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So, I've got like four or five of these darn things for adult services and such, largely because when you're walking around like a tourist with a camera around your stubby little neck, these brokers of naughty books feel bold enough to stick them in my bill. Well, I can't just spit them out, of course (that would be rude). I end up stuffing 'em in my official FrankStuff® backpack. I got back to the room, and decided I would try to blow (no pun intended) the $3 I had allocated for entertainment in Las Vegas.
I call the first number, and ask what I could get in a shapely blonde for $3. They hung up. Lesson learned here -- don't mention money up front... they probably thought I was a cop. Or, from Kansas. So, I called the second place, and (applying the lesson about money already noted), I asked about available services. Their representative would need to meet me in the lobby, as our hotel (Excalibur) has security that requires they see a room key before letting "guests" to the elevators. So far, so good...
I decide to make it a little more honest, after all, ducks can't tell a lie. (Would you want that beak getting bigger? I think not.) I tell the lady (?) on the phone that I am (ahem) ten inches, and ask if that is going to be a problem. She assures me that all of their girls are more than able to adapt to a gentleman of my dimensions. I pause, and explain that no, unlike the male fantasy she's probably thinking about, no, I'm actually ten inches tall. Nothing but dial tone. Lesson learned here -- honestly sucks.
So, no mention of money, and honesty sucks. I call the third place, and it's a recording. Less learned here -- you can't get any action from an answering machine. And, the tone hurt my ears. (But after listening to the tubby bald guy sing along to A-Ha's "Take On Me" over and over again across the Mojave desert, the shrill whine of the answering machine was actually music to my ears, if you can believe THAT.
Fourth and final attempt... I figured that, given my tender age, I shouldn't aim too far, and opted for the ads labeled "Exotic College Girls". After all, the one on the cover seemed friendly enough, and wasn't quite so trashy looking as the others. Sadly, no phone number. Just a web address. Using chrome dome's laptop, I dialed up the internet for their site, http://www.lvhotbabes.com/. It was like going to Jack-in-the-Box -- look at the picture, and based on what you see, call out the number to the little box-thing; only difference was, I had to dial the number instead of just yell out #5 (a yummy sourdough burger, in the Jack-in-the-Box world). So, I opted to see if I could get Angel over to see me... when you view the picture (you should be at least 18, I'm told), I figured she is about my age, and somewhere in the early teens.
No answer. I'm guessing since the ads all claim a 20 minute response time, she's either unconscious because she's working 24 hours a day, or she's giving someone a tour of town. Since I'm not sure what other service she could possibly provide without putting some clothes on... who would let her into their restaurant just wearing something from an astronomy exhibit? Honestly. And her friend Chrissy (who's picture said Stacey on the URL) didn't answer either... if that was her REAL name.... By the way, the main reason I called at all was the blasted hotel was automatically charging a 75¢ fee for unlimited calls, "for my convenience." And, I was bored.