Let’s face it: it’s a tough economy out there. We’re all struggling to make ends meet, even while those who control gasoline production insist on bending us over their barrels of sweet, delicious crude oil. Cities everywhere are determining that public safety should be valued on a risk/reward system, whereby it’s perfectly okay to close fire companies that are, you know, just a real drag. I’m perfectly aware of this, and while I’m grateful as can be that I still have a firehouse to call home, there may come a time where our fair citizens demand even lower taxes on their cigarettes (despite our state having THE lowest tax rate on coffin nails….read here) and I’ll be shit out of luck. If that becomes the case, I’ve decided that prostitution will become my next career advancement. I have many reasons why, but here are the top ten:
TOP 10 REASONS I’D BE A GREAT PROFESSIONAL HE-HO
- I’m really quite unremarkable. Ladies, the last thing you need when you hire an escort is for it to be obvious that you’ve paid to have some massively strong and good-looking dude-hooker accompany you to fancy functions. Lucky for you, no one will suspect you’ve spent a dime when you show up with me on your arm, and you can claim we just “met on the internet”.
- No middleman. Pimps have a bad reputation, and they’ve earned it. As such, my self respect demands that I do not employ said dealers in pleasure, and I can pass the savings right on to the customer. Plus, no weird canes or obnoxious hats and tricked out Monte Carlos with gold-spoke rims to contend with.
- I can do the dishes. This is a quality that plagues many an otherwise harmonious relationship. So, for a very reasonable fee, I can come over to your house and suds up those pieces of dining ware that you’ve been leaving in the sink. There is a three day maximum waiting period on that one though, cause then we’re dealing with some gross stuff, and I just don’t get weird like that.
- I’m a fireman. Now, before you go dreaming up someone who might be in a calendar, I mean this in a totally different way. Firemen gossip worse than hens on a fence, so maybe you need to talk some trash about that skank at work who’s clearly slutting her way to the top. I’ll not only completely understand, I’ll probably be able to contribute some completely salacious, and utterly fabricated, commentary about her clear lack of morals.
- I have a horrible short term memory. This will come in handy when we run into each other at a local coffee shop and you’re in the company of your family. I can barely remember my kids’ names, so there’s no fear of awkward social encounters or the need to explain how we know each other….chances are I won’t recall a thing.
- No need to be self-conscious. As The Wife informs me on a regular basis, I’m no prize; therefore, there is no need for you to feel bad about any aspect of your being, either. Worried that you may have a bit too much of a mustache for it to be considered socially acceptable? Pfffftttt….I can grow one of those things in three hours. There’s beauty everywhere and in everyone, and I’m guaranteed to see it.
- I know how to change a tire. Do you have a long road trip that will take you along poorly paved highways, or are you worried about being car-jacked in the city? Then you should consider hiring me. I’ll bring the Funyuns, and we’ll listen to the music of the REM, and claim how we got Michael Stipe before anyone else did, thereby making us “better” than everyone. I’ll even bring a set of tools for changing a flat tire or intimidating the hell out of roadside thugs. It’ll be great.
- I don’t hunt or fish. This is mainly a regional issue, but here in Midwest, there are many, many sportsman’s widows. Their hubbies get their goatees trimmed up, break out their finest camo and disappear into the woods or onto the lakes for days on end, all vying for machismo rights when they kill something with brains no bigger than a housecat. I could care less. So, when the fall and spring are here and you’re abandoned for the company of some other guys who smell like deer piss, give me a call. We’ll go eat some overpriced sushi and grab some Starbucks, head back to your place and burn all of his shit on the front lawn.
- I’m tax-deductible! Apparently, for many years, The Wife has been claiming me on our tax statements under the category “financial sink-hole”. I’m not sure what this technological jargon means, but I’m 72% sure you, too, can claim our rendezvouseseses as a deduction of sorts. It’s like you’d be throwing away money NOT to engage my services; be diligent about your fiduciary duties, already.
- I’m NOT a Craigslist Killer. I just thought I oughta put that out there.