"This is all real? No silicone here?"
"Grandma's real," she confirms.
When he pulls down the front of her dress to help show more cleavage, she shakes him off with a laugh, but by the time the camera goes off, Ugly George has bagged another phone number.
Nineteen-year-old J.C. Collins says she finds the whole thing hardly shocking. "I'm in modeling, so I'm used to people trying to feel me up," she remarks. "He wasn't going to rape me here on the street, and he seemed like a great guy."
As New Times goes to press, Ugly George has returned home to New York, where he has plans to prepare a pay-per-view cable special featuring some of the footage he shot on South Beach (along with more risque material, presumably). He says he has rounded up investors -- he refuses to name them -- to bankroll the show, and has even more ambitious visions of a TV network that would send out "unscrambled" sex shows to millions of satellite dish owners.
Then again, you probably don't want to start aiming your dish in Urban's direction just yet. The Ugly George Hour of Truth, Sex, and Violence no longer airs, although excerpts of Ugly handiwork do appear during late-night nudie programming. A staffer at Time Warner Cable, the Manhattan company that leases time to soft-porn producers, says that as far as he knows, The Ugly George Hour hasn't run in New York City in years. "I haven't seen him anywhere for a long time," the staffer asserts.