You may have noticed the shady looking figure to the left of these words. His name is Skippy. He is a pimp. This is his story.

One day, in 1974, Vatslov was walking the mean streets of New York, and I was feeling a little board. I walked and walked and walked until I saw the time was 1:30 AM. I was about to give up hope on finding anything worthwhile of doing, until I happened upon him. He was about 6'8", including the 5 inch tall platform shoes (which included several kinds of fish), had striped bell-bottoms on, a white pirate-like shirt, and a large purple coat. His fingers were filled with rings, including a 4-finger ring with the word "BITCHEZ" on it. Needless to say, I was quite aw-struck by his appearance, and decided to mug him and steal his finery. But, upon trial of my plan, I discovered that Skippy owned a dimaond studded switch-blade knife. "Yo bitch, lay yo hands off for I cut you!" I heeded the warning, and "layed" off. After an akward pause, we began to "chill". I discovered that Skippy sold women for money. That night, I became aquainted with my own "beeyatch". After months of these visits, i decided that these ladies were foriegn enough to be included in Vatslov's Foriegn Emporium. I made the arrangments with Skippy. But, sadly, after only half a year, The Man shut us down, and Skippy was forced to move back to the streets. I still keep in touch with him, and from time to time, I partake in his services.....and by time to time, i mean every night. Vatslov likes his lovin'.

-The "Scrubbies" story

You may have noticed, my loyal costomers, that I havent added anything new to this page in about 3 months. I would like to blame this inconveinence on you, but there is no way I can. You see, about three months ago, I came into contact with a man from a "church". He said my "sinful" shack of horrors was not the way to make money. He told me that I had to make an "honest" living, and for some reason, I beleived him. So, I left the parking lot that was my home, and went to work. And work I did! Well, you couldnt really call it work, more like swindling. My job was washing cars at a place called Scrubbies. There, I dumped sludge, try'd to pick up ho's, stole quite a few tips, and belittled everyone. I loved this honest living. But, after only 3 months of working there, that same "Man of God" ran me out of his town with a band of pitch forks and torches. I was not amused. The only thing I did chuckle at was the look on the children's faces as they saw an incredibably filthy, naked man running down the road; I had thrown off that horrable outfit of Scrubbies. And so, I return, pantsless and pennyless... but at least I have my house of pain.