Gawker

Oh. "At Peggy Siegal's. . .bashes," not "In Peggy Siegal's. . .bushes."

Sorry. I'll take the next bus.

Saddest. Post. Ever.

What about if the commenters are afraid of being murdered?

See if you can get the Times to run this. Because their readers are always so concerned that their second homes aren't getting used enough, you know.

"We rent a car now and then and go to the Hamptons and whenever anybody makes the slightest mistake in their driving near him, he honks his horn furiously and curses them and when I walked into my apartment and he was lounging in his distressed Levis and flannel shirt on my couch and he looked up at me with what I know he intended as a sexy smile, I clearly saw his angry self-righteousness as a driver sculpted into his square jaw and curling up in his chest hair from the open shirt. And I had not seen this ever before in his body. I kept taking that body to bed and I never really saw it till that day when I was hit by a cab. Is that a symptom of nymphomania?"

-- "Woman Struck by Car Turns Into Nymphomaniac," from Tabloid Dreams by Robert Olen Butler

I believe you meant to post here.

@the_mayoress: or, here.

@thisisdope: Well, no, because then I might answer it.

So, you've got two $3500 tickets to see Billy Joel play at the private school his wife is about to graduate from, but you don't have a place to stay?

You can stay with me in my place in Prospect Heights if you have sex with me and bring me fresh drugs.

@the_mayoress: gurl, don't i know.

Sadly, I don't have a place in the Hamptons. It could have been fun, like Misery, only kinky.

i think you guys should just go out there and fuck your way into a (half)empty bed. you know, like josh did with that bear miguel at fire island the other weekend. oops! i canNOT keep a secret...