Author Archive for M. Toole

by Uncle Pahgre

     Despite the infringing moral overtones associated with houses of ill repute, even the most Puritan among us has to admit that the existence of such pleasure palaces is as much a part of Americana as Toyotas and the New York Yankees. (I hesitate to employ the time worn analogy to mom and apple pie here considering the topic). No matter if one is client or critic, the naked truth is that brothels are legal in almost every country on the planet and in Nevada.

In the Silver State, revenue derived from this ongoing recreational pursuit makes up more than 20% of the gross product with gambling, ranching (the same thing these days), and limited mining shoring up the rest. Lumped together under tourism, prostitution/gambling is the state’s most lucrative industry. Proximity to the theocratic Beehive State, while not planned or appreciated from the start, does little to threaten the continued success in these aforementioned arenas.

Although the actual tour herein is much more enjoyable by automobile, bicycle or even golf cart, it is still possible to visit each of the sites listed by walking. And, since the lust pilgrim must at least enter the brothel on foot, the title will remain. Besides that, the author, whose activities on this merry trek have never been documented, likes the sound of it.

We will start in northwest Nevada and work our way down in a smooth flowing motion to Las Vegas where, surprisingly enough, the flesh sport is outlawed, at least within the city limits.

OUR RATING SYSTEM: *****Excellent ****Damn Good. Prices vary and are estimated by the number of $ at the end of each critique.

Verandas of Venus – Located between Orovada and Winnemucca this cat house was first opened by Wileena Cranapple, a former British school teacher who grew tired of long hours on her feet and decided to opt for other parts of the human anatomy for financial survival. She was a great student of Greek and Roman mythology and decorated her pleasure abode with statues imported from Athens, Rome, San Francisco and New Orleans. Cranapple was the first madam to lease land from the Forest Service, in nearby Humboldt National Forest, in order to expand her circle of influence. Today ski areas do the same. One of the “leagues'” original player/coaches, Wileena passed on in her sleep in 1972 at the tender age of 107. ***** $$$. Traveling east on Interstate 80 the seeker is about to enter a sinful zone known locally as El Camino del Bagnio.

The Canary Crib – Just over Emigrant Pass at Carlin, this remodeled railroad depot serves as the town’s meeting place during the day and the town’s meeting place through the night. Although the Crib, as it is affectionately called, offers a generous local’s discount, most of the business is from out of town. Upon entering the main parlor the gentleman caller is welcomed by the drama of red. Red carpet, red curtains, red furniture, red wallpaper abound. The only thing that isn’t red is the money in his pocket. A massive Ponderosa pine Christmas tree accentuates the atmosphere in the dining room while the stairway is made of Serbian mahogany. Upstairs there are some 17 small rooms each one named for a tropical bird. Both the Pelican and the Peacock offer decks and room service. ***** $$. Exhausted from the nickel tour we head further east to downtown Elko, first founded as a construction camp for railroad workers in 1869.

The Gilded Lilly – Apart from the main fare the Gilded Lilly offers snooker, poker and an assortment of board games in its lavish drawing room. The drinks are stiff and reasonably priced while the food leaves much to be desired. (We suggest you grab a pastrami on rye across the street at Lupanar’s Shoshoni/Jewish Deli instead). After a few moments the customer will notice that the entire building is lighted by candles. While one may think that is to cover for the lack of beauty present he will soon realize that it is only because the operator is too cheap to pay her electricity bill. Famous visitors to the Gilded Lilly include presidents, kings and television evangelists. This phenomenon is verified by the remarkable lack of names in the guest register. ***** $. We will now backtrack to a town aptly named Lovelock since a bus load of polygamists has reportedly landed in Wells.

The Poultry Nest – A short drive from Lovelock on state route 399 sits the Poultry Nest, a combination whorehouse/mining museum. Housed in a strict replica of the Nevada State Capitol, the Nest offers amenities far beyond the reach of the average romantic enthusiast. An olympic swimming pool, a weight room, a wine cellar and a rooftop terrarium are just the beginning. Each bedroom has a phone and cable television for the long term visitor. All of the hostesses are fluent in several languages including English. Most are college educated since the John C. Freemont Junior College offers free tuition to qualifying coeds. Besides matches, other desired souvenirs of the Nest include postcards, T-shirts, ash trays, group photos and, for especially good customers, a Certificate of Merit signed by all of the employees.***** $$$$

Maddie’s House of Delight – Just a hop, skip and a jump from the state capital at Carson City is Maddie’s, a bawdy house that gained historical status in 1990. Services are named after Nevada’s mining heritage with the “Big Bonanza”, the “Comstock Lode” and the “Hoover Dam” among the most popular. Thermal water from nearby hot springs, often draws tired casino workers and a host of bright light celebrities more interested in getting clean than in getting dirty. This is not the spot for the novice as the price for one hour is about that of a new set of Ben Hogans. Inside tip: Try the patented nectarous eyeball massage. Native tungsten fixtures adorn the living area while the narrow hallways are done in a sort of subtle, nouveau-atomic weapons test site motif. ***** $$$$$$$$. Now we’ll head south toward Las Vegas and its infamous strip.

Deseret Dessert – Just south of Hawthorne on Nevada Route 359 over Lucky Boy Pass sits a culinary marvel. Began as an establishment like the rest the Deseret soon became known for its food and not so much for its foolin around. Today the sporting house pays the rent at the dinner table offering a side of sin. Don’t miss the broiled lobster imported from Trepassey Bay or the Braised Salmon Almondine. For the more earthy tastes, the chicken fried steak is heavenly. Served with steamed okra and steamy, robust noodles, actually concocted by domicile courtesans on their day off, the fare is the best for 100 miles. The only other decent victuals are to be found at another less notable ranchito and fish fry dive, The Walker River  House, over in Babbitt. (Editor’s note: Sadly, the Dixie Darlene’s at Austin was closed for remodeling at the time of our venture and could not be reviewed).***** $$$$$.  Now it’s on to Las Vegas!

Little Sheebah’s – Route 160 at Pahrump, Little Sheebah’s is perhaps Nevada’s oldest brothel having been established in 1931, about ten minutes after the state legislature passed a law allowing such stimulating activity. Began in a tent the enterprise grew and soon began a mobile service from a post-war, three-wheel, travel trailer. In 1965 Little Sheebah passed on leaving the business to her gay son, Red.

An All-U-Can-Eat Buffet features rare roast beef, carved by former pro boxer, Lester Holgrahm, who at 260 effectively keeps the lid on the place.

Tip: Don’t go to Sheebah’s on three-day weekends or when the Japanese are holding a convention in nearby Las Vegas. Free mints. No pets. ***** $$$$.

Another kitty on the dole

(Montrose) A survey conducted in this Western Slope city suggests that most of the nation’s feline population is receiving some sort of federal assistance. The alarming statistics appear valid even though some 60% are capable of putting in an honest day’s work.

The data has White House aides scurrying around in an attempt to manipulate the findings. Insiders say the results are a “major embarrassment” to the President who has only recently “been strutting around like a bandy rooster” on the sore subject of welfare reform.

“We did a great job convincing our viewing audience that unemployment figures were stable even though many citizens on out tally sheets were making minimum wage or working several jobs to survive,” said Sally Beguile, a leading pinchbeck in the Obama Administration. “Many of us here in Washington are convinced that we will be able to claim full employment status by the time Al runs against Danny (Quayle).”

Beguile admitted that full employment status is an illusive state often associated with classic utopias such as Shangrila, Brigadoon, Lyndon Johnson’s Great Society, Plato’s Republic, Camelot, the Spanish Intuition and repeated Marx Brothers shenanigans in such hotbeds as Freedonia.

“We prefer to puff up, make reference to proper nouns and paint specific pictures in an attempt to distract the eating public from reality while encouraging rampant consumption,” stressed Beguile.

According to the findings, collected from a cross-section of studies conducted all over the country, the situation is no worse in the urban sectors that out in hickland. Primitive data suggests that cats are no more motivated in town than in the country and that many feel the government owes them a living.

“It’s astounding how fast these recipients roll with the punches,” said one social scientist headquartered in Olathe, a town that actually prohibits cats from seeking employment. “Just watch the mail boxes when the checks arrive. Most of these goldbricks just lie around in the sun all day and prowl through the nights. Many of the females have offspring from countless fathers who rarely extend support. This phenomenon has existed for generations.”

Many cat lovers blame the system that they insist is top-heavy and laden with staff members who encourage kitty clients to remain on welfare rolls to solidify their own positions.

Consciously or not they convince these poor unfortunate cats that they are less than human in order to justify their own paltry contributions to society,” said one local woman. “We have bred a species of dependents who have forgotten what it takes to go catch a rat for lunch.”- Kashmir Horseshoe

Bill expected to sign bill

(Barnacle-on-Potomac) Western hospitality is alive and well after three weeks in the House of Representatives. That’s where the populist Howdy Law has been hanging its’ Stetson since mid-April.

Originally bulldogged into law by the Montrose (Colorado) City Council and quickly approved by the County Commissars, the Howdy Law has received quite a little press since it’s virgin implementation at this Western Colorado town in 1994. Lots of other municipalities and counties have adopted the legislation. Some have written it into city and county ordinances while others have simply encouraged the local population to live by the simple do unto others creed that is inherent to a healthy society.

The Howdy Law, as originally written, simply calls for outward signs of friendliness by saying Howdy to people one might encounter on the street. It endorses gregariousness as a way of life and the result is a happier, thriving population. For old timers it’s the only acceptable way to be, and is therefore comfortable in all social exchanges. For the urban refugee it is restorative and hygienic. It allows the soul to bloom in its new environs.

Now the federals are on the verge of passing legislation that would adopt the Howdy Law as the edict of note and quite possibly the prescription for what ails us as a nation. In most cultures, a greeting is basic. Here in the suburb-choked, dollar days USA we are more likely to run someone over with our shiny new car than to belt out an amicable hello.

At first the local Howdy Law was based on the honor system but after a few months a person could expect a toothless summons for any sign of animosity in the face of such a greeting. To be sure, there were those who said their right to be anti-social was being eroded and the civil libertarians jumped into the fray. A lawsuit was filed and people got hot and haughty. Fortunately the paperwork was mysteriously misplaced, the court records allegedly remain stashed under a pile of dog-at-large citations, and drunk driving plea-bargains in someone’s basement.

In 1996 then Governor Roy Romero signed a breakthrough bill that adopted the Howdy Law all across the state. It became the bible for the tourist industry with dude ranches teaching their little dudes and dudettes to employ it on trail rides and ski areas demanding that their close-cropped employees say Howdy to visitors as many as 200 times per day.

What these greenhorn mercantilists often don’t remember is that the whole thing started here on the banks of the Uncompahgre River where the concept of Howdy is as natural blue skies as and as sure as sagebrush. Despite rampant growth and questionable land use over the past years Montrose remains a friendly place. Even the cops say Howdy, and then they put on the cuffs.

Do some of us think friendly is not cosmopolitan or sophisticated enough? The other evening in what was once a small town I stood in the checkout line at the grocery. There were many people there that I had never seen. No one spoke. Were they all from California? Suddenly in my advanced state of Holy Joe judgment, I realized two things, 1.) I was the only guy in a Hawaiian shirt and flip-flops 2.) In my attempt to get on with the purchase of whipped cream and salsa I didn’t say anything to anyone either.

Estrangement often precipitates violence as the disaffected act out their fatal frustrations. We don’t have to bring up road rage or kids with guns to illustrate that point (the man on TV does that for us every hour on the hour). Maybe a crisp Hello in There, as songwriter John Prine puts it, could defuse the situation. The feds seem to think so, and isn’t that entity infallible in matters of benevolent dictation, o’ sumpin.

Enough preaching. If all goes according to plan the Senate will vote on this matter of mandatory greeting tomorrow and the Howdy Law will be in the books (allow six to eight weeks for delivery) before the fireworks light up the skies for the Fourth.

    (Ouray) After a less than thrilling summer tourist season, there is some good news on the street. Probably most important is an announcement that the sewage treatment plant is back to normal capacity. In addition, car alarm noise is back down to the lowest ordinance levels since May.

     But perhaps the most interesting statistic has to do with hat sales. Over the summer, sales of small sized hats boomed with sales tax figures cresting over the Labor Day weekend. The burgeoning sales appear to have nothing to do with fashion trends but rather seem dictated by comfort and function.

“We’re all but out of hats in the smaller sizes, “said Kathy Craig of High Country Leathers. “It’s not as if we even notice the size of people’s heads unless they come into the shop but this is quite a phenomenon. Sure, we sold some large cowboy hats and some Harley gear too but all in all the small sizes were the hot number in 2002. I hate to tell people with small heads that we can’t help them but I guess that’s just one of the tragedies of retail.”

Other merchants who sell headgear echoed a similar response. Many say they are completely out of hats in sizes 2 through 5. They agree that the big three-day weekends brought many pinheads to town…but pinheads with money to burn.

“We had several gov’ment seminars here this summer and the smaller hats sizes went like wildfire,” said one Main Street merchant who demanded anomosity. “We could always see them coming in large groups with their clipboards. I hope we can reorder in time for hunting season.”

Chamber officials were quick to point out that smaller heads do not always dictate lower mental abilities. They remind citizens that the effects of lower altitude, television and commuting to work take a toll on head size.

“All in all they (people with tiny heads) are not a disturbance,” said a source at the Ouray Variety Complex. “Next year we’ll simply order more smaller sizes and see who shows up.”

– Suzie Compost