SHE BLAMES DATING APP
Like many single people, Sadie Lamar’s life was turned upside down because of the pandemic, but she never thought that she’d be stalked through NYC by a Russian nuclear submarine. Sadie, identifying herself as a part-time pole-dancer but a full-time entrepreneur, blames herself. Lonely, she decided to turn to the Internet for companionship…and phone sex.
Speaking from a lovely two-bedroom upper West Side apartment, the equally lovely Sadie says she was “grandmothered” into the spacious digs. (“I got it after Grandma was mysteriously pushed out an open window while sitting in her wheelchair.”)
When COVID-19 began to sweep the land, she lost her main source of income, pole-dancing. “It was terrible,” she says, dressed in a yoga outfit that resembled an Earl Scheib Paint Job but wearing a serious mask. “Guys didn’t want to wear pants, let alone masks. And, between pole dancers, all the poles had to be sanitized by guys in Hazmat suits. I haven’t seen that sort of disinfectant used since I worked the guys at the morgue!”
The club closed. So, Sadie decided to join a dating app, called “Macho Moscow Men.” “I should have realized that would lead to trouble,” she recalls. “Instead of swiping the screen, they wanted you to lick it. But, I thought, social contact is social contact.
“So, I hook up with this guy, Junior Lieutenant Feliks Gorky of the Russian sub ‘Buttinkski.’ I mean, the photos? He was a hunk. And his submarine job? How James Bond is that?! A month into our hot messaging, he tells me he’s going to be in the City. Could we hook up for real? Well, yeahhh. He arranges us to meet in a lower East Side restaurant called: ‘Boris’ Brouhaha.’”
A DATE FROM HELL
When she arrived at the restaurant, there was a brawl going on. “Just about everybody was trying to wail on this dwarf; a dwarf in full-Russian uniform who wouldn’t put on a mask. It was Feliks.”
“Little person,” this scribe corrects. “That is the preferred ‘label’ for former midgets and dwarfs, ‘Little People.’”
“Well, this Little guy was in Big trouble. I marched in there and took charge, scooping him up and calling him a military hero. That confused the mob. I ordered Feliks to put on his mask. The others backed off. He kissed my hand and put on his mask. He, then, physically hugged me, placing his face against my crotch. ‘Your hair smells lovely,’ he said.”
From there, it was all downhill. Feliks, according to Sadie, was hot to Trotsky. He came up short in the language of love, however. Explains Sadie, “how can you be charming when your sexual innuendo routine includes the words ‘borsht,’ ‘salami’ and ‘cattle’?”
As Sadie explains, “Dinner kept on getting worse. Feliks was so short; he had to sit in a kid’s chair. This joint didn’t have that many phone books. He just stared at my boobs the entire time. Then, he’d tilt his head and stare at my legs! I envisioned getting hickies on my ankle! At a certain point, he crawled across the tabletop to grab me. I gave him a little token of my appreciation… a left hook. He settled down, big time.
“And, after the meal? He tried to pay in rubles. Turns out the restaurant didn’t honor rubles so my date found himself dopey and grumpy. Although, I’m nobody’s idea of Snow White, I wound up paying. I stood up to leave and he dove onto my leg, fondling my knee.
“Anyhow, I pried him off me, dropped him and kicked him. I thought he’d land in Staten Island. It was a really solid kick. We’re talking goals, here.”
FELIKS AND HIS SUB WERE EVERYWHERE
Sadie thought that was the end of it. Then, reportings of sub sightings began to appear; from Central Park’s Reservoir to Atlantic City. Unfortunately, most of the sightings were at late night and reported by drunks or meth heads. The police didn’t respond.
Then, one day, Sadie was leaving her favorite deli downtown when a Russian Nuclear sub surfaced! She ran as fast as she could to escape the scene successfully. But Junior Lt. Gorky’s passion showed no signs of abating. He and the sub were everywhere. There were more and more sightings in Central Park. The sub was seen breeching in several nearby neighborhoods, completely swamping a Book Fair. Periscopes emerged from Sadie’s tub. Strange Russian dancers followed her whenever she left her apartment.
“The worst was the Russian guy with the dancing bear,” Sadie sighed. “That’s not the kind of deal that earns you high marks when you go to the gynecologist and they stroll in after you.”
WWN TO THE RESCUE!
So, Sadie decided to contact WEEKLY WORLD NEWS. “You guys deal with weird stuff all the time! Nobody wants to deal with this. How can I get a restraining order against a guy who’s cruising under my house! His sub is shattering the subways! I heard that the A-Train was slammed by a wave of seawater and wound up surfacing in Belgrade! Eventually, this whole City will sink!”
Fortunately, WEEKLY WORLD NEWS has many ex-government burnouts on its staff. Our Poetry Editor, Lisa Mendestraum, is ex-CIA and, in-between flashbacks, informed us that this was an international incident. Neither Russia nor the U.S. wanted to act because Feliks was the cousin of Vladimir Putin. The Putins’ nickname for Feliks was “The Gnat.”
WWN leaped into action and called in as many favors as possible. Now, Feliks has signed a 30-episode Netflix deal to star in “The Little People of Moscow” and is safely out of America. The crew of “The Buttinkski” may now steal our military secrets openly.
As for Sadie, she’s a full-time entrepreneur, now. She’s opened her own pay web site, dedicated to her pole-dancing skills. “It’s called ‘Let Me Slide On Your Pole,’” she beams. “What could go wrong?”
(Author’s note: Shortly after our last interview regarding the creation of “Let Me Slide On Your Pole,” the entire Internet of Poland crashed. Apparently, there were six million men who attempted to sign on to a U.S. web site at the same time.”)