Sugar-momas (I need one)

First let me preface this by saying that; I would gladly take a job if I were offered one. I have worked most of my life since the age of thirteen and am by no means a freeloading bum. Yet with that said I have been unable to find work of any kind here (in California), for five months now. Not for lack of trying either. I made a poor choice with my first job, and my former boss has given me repeated bad references despite being amicable when I left the position. Now, with that disclaimer out of the way…

I need a Suga-Momma! I know that doesn’t sound right, a man is supposed to stand on his own two feet and take responsibility for him-self and blah, blah, blah! Yet it’s perfectly acceptable in our society for women to have Suga-Daddies, and be gold diggers/trophy wives. Well in the name of gender equality, I would like a woman to take care of me. I don’t ask for much, she can keep the car (I never learned to drive), I’m not concerned about the house I can stay out in the pool house. I don’t even want to marry her!

         I just want to be comfortable and fed. I would like cable and internet and a decent sized television and in exchange I will service said woman. I trust you all know what I mean by that. I am not as young as I once was, but I am still in good shape, I have been told that my equipment is too big for some and not big enough for others so you can inspect it and make up your mind. My main concern is a place to rest my head and keep my comics. It shouldn’t come as a surprise, all great artist need benefactors. Van Gogh, Picasso, hell even Michelangelo, I need mine. I have the next great American novel swimming around in my head with all that booze and LSD I did years ago. I need time to sit out by the pool with my laptop and give future tenth graders something to fret over. I just want to be a kept man is that so bad. Women do it for less, sell their bodies to dirty old men in hopes of inheriting their oil money, or just a ride in their fancy sports car.

            I don’t ask for jewelry and I don’t need to eat at the nicest restaurants. I don’t care how old or heavyset the woman may be, I might have to draw the line at deformities (no parasitic twins), but other than that. I wish I had thought of this years ago. I knew a male gigolo when I lived in NYC. He would hang out in the place I worked talking shit to waitresses and sipping coffee all day, then at night he would go do his thing. Occasionally he would bring one of the women in to the restaurant to show us he wasn’t lying. The few I saw weren’t bad. Back then I was still young and I couldn’t get past their age, now I’m closer to their age than I was then the divide doesn’t seem to matter so much. Besides I have since popped my own Cougar cherry and although I’ve only done it once I would gladly go Cougar hunting again. Thing is that now I’m at the point where a Cougar for me would be geriatric. Not that I mind eating dinner in the afternoon I just can’t stand Denny’s. It’s been so long since I’ve been in bed with a woman I would gladly take one from the AARP set. Just show me the money. I dream of a Jaguar pulling up to the hood and whisking me away. It is high time men got in on this racket, women have been hogging the-giving up your body for material gain-market for too long. So ladies…Any takers?

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Now playing: Terence Trent D’Arby – As Yet Untitled
via FoxyTunes

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