I think I get kind of numbed by the incredibly hot women in this industry. As soon as I can't imagine laying eyes on a sexier babe, all of a sudden there's another one right in front of me. A smoke'n hottie with a monster-rack and a pair of puffed up lips that could suck a bowling ball through 50 feet of garden hose. A 
knockdown, drag out, drop dead gorgeous babe hot enough to make a bishop kick a hole in a stained glass window. Then we get more, especially at an event such as the Arnold or the Olympia. I barely even see them anymore; they're just a blur of big boobs and big hair.
The discussion then becomes centered on the objectification of these women. I'm sure none of you are fantasizing about what it would be like to discuss the ascent of man with any of them. All you can think about is getting busy with that crazy sick body of hers and cursing the lucky bastard who actually is with her. As hardened as we'd like to be about it, no one is immune. Even for me, every once in a while that blur comes into focus. I caught myself in that conundrum one day recently and it took me all afternoon to fish myself out of it and I have to thank the help of an unlikely friend. The debate that straightened me out boiled down to a simple truth that I thought I'd share.
I was driving down Sunrise Highway on my way to the airport when I pulled up alongside a sweet little Ferrari F-430 Spyder. At the wheel was a ferocious babe who looked like she'd be right at home stuffed into a sinful little piece of lingerie. I imagined her smelling expensive and splayed out on the arm of an overstuffed sofa in a high roller suit at the Palms hotel in Vegas waiting for papi to come home. She must 
have been in her mid- 20's, yet still had all the requisite porn star body parts that only an accomplished plastic surgeon and a high priced personal trainer could produce. I glanced over at her and wondered what else could she possibly have going for her other than that lascivious grin and all that which qualified her as a beauty of rock star proportions? Was she a master of the universe? Did she build a company from dirt and take it public? Or accomplish any other capitalist feat with a payoff that facilitates the purchase of a $250,000 car? It's more like she's just spreading her legs for some fat slob who did and for some reason, that day it pissed me off.
When I got to JFK Airport and met up with my buddy Scott from Mexico who was in town visiting me, the look of disdain was plastered on my mug hard enough for him to ask me what was the matter. I told him about the hottie in the Ferrari and that I thought it wasn't fair. Here I am busting my ass doing the right thing; ever since I got out of prison I've been walking the straight and narrow, resisting temptation around me: Guys dealing drugs and pulling scams raking in monster bucks and I'm just plodding away. I'm recovering from the worst custody battle and divorce known to man that cost me everything to save my kid. The real estate market in Florida added insult to injury. I'm building a new business in the worst economic climate in recent history, while playing both mom and dad, scrimping and saving, and still trying to write something important. Then here comes some porn star-looking hooker with huge tits, young enough to be my daughter and she's driving the car of my dreams. What the fuck has she ever done?
Beauty, brains and talent: Rarely do they ever come in one package, but why is beauty considered a fair trade for brains and talent? This was the point we pondered before Scott and I took off for Manhattan. His argument was that although I was just building a business, barely paying my bills, and raising my son, which was a lot more than most people do. And the fact that I do it with what comes out of my mind is a beautiful thing. He actually, for argument's sake, accused me of having a beautiful mind and that was indeed something that can be as attractive to other people as physical beauty (maybe, but no one has given me the keys to a Ferrari). On the other hand, is being outwardly beautiful any less a gift than having a beautiful mind or beautiful talent, such as dunking a basket or creating a monopoly, or turning a profit in corporate America? Would Michael Jordan, Bill Gates, or Donald Trump be as attractive if they were janitors? Not a chance.
The girl in the Ferrari was fucking fierce; the kind of babe you don't see every day or even every week. She's the kind you see once and never forget, that's how incredibly beautiful she was. So she holds out for the highest bidder. Okay, to appease the feminists, sure, she could have done something noteworthy on her own to afford such a phat ride, or maybe she was a studied heiress, but let's be serious, the odds are slim. She got the car because she's hot. And that fact bothers some of us, namely me.
It seems to bother some of the girls driving those cars. I've heard seriously beautiful women with nothing else but their looks going for them openly try to convince those around them (probably in an effort to convince themselves) that they are not attracted to a guy with money. They list a whole assortment of qualities that make a man attractive and conspicuously leave out the ability to provide the lifestyle to which they think they are entitled and would like to become accustomed. Pfffff...... Like Anna Nicole Smith would ever have a married a 92 year old man if he wasn't worth $500 million? Like Hugh Hefner wouldn't be living with two hot blonds one-quarter his age if he didn't own the magazine to display them? Give me a break, money has its privilege. So does beauty, because none of those women would have had anything to do with those old men if they weren't filthy rich. However, therein does lie an inequity. What does a 20-something year old rock star hottie have in common with a dude astute enough to pass out quarter of a million dollar cars? Can't be much substance there. They might have some ferocious porn caliber sex, but he probably does it Mr. G style - with his sneakers on.
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