For any U.S. resident living outside the state of Nevada, visiting a brothel without fear of prosecution requires a bit of travel, which—let’s face it—is expensive. If only bordellos were free to open up in every strip mall in America, we’d save a ton on gasoline. Unfortunately, there’s a stalwart regime of hyper-moralists who refuse to take our expenses into consideration. These judgmental non-capitalists are always ready with a sermon and a plea to “think of the children” anytime the subject is raised. Thus it has remained throughout the centuries.
I am here to provide the proverbial last word in the argument for the legalization of the world’s oldest profession. Brace yourself, dear reader. You’re about to be thrown head-first into the next chapter of human history.
.A properly legalized brothel—such as those seen in Nevada—is the perfect place to seek refuge in the event of a zombie apocalypse
Now who’s thinking of the children, bitches?
Take any well-maintained, upper-class brothel. You don’t need to have ever been to one (or admit to it). They show up periodically in news stories about their surprising cleanliness and how no one who visits them ever, ever, ever walks away with AIDS or unwanted progeny. But such piddly arguments for their legalization are for lesser men. Let's talk about how they make the perfect sanctuary from the zombie horde.
Many of these are gated facilities, to keep out the riff-raff (i.e. the undead), and your fancier establishments even have video surveillance to make sure no one is on the grounds without an appointment (i.e. walking corpses). So, just looking at the outside of the building, the re-animated flesh-eaters of post-apocalyptic tomorrow would have to bypass security lookouts and a metal gate before they could take a single bite out of anybody.
Alright, this is all well and good, but lots of facilities could boast these characteristics. It’s what’s inside that makes the house of ill repute such a sweet find when our ancestors wake up all grouchy and peckish. Keep in mind, you don’t know how long you’re going to be holed up once the dead start rising. While we hope the military will show up and resolve the problem in short order, we need to be prepared to find ourselves in a George Romero wasteland of meandering corpses and tiny groups of squabbling survivors. Expect that the first place you run to when the zombie apocalypse starts is going to become your new home. While keeping the legions of carnivorous corpses at bay is certainly priority one, a healthy living environment is a close second. What good is staying alive if you’re miserable for the rest of your existence? How long before you turn on your fellow survivor or decide to decorate the wall behind you with your brains?
So before you put that gun in your mouth, let’s take a peek inside one of these houses of carnal pleasure.
It’s warm and welcoming. Bright colors. Polished wood. Friendly animal heads mounted on the walls. Themes vary from brothel to brothel, but one aspect remains the same: these places are designed to create a calm and relaxing atmosphere. No matter how scared or angry you may have been outside, once through that door all thoughts of gloom and doom will be lost in a miasma of pink bear rugs and heart-shaped loveseats. While the guardians of social morality spend their remaining years playing Monopoly in an old bomb shelter, you can ride out the undead uprising with style in a facility that sports hot tubs and a fully stocked bar.
Note the friendly red pole.
Thinking more practically, these pleasure palaces have live-in employees, which means they're equipped with showers, gyms, and other amenities. Your upscale whorehouse also features a small restaurant or grill. Granted, these probably don’t include magically restocking freezers or pantries, so organized food runs will be a necessity. But that hard-scavenged grub will keep a lot better in a place meant to serve food than in that abandoned church your neighbors ran to hoping for divine intervention.
And, of course, what are a group of humans going to do once they’re shut up in one place for an indeterminate amount of time?
They’re going to fuck! And fuck! And when they’re done fucking, they’re going to fuck again, just to get themselves ready for the midnight fuck-a-thon. After all, there’s a world to repopulate (and people get bored easily). Forget about all the fun toys and sexy costumes that you’ll have to play with; there isn’t a safer place in the world to have Fuckfest 2020. The place is loaded with contraceptives, designed for preventing STDs and unwanted pregnancy. STDs equal more zombies. Unwanted pregnancy slows a person down during break-ins or beer runs, and creates more mouths to feed (which, in the long run, equals more zombies). Hell, with a little luck, any venereal diseases that might possibly be carried into the refuge during the initial days of the zombie invasion will die out by the next generation without being passed on. Might we have just discovered the cure for every STD? We might have, brothers and sisters.
And after all that, I still haven’t mentioned what may possibly be the simplest reason why the upscale brothel is the perfect place for a group of strangers to live when the flesh-eating dead come to life...
Beds. Lots and lots of beds. Human beings can boink anywhere (I have an entire hard drive of videos to attest to this), but at the end of the day, what’s more important than having a warm, cozy bed to curl up? A luxury often taken for granted, it will be sorely missed when, after hours on zombie watch, you’ve got nothing but a cold floor waiting for you. At that point, is there anything in life to look forward to ever again? Well, you can keep your abandoned mansion, 28 Days Later, ‘cause we’ve got more beds than we know what to do with! Two for everyone: one for summer, one for winter. Monthly raffles are held to see who gets the Under the Sea Room and who gets the Medieval Times Suite. Everyone rises each morning well-rested and ready for another day of living in perfect harmony, while the purgatory just beyond the front gate becomes a half-forgotten memory.
So that, dear friends, is my ironclad argument for the legalization of prostitution. I am confident that any further discussion on the subject will be limited to zoning restrictions and union fees. You’re welcome.