#3. World Series Tickets
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For the rest of her life, Susan Finkelstein will be known as the woman who tried to sell her ass to get tickets to see the Phillies and the Yankees in the 2009 World Series. Because she never actually boned anyone, the prostitution charge never stuck and, because attempted prostitution doesn't make sense and only works when you attempt and succeed to be a prostitute, she couldn't be convicted of that charge either. So, in 2011, her appeal was granted, and all charges against he were dropped. However, that doesn't mean the court said she didn't try to trade sex for World Series tickets, it mostly meant someone who does that is not now a hooker. They're just someone who tried to have sex for World Series tickets. Build one bridge, and no one calls you a bridge builder, right?
Finkelstein denied the charges despite placing an ad on Craigslist saying she was a "tall, buxom blonde" and in desperate need of World Series tickets. Police say they contacted her and asked what she was willing to pay, and she responded that her currency was "unusual" and sent some nude pictures. None of this 100 percent confirms sex, it just means that if you weren't raised in an Eastern European monastery you absolutely know she meant she'd bone you for tickets. No one ever describes themselves as buxom and desperate unless they're trying to use their tits to buy something. It's kind of irrelevant, otherwise. No one is buying Desperate Buxom Granny's Irish Stew, and if they are, they should be ashamed.
Whether or not you agree with prostitution -- some folks dislike it on moral grounds or religious grounds, some folks don't care at all -- we can all agree that if you are going to be a prostitute, you should have some pride. The kind of pride that says no, no penis enters you for the price of two cigarettes. Do you know what two cigarettes are worth? I think maybe literally nothing.
John Kyser, a 59-year-old sheriff's deputy, whose job involved transporting inmates from the county jail to the courthouse, was arrested and charged after paying a female inmate the tidy sum of two Kools in exchange for some toots on the ol' skin flute. You can almost hear the depressing banjo porn soundtrack behind this unsavory transaction as a Kentucky sheriff's deputy, who we have to assume goes by a nickname like "Cooter" or "Gooch" in his private life, negotiated with the woman and somehow settled on a price of two cigarettes, possibly coming down from one cigarette and some roadkill stew.
While Kyser was obviously abusing his authority and being something of a scumbag, you have to wonder about the state of the woman involved and her terrible addiction to nicotine. If you want to give kids a powerful anti-smoking message, show them images of a 59-year-old Deputy trying to throw a shot in their faces in exchange for two cigarettes. That'll cut down on smoking double quick.
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Selling your ass for burgers or knickknacks is one thing, but you get into some deep, philosophical shit when you try to balance the value of a human life against the value of getting it on. What's worth more to you? Would you kill for sex? Some people would, and that's kind of sad. Not because sex isn't pretty awesome or anything, but because there really should be fewer hassles in getting it. Anything you need to actually murder another human to obtain, you can do without, generally speaking. Or go elsewhere. If Wal-Mart wants you to murder someone to get that $5 DVD of The Adventures of Ford Fairlane, you go to Best Buy and get it there instead.
Even though it seems obvious that murder for sex is wrong, Charlotte Collinge convinced not one, but two guys to murder her husband on the promise of sexytime fun. She picked up the two men at a bar, and they got drunk and high on some cocaine and then went full-on crazy as she promised sex if they'd just go back to her place and beat the ever-loving shit out of her husband, which they did.
Clifford Collinge died of the wounds he sustained, and both men, as well as Charlotte, were convicted of the crime, the men each getting 18 years, a piece of the wife's 23 years. So the moral of the story is that maybe when a bar skank offers to double-team you and another dude in exchange for killing her husband, you politely finish your drink and suggest that you have laundry to do tonight, instead, so you can't partake.