I’ve been “underemployed” for a few years now. In case you didn’t know, “underemployed” is just a nice way of saying, working for the same amount you earned slinging fries at that fast food job in high school.
Times are getting tight, I was looking at two possible career paths: 1) harvesting my organs in South America. I mean, do I really need two kidneys? 2) Entertaining old geezers for cash in the back of an Uber. So I thought it might be time to call in the big guy. God. Maybe he can help me secure better employment. So here’s my prayer for the big man upstairs.
But then it hit me. Stripping. Yes, I’m over 40 but a cash-based economic model seems really practical. And the uniforms are so small, they must be cheap.
Yes, I’m middle aged but I could throw on some eight-inch lucite heels and clench my butt cheeks to Nirvana with the best of them.
Does anyone want to see an over 40 mom with an appendectomy scar twirl around a pole to Def Leppard? Wanna “Pour some sugar on me, baby?!”
Maybe there’s a strip club that offers discount nights or a night for men with poor vision and low self-esteem. Are there some men out there who have a MILF/Mommy complex? Or how about
Are there some men out there who have a MILF/Mommy complex? Or how about
Or how about cut-rate lap dances for those on a fixed income, make it an early bird dinner special and throw in a basket of chicken fingers and some cold slaw.
From far away in the low light, I might remind them of their High School sweetheart or their girlfriend’s Mom.
Frankly I don’t give a sh^& as long as they have a wad of singles and keep their tiny troll doll hands to themselves. Hey honey, wanna have a former entertainment executive show you her woo woo?
What desperate measures have you dreamed up due to your underemployment? Share your work horror/fantasies?
xoxo-Rosie
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