Admit it, I was right!
I once worked for a chiropractor who had pock marked skin, a voice that can best be described as something Seth MacFarlane dreamed up and of course the God complex that so many of his kind are afflicted with. He was a class A asshole who was a witness to a car accident that I was in, that he treated me for, billed me (the insurance company) for and just to prove what a great guy he was he fired me because I attempted suicide. He still got his money but he will have to deal with that butt ugly,pock marked face and that ridiculous cartoon voice. We all know most doctors don’t have souls, more, oh so more on that later. Before my accident I worked with his sister at a part time kinda thing where we would sell flowers at the amphitheater during concerts. We sold roses for $5 a stem, all thorns taken off and placed into one of those little water tubes with a rubber stopper top. His sister, who we’ll call Cunt, would buy the roses from the flower market at about $1 a stem and I would come to her apartment help clean and place roses in the receptacle and I would make a $1.50 profit on each rose I sold. At this time in my life I had a sick body and long legs, I still have the long legs, the rest-ehhh..I’d wear a black,tight fitting dress with a slit up up to there and sandles. The money was good if it was an older, smoother crowd. I made a fortune during the Moody Blues. It was especially great if a drunk dude would come up and buy a rose for me, it was like “Thank you baby, I’ll look at it all night and think of you” and then I resold it. I know. More profits! Yeah!
One day Cunt, old pock faces sister, called me and said to meet her at this bar up the street from her apartment and we could have a few drinks before we went to her place to clean and dethorn the roses. Over a few beers and some chit chat we got on the subject of men. She was whining about her (many) failed relationships and I told her, point blank, “If there is a loser within a mile he will come to me like the Wiseman to Jesus”. She laughed, apparently being unaware of my powerful dirtbag pheromones. She excused herself to go to the bathroom, she seemed to have a small bladder considering she was a cunt. When said cunt returned to our table, in less than five minutes, she was surprised to find a gentleman had availed himself of our table and was conversing, NOT conversating, with me. When she sat down this gentleman, who was short a few teeth, informed her that he “would love to play a song for me on the jukebox but I would need to accompany him as he could not read”. I realize that illiteracy is not a joke but I do consider it a big plus in a relationship. I wished I’d have made a bet of some sort. Admit it, I was right. In record time no less.