As a guest columnist still in college, I’m plagued with the question of what to do with myself after graduation. Little locusts of doubt start jumping all over the Jewel of the Nile that is Bret, and I start to feel like my traitorous brother and that crazy “God” of his have bad things in store for Bret Jr. it’s times like these that I think back to what my Uncle Ulysses used to say about work, and that was something to the extent of “If you make a living doing something you enjoy, you’ll never have to work a day in your life.” Now, like most old people, Uncle Ulysses was a hypocrite and wore women’s clothing when the wife wasn’t around. After fifty long years in the coal mines he was so unhappy that he strangled himself with a brassiere.
Nonetheless, his words stuck with me and after some time of reflection (and refraction) I decided upon the job for me. I’ve decided to be a prostitute.
Now for just one minute throw all your taboos, snafus, Kangaroos, and Cindy Lou Who’s out the window. (Be gentle with Cindy, she’s no more than two) Prostitutes have sex for money. Now I’ve never had sex but it’s gotten rave reviews from my peers and frankly holding a feminine hand is enough to get this guy a little hot under the collar.
Therefore, sex can be classified as a plus. And ever since people started telling me that money doesn’t bring me happiness, it’s become quite clear to me that money is in fact the only thing that can make a person happy. People just say bad things about money so there will be more for them. I do the same thing when I put down George Michael. Henceforth, we can classify money as a plus as well. People, that’s two plusses and no minuses! Apparently, people frown on prostitution because they think that although two wrongs don’t make a right, two rights make a wrong. Well, that’s just not true. Two rights make having sex and getting paid for it! This is what my muse Belinda Carlisle must have been talking about in her thought-provoking “Heaven is a Place on Earth.”
I ran into one early problem. I’m a shy guy. I still haven’t stood up to the older bully in middle school who would make me do his homework. (Fortunately, he has since passed on and is up in Recycled-Sitcom-Plot Heaven) I would never be able to garner up the courage to ask someone to have intercourse with me and then of course pay me for the services. Enter the pimp. This is possibly the biggest perk of the occupation. Not only will my pimp make sure I have plenty of business, but he’ll also wear delightful costumes, call me sugar, and smack my posterior. Could this be too good to be true?
So goodbye corporate grind, goodbye interviews and goodbye resumes. I’m taking my degree to the street. Let the sex and money roll in, this “Pretty Woman” is headed for the good life.
Oh yeah, and if someone reading this knows what venereal disease, abuse, and complete degradation are, could you fill me in? They were listed as occupational hazards.
“Ooh baby do you know what that’s worth? Ooh, Heaven IS a place on earth.”