MY
LIFE AS A MASCOT
Yes,
it has come to this...
I began "this little thing of ours" nine
years ago, and as publisher I have endured
many disappointments, frustrations, humiliations
and shed buckets of blood, sweat, tears
and various other bodily fluids.
Then about two years ago I started to
burn out and decided it was time to delegate
some authority. That's when all the REAL
trouble started.
First they had me sign over the checkbook.
Innocent enough, right?
Now they routinely lock me out on the
fire escape; sometimes with lipstick smeared
all over my face.
I no longer have any control around here.
If "with great power comes great responsibility"
then vice versa: I have no responsibility,
therefore I have no power.
When I'm not around, I know they use my
desk for unspeakable acts of reviling
debauchery.
They pretend to listen to me. They nod
their heads and say, "Yes, Frank," then
they turn around, smirks on their faces,
and act like I'm clinically insane.
They make me smooth over things with important
clients, but they script exactly what
I have to say. Then they make me take
all my clothes off and sit in the corner.
They don't tell me where the weekly meetings
are, so I have to wander around downtown,
peeking into all the bars and restaurants,
yelling their names. And when I finally
do find them, they act all concerned like,
"Didn't you get the message?" Yeah, right.
I got the message.
They make me call them "Daddy" and wear
adult diapers during deadline.
I think they are all making fun of me
behind my back.
They THINK I don't know, but I do.
They take me to all these "Covergirl Contests."
Then they make me take those pills, take
tequila shots and I wake up the next morning
in the Kmart parking lot. In a bunnysuit.
And heels...
They take funny pictures of me and put
them in the magazine.
They are all a bunch of conniving bastards.
These guys are cutthroat. Bottom line.
Well, I'm not gonna take it anymore.
I tell you, I'm tired of living my life
as a second-rate pornographic mascot.
They even chop up, mangle and decimate
the one last little thing I've kept--the
one shred of dignity I have left
this column and they change it to
make me sound stupid or worse they just
cut it
Continued
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