Match Dot Com

Most of us know that boys - while wonderful, indispensable and inordinately fun to raise hell with - can, just like girls, sometimes astonish with bouts of swinish simplicity.

And two of that sort managed to sneak through my usually firm defense systems this week, and I’m not sure which is more offensive to any number of sensibilities.

The first, languidly lounging/pouting on the left, is a Brit who calls himself Golden, already a clue to his resolute cluelessness. Golden has recently “written” a book about his lifestyle choices, titled – and again revealing the breadth of his intellect and sophistication –Gigolo.

Nothing in this Times’ article rings true. Rich, powerful, purportedly “alpha” females could do ever so much better than this pathetic wanker, and I’m sure they do, without ever having to pay for it. Then there is this:

"There is such a thing as a free lunch, however. Golden goes out with “a group of girls who call upon me for lunch when in dire need”. They are his female equivalent in many ways: models, younger trophy wives, and girls who have a rich patron. “We have a good time together and it doesn’t revolve round sex. Their husbands and boyfriends know I won’t steal them because I couldn’t support them.”

I rather fear that with this paragraph, Mr. Golden, or perhaps his ghostwriter, has let slip either the fiction or the closet. When in dire need of male diversion which “doesn’t revolve round sex,” all girls, everywhere, simply call upon one of their most empathetic and witty gay friends. And Golden has clearly never even been in a room where either of those two qualities has been present.

The other is rather the polar opposite of the above, proudly reveling in his most American excesses and appetites.

Henry T. Nicholas III, a retired dot.com billionaire and creepy geek extraordinaire, is under indictment for the usual sort of sordid financial felonies. Boring? But, of course.

Not boring is what he has been doing with his billions. The first thing that captures one’s attention is the $10 million dollars he spent on building an “underground sex cave” beneath his home which he kept stocked with a bevy of hookers, all on payroll. His penchant for schoolboy pranks such as slipping ecstasy or coke in his colleagues’ drinks. Smoking so much dope on one of his two private planes that the pilot had to don an oxygen mask.

I can only guess that the perv level of all this was remarkably low, at least on a euroscale, the real point being the flamboyant throwing around of multiple billions of dollars on his “vices.” So very American, and so very much in counterpoint to his British counterpart. The former trying to parlay his pedestrian fantasies into a tale of life as a fancy fashion accessory to rich, powerful unreachable women. The latter trying to impress his peeps with his ability to overspend on prostitutes, real estate and last year’s drugs.

Both swine, both faithfully reflecting their cultural values. Given all the above, I think they not only deserve each other, but could most happily ride off in the sunset together, a match made in someone's idea of heaven .