The evening started early for us (8 pm) with a special private screening of the critically acclaimed Robert Greenwald documentary “Wal-Mart: the High Cost of Low Prices.” Our crowd had varying points of view about Wal-Mart; some having friends and relatives that work there, others working with Chinese sweatshops that work with Walmart. But just about nobody who comes to the Speakeasy shops there, or will admit that they do, and most everone agreed with the spirit of the film. That is, someone has to speak up for the little guys against Wal-Mart multi-million dollar deluge of propaganda telling everyone how great they are. Somebody has to tell the other story, “Walmart” lets a lot of these little guys tell their stories.

“Wal-Mart” might seem like an odd topic for the Speakeasy, and I must admit that one reason I chose to screen it here is that the director Robert Greenwald, an old friend from my years of writing for the LA Weekly, agreed to attend and do a Q&A. Though Robert and I deal with quite different subjects, one thing we have in common is that we often interview people who have an important truth to tell, and they are terrified to tell it. People are often scared to talk about sex. And people are often scared to talk about Wal-Mart, and when they do in Robert’s film, especially those who worked for Wal-Mart for 17 years, it’s very powerful. One of the reasons that I call this place a “Speakeasy” is because we speak about things that are not so easy to speak about. One of those things (the most interesting thing!) is sex. But there are other not-so-easy things that we speak about at the Speakeasy, and last night, the thing was Wal-Mart.

The Walton Family fascinates me. It’s very hard to get much info on them, except that five of them, each worth around 20 billion, hold spots among the top 15 richest people in the United States. One full third of America’s wealthiest citizens are Waltons! They donate a lot of money to right-wing organizations, and very little to charity. They also must spend a lot on secrecy and security. And of course, their business practices make John D. Rockefeller look like Mother Theresa.

So we did a Q&A with Robert, talked about corporate greed, fairness, health care, freedom and more and more of the stuff that we hold dear or useful is being made in China. Robert left shortly after the Q&A, just before the evening completely switched gears.

Maistro DJ Dog started spinning, Amber the Dancer started stripping off her demure film-watching top and jeans to a teeny bikini plaid outfit, and everybody started dancing in celebration of the birthday of my beloved art curator, producer of The Dr. Susan Block Show, sex therapists supervisor, Bonobo Den Mother and all-around hot sexy mama, Kim Mendoza.

Kim certainly lived up to that “hot sex mama” title, dancing topless and getting into some sensuous girl-girl action with sweet Nancy from Vietnam (one of the stars of LUVeR Nite, along with Frank Moore and Stefani Morgan). Ms. Crystal gave Kim her b-day spanking/whipping, and then she gave me one too! Later I found her whacking the pleated plaid derriere of our American Julie, all dolled up as the *naughty schoolgirl* that she is.

Back on the dance floor, Amber looked spectacular, her raven hair flying as she shook her tiny buns like maracas. As she writhed all over me, off went her teeny bikini top, and she gave me a very erotic *lap dance,* as I lay back in the strong massive arms of a hunky guy at the bar whose name (I think) was Joe who gave me a superb massage – almost as good as the massages H gives me, but not quite (of course). Joe was with some beautiful ladies, one of whom said she worked as a commentator on a major network TV show. Thus, she said, she could not be filmed doing anything *nasty* (we respect people’s limits and privacy here, as long as they make us aware BEFORE they go on camera). But she loved it here at the Speakeasy, and she said she wanted to bring her major network TV show here and “make” us “mainstream.”

I tried not to snort into my Agavero. TV commentators and executives have been telling us this stuff for years, especially when they’re at the Speakeasy drinking Agavero. But I like to keep an open mind, and she was very cute, as was her girlfriend. So, all right, ladies, bring it!

Over in my Mom’s 1948 Eero Saarinen Womb Chair, Julie the Naughty Schoolgirl had her super short pleated plaid skirt spread around Russ’ lucky Planetoid Eros, while over on the black and white couch where H and I first fell in love 16 years ago, Emmanuelle was being munched and squeezed into a gargantuan orgasm by three enthusiastic guys, none of whom worked for Wal-Mart or even shopped there.

Meanwhile the brazenly gal-pimpin’ chorus of Khia’s “My Neck, My Back” (Dirty Version) floated throughout the Speakeasy

My Neck, my back
Lick my pussy and my crack

For the rest of the lyrics, click here:

Then we had Too Short‘s Retort:

That’s it, like dat
Lick my dick, and my sack

Needless to say, it felt rather like we were shooting the music videos to these songs here at the Speakeasy, as we exulted in oral pleasures, danced, drummed and celebrated Kim’s birthday, and the fact that none of us work at Wal-Mart (right now).

In closing, I wanted to mention the rather heated reaction to “America Wants A Divorce!” published this weekend in Counterpunch. Most of the comments have been delightful, supportive, erudite and witty, as Counterpunchers and my fellow bloggamists tend to be. But a well-meaning gal named Catyana also posted it on a rabid Republican AOL message center, explaining “i think it needs to be shown to the republicans that post there,” so I am getting some rather juicy, tellingly vicious hate mail, reminding me that there are still some diehards who believe that George W. Bush, War Criminal and Peeping Tom, is the greatest guy since John Wayne and Jesus rolled into one. Take John Atwell who writes in all seriousness (I guess), “I worship Bush. No joke. I don’t really believe in God, but I believe in George W. Bush. I have a little shrine in my bedroom. When Bush nominated Alito, I offered up a burnt sacrifice — a $20 bill. Looks like it was money well burnt.” Sounds like some kind of weird Skull and Bones ritual.

Then there’s Ron who reprimands me for using “foul language,” then eloquently suggests that I “get that vagina sized lump off my shoulder” in order to “find love.” He should get his penis-shaped head examined for supporting GWB, and love is one thing I’ve already managed to find and hold onto for 21 years, merci beaucoup.

I know some of you get a perverse pleasure out of reading these right-wing frothings-at-the-mouth that (at the moment) lightly pepper my bloggamy. So I want you to know you can find a fairly high concentration of them in the comments section of “America Wants A Divorce!” Not as high as Saddam’s Sex Therapist & the Rape of Free Speech, and not as virulent (or confident) either. That gives me hope for America’s future!

And again, I am grateful and touched by all of you gallant defenders who so neatly and brilliantly slice my attackers into literary, philosophical and touchingly humanist shreds.

To Mr. Atwell’s challenge for me to offer up a candidate for 2008, I reply Cindy Sheehan. I’ll support her if she decides to run for Senate, but I really wish she would go for Prez.

Speaking of ladies I admire (and would support if they decide to run for President), my next Saturday night guest will be Dr. Betty Dodson, the Godmother of Masturbation, author of Sex for One and Orgasms for Two, one of my mentors and an utterly brilliant, charming woman. For more information on this very special Speakeasy Salon, click here or call the office (almost) anytime at 213.749.1330 begin_of_the_skype_highlighting 213.749.1330 end_of_the_skype_highlighting. If Kim answers, say happy b-day!