Why do I do it?
I ask myself that ALL the time. Sometimes every second of the day, and
I can come up with as many answers to that question. Why would I
willingly (at my own hand even) subject myself to what has thus far
proven at every turn to be intense mental, spiritual, physical
torment, anguish, humiliation, ridicule… I mean, I know I have new
neuroses where I didn’t have them before….
Because I can, and because someone has to. Someone has to shine a
light downtown and tell everyone it’s open for business. The streets
were completely dark, and my walk up and down the street decked up in
getup was more entertainment and color and brightness than these
people have seen in some time. Aside the hookers walking up and down
Simcoe at night now. I don’t know if anyone else has noticed, but
there are more of them now than there have been in the entire time
I’ve lived here. There used to be 1 that I could see, now there are
handfuls all along the way….
Screw the Mayor and his big yellow phallus. Where did he party last
night? How dare he drive around town in such a lofty trophy when his
women and children are hooking on the street? Dare I suggest he take a
closer look at his roost and make sure he’s got all his hens? The one
who lays the golden egg is choking to death….and he’s driving his
cock right down her throat….
Someone has to be there for people when they go looking for a place
too forget their cares, well, last time I checked, pretty girls,
singing, dancing, laughing, smiling…
My market research proves that these things lighten mens burdens.
And they come real cheap.