.

“Go ahead, kid, suck it,” Don whispered as he continued to lick Jerry’s prick, balls, thighs.

Jerry looked around. His eyes grew wide. Vic had Jim pinned down on the floor and was fucking him in the ass. Jim was writhing and squirming and moaning. His eyes were closed and it was obvious that he was enjoying Vic’s cock up his ass very much.

“Suck me, Jerry, please,” Don urged.

“It’s too big,” Jerry argued. “I couldn’t get it in,” he whispered back.

“Sure you can. Try it. Go ahead, kid, try it.”

Jerry closed his eyes. He felt Don move closer and Don’s cock touched his lips. Don moaned. It tasted salty and slick."

That Jerry... some pussy, huh? 

Me? I believe in that old saying: Try it! You might like it!

And Jerry? Trust me. He likes it just fine!

As for that cover... remember Lucite chairs? No, it's true. See-thru molded dining chairs. And, again... this illustration appears to be something drawn by several different artists. What a dog's breakfast!

Sadly, this was the last book for the imprint. Why they went out of business? Lost to ages, my dears.

--- ---

And another one bites the dust. That's all for the Gay Way imprint. 

Next week, we'll move on to a new imprint. 

Until then...

Thanks for reading!

 Try It Out - Gino Soccio