Call Me!

The identity of former New York mayor Elliot Spitzer's expensive escort has been revealed. The young woman initially known only as “Kristen” is actually Ashley Alexandra Dupre Hyde Pierce, an aspiring 22-year-old singer. Photos from Ashley’s MySpace page have been splashed across the Internet, revealing a beautiful young woman with a dazzling smile and other lovely… assets.

Ashley writes on her MySpace page that she left home at age 17 to begin her odyssey to New York, leaving behind her hometown, a broken family, and unspecified abuse. Ashley made her way to Manhattan to pursue her music career.

"I am all about my music, and my music is all about me," she writes. "It flows from what I've been through, what I've seen and how I feel."

Regarding the Spitzer scandal, Ashley told the The New York Times, "I just don't want to be thought of as a monster."

No one thinks she's a monster. Particularly not me. And if I may address you directly, Ashley, I totally understand your plight. I’m sorry your ex-boyfriend walked out on you when you discovered that he had children. So you’re not into children, huh? Me neither. Wow! How cool is that?! I understand how hard it is to make ends meet in New York City, especially when you only make a thousand dollars an hour as a high-class hooker.  To paraphrase that old song, “it’s hard bein’ a high-dollar ‘ho. “

I read that you’re considering returning to your family in New Jersey for some “healing time.” I happen to have a large spare bedroom in which I would be willing to let you stay indefinitely, gratis. I know you need time and a space to refine your musical craft, and I can offer you that. I read some lyrics from your song titled “What we want,” and I was impressed: “I know what you want, you got what I want, I know what you need, can you handle me?"

Wow! How profound those words are in their simplicity. J-Lo would be jealous. Perhaps you could write some songs about your experience as an escort, and about Mr. Spitzer in particular. I have one song title in mind. How about “Do Yourself Like You Did Me An' the Peeps of NYC, Guv’na Fuckface.” I hear it as a kind of jazz/rap number. But you’re the musician.

If you moved in with me, you could practice your music all day while I’m at work. When I come home I could offer you a relaxing massage, a shoulder to cry on, and Chinese take-out. Plus I make a killer appletini.

As quid pro quo, perhaps you could help me promote my presidential campaign, which could really use a kickstart. Barack Obama has “Obama Girl” bouncily promoting his campaign on YouTube, and I’d be proud to have you be my “Angry Bald Man Girl.” And no, I wouldn’t want you to shave your beautiful locks for the role. I think you’re perfect the way you are. And trust me, I would expect nothing in return. My intentions are purely charitable. Unless, of course, you start feeling guilty for mooching off me, then I’m sure that some form of non-monetary compensation could be worked out between us.

We have a lot in common, Ashley. You are passionate about your music; I am passionate about becoming the Leader of the Free World. You are an intelligent, lovely young woman; I am a horny middle-aged lecher. You have large, supple breasts; I love large, supple breasts. I feel that we would fit together like peanut butter and jelly, hammer and sickle, and Penn and Teller. In other words, I feel that we are soul mates.

Your MySpace motto, “What destroys me, strengthens me,” touched me. While logically nonsensical, I see it as a sign that you don’t fully command the English language, but value strength beneath your lusciously vulnerable exterior.

And so, Ashley, I hope you’ll accept my offer for shelter and solace in this difficult time. If not, please let me know when your going rate drops to around $50 an hour.

Sincerely yours,
The Angry Bald Man

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