(Editor’s note) The rising then falling star of Stormy Daniels and attorney Michael Avenatti has made this article a little prophetic, so I thought I’d update it with a reminder of just what a porn star does for a living:

This piece isn’t really about Stormy Daniels since something at the basic trial court level of her claim against Donald Trump stinks.

The purpose of her suit seeks to allow Stormy to speak openly about her “affair” with Trump, while the contract-that-is-not-a-contract forbad her to do so, and for which she was paid handsomely, without any acknowledgment from Donald Trump. It could just as easily be a shakedown as hush money, since no evidence one way or the other has been produced for the benefit of the court or the public.

See the problem?

But what has been made public has been some scandalous behavior by both Stormy and her attorney that cast doubt on anything that might come out of their mouths, causing people to begin thinking more of Lili Von Shtup and Hedley Lamar from the 1974 Classic “Blazing Saddles.”

Besides, when does lifting one’s skirt in a dark corner of an alleyway behind a diner qualify as an “affair”?

And is this even Donald Trump’s style? Bill Clinton’s, yes, most definitely, but Trump?

But this little romp of an essay isn’t about Donald Trump or the fair Stormy Daniels, although Stormy does meet the ancient and universal definition of “wench”, a woman of low repute one would not like to be seen with in public.

Instead, It was also known as “wenching”, a very pedestrian sport among the world’s lower classes since feudal times, a sport even the buck private could save up for at least one Friday night a month at Ft Benning, Georgia in 1941.

This piece is about where “wenching” places in a culture, not the poignant and nostalgic “common wenches I have known” variety (is there any other kind?), but straight up social anthropology.

It was one of my good fortunes to be part of an advance team sent to Korea by our three-star general, (a man in history books) to survey the brothels around Oijongbo, near the DMZ, as the guests of the Korean Business Women’s Assn and several House Madams. Quite a tour.

Parents back home would have not looked kindly on knowing that the Army actually regulated (sort of) this tawdry trade that seduced their sons every payday, but every saloon serving military members in the ROK had an inspection card at the front door indicating the current VD rate for that establishment. Too high, thArmy could close them. And girls could lose their “union cards” if they got “sick” too often, and even be banished to the street, where only the greenest trooper would stop to talk to them[…]

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