Our Story

• ".............sixteen hundred baby!"

  "Okay," replied a lightly gray-haired man as he turned and waived at the host who was standing across the room. A large, bald man dressed rigidly in a black tuxedo, approached the couple lounging on a sofa in the corner of the dimly lit room.

  "Yes Mr. B***!" said the host in a stern, respectful voice.

  Mr. B*** leaned forward and opened a mahogany humidor that was resting on the small table in front of the sofa. He took out a large, dark brown, hand-rolled, Cuban cigar and a shiny, silver guillotine cutter. With one precise motion Mr. B*** swiftly clipped the head of the cigar, creating a perfect cut. Leaning back on the sofa, he reached into the left pocket of his jacket and took out a box of matches. He paused to light his cigar, turning it slowly, drawing on it, spinning it to ensure an even burn, shaking the cedar match out. After a couple of draws he took the cigar out of his mouth, slowly exhaling the smoke and observing the scarlet burn that he had established; he simply smiled and nodded his head in total contentment. Finally, he spoke in a measured voice: "Jimmy, put twenty six hundred on the card, get me a pen."

  "Yes Mr. B***!" eagerly replied Jimmy as he hovered over the table.

  Mr. B*** picked up a small snifter off the table and proceeded to swirl the cognac. He took a short sip and placed the snifter back down on the table. He cleared his throat, breaking the calm silence around him. "I had a wonderful time," said Mr. B*** as he turned his head towards a beautiful, blonde, voluptuous, young woman sitting next to him, her legs sprawled across his.

  "Thank you baby," exclaimed the woman as she threw her arms around his neck and pressed her implants hard against his chest. As she proceeded to hug him she leaned her head back and gave him a soft kiss on the lips. "I am going to miss you," whispered the young woman as she gazed into his eyes, there was an unguarded quaver in her voice. The thought of seducing him, of making him lose his composure, excited her.

  "Bambi I want you to come to New York," said Mr. B*** as he reached into the back right pocket of his trousers and took out a black leather wallet.

  "Here is your pen Sir." interrupted Jimmy.

  "O, thank you Jimmy" said Mr. B***.

  Jimmy smiled politely and asked in a slow, clear voice: "Did you have a good time Sir?"

  "I always have a good time Jimmy," replied Mr. B*** as he took a crisp, hundred dollar bill out of his wallet and placed it into Jimmy's hand. Jimmy immediately closed his hand, slipped it under his tuxedo jacket and stashed the money into the right side pocket of his pants.

  "Thank you Mr. B***! Should I call for your limo?" asked Jimmy.

  Mr. B*** paused to puff on his cigar. As he exhaled, thick, warm, luxurious smoke billowed from his mouth engulfing his face and rising above his head. The smoke quickly filled the room and lingered like fog.

  "No, I am not done yet," said Mr. B*** as he smiled and turned his head towards Bambi. "Here is my business card" muttered Mr. B*** as he proceeded to write a telephone number on the back of the card. "The number on the back is my private cell phone number" continued Mr. B***.

  Bambi took the card, the card read Goldman Sachs - Managing Director.............

  * * *

  Hot bath, soft music, and flickering candles was her sanctuary, a place where she would relax and reflect on the events of the night. This evening was no different, while soaking in the tub, Bambi was staring at an empty fish tank full of dusty business cards, sitting on the window sill of her bathroom. A sudden, warm, gentle breeze, rushed through an open window and fluttered the blinds, revealing in the distance a blurred image of a city comprised of a thousand lonely light bulbs, - multicolored bulbs of red and orange and yellow and green and blue, - each burning in painful solitude. This, was Las Vegas, the ultimate in extremes. No other place on earth measures hope and despair like the brilliantly constructed scale that is Las Vegas. No other place on earth highlights winners and losers quite like the elevated arena of Las Vegas. It is pure joy; and it is pure pain.

  "There must be at least a thousand cards in that fish tank," thought Bambi. Almost every walk of life was represented and come to think of it, every single business card came with a promise of grandeur, offer of salvation, or indecent proposal. Most never panned out and others died out just as quickly as they started.

  Regardless of the outcome, Bambi did not see a tank full of broken promises; she saw a microcosm of our contemporary society where each complex human being can be reduced to nothing more than a ten digit number.

  The story of DirtyPhoneBook.com - How it all started!!!

  DirtyPhoneBook.com was created by three very unusual people. A stripper by the name of Bambi came up with an original idea of organizing a social network according to telephone numbers. While dancing at a high end Las Vegas strip club she met Joe, a degenerate gambler. One night, Joe hit big playing craps at Wynn. Rather than take his winnings and go home, Joe decided to hit the strip club. At the strip club Joe went all out, spending hours with Bambi in the VIP room. While dancing for Joe, Bambi had one two many drinks and told him about her idea. Joe was so impressed with the idea that he immediately called his friend Boris, who was a washed up Las Vegas comedian. Within an hour, the three of them were sitting in a strip club talking about their newly formed partnership.

  It took less than a week to find all major participants. The website developer was a regular at the club, in love with Bambi and would do anything for her. The "house mom" had a daughter who was going to school to be a graphic designer. Joe reached out to his gambling buddies to put up the start up cash. The original website content was written by Boris. Less than a month later Bambi, Joe and Boris were ready to launch their website.............