all these amy schumers of this world,
really don't want to know
how courteous prostitutes
are to men these days...
we come and we go,
******* like animals -
there are no horrible
jokes about ***,
there are no ***** jokes -
there's only the savannah
of the bear minimum of
worded exchanges -
in the beginning there was
word, and the word was with
god;
and it goes in reverse:
in the beginning there was
an onomatopoeia (satan knocking
on a door to engage with thin
walls and a man's pelvic bones
smacking against
a woman's buttocks) -
   and the mimic was known
as satan...
           only in america does
a strip-bar mean more than a
a brothel: barbarism...
                     can watch: can't touch...
i've met more prostitutes with
enough tact to make
other women seem as proselytes
of otherwise enjoyable
erotica -
               believe me:
there's a no man's land with prostitutes:
there's cold cash exchange either
side -
      you're not having an affair -
    you're not having an emotional
entanglement -
that's for the english children
who'd **** *******,
but then prefer to ******* their
partner's heart into a ****...
      at least prostitutes teach by
abhorring emotional attachment
and the labyrinths of lies...
          plus prostitutes talk less
***** than female comedians...
but they certainly know how to
moan more... never in line
with disrespecting the power of
words...
           always in broken syllables...
and that's how i like it:
   what these muslims are doing
to the anesco temples of
ancient persia,
the europeans have already done
so: talking point-blank-*******
in the bedroom...
                and they wonder:
why are the birth-rates so low?
i ask: what have you been saying
in the bedroom?!
                   to have degrade the human
and to not have elevated the animal?
what do you expect outside of
the bedroom, with hooligan violence
surrounding football?!
****, prostitutes are the antithesis
to the current probing fetish for "dolls"
like some 1950s lexicon ref. -
to a gall tarted up in red sheen gloss
on the lips...
              what's the point of talking
during ***, why invoke god -
make the simple grunt, the simple:
sounds like but not quite like -
with satan as ally -
the death boy will translate with
much tact that goes on behind closed
doors, apparent to him in the open -
talking during *** reduces god
to a pornographer...
  with satan: ah, sire, it sounds as bit
like this: mimic tuck tooth pucker
pouch & peach. meaning? no one knows!
why even allow words into
***, animals barely change their
****** expression during *******!
so why demean these girls,
you'll sooner find that prostitutes
have a higher self-esteem
in the bedroom, than female comedians
have in either bedroom, or on stage.