By Big House Barry
To the business woman I kept seeing in the park: Heyyyy baby. What you sayin’ girl?
…Oh, I see, you’re too busy with what’s in that little pocket robot of yours. All full of phone calls, and important e-mails and shit. You think I don’t understand you? You think I don’t know what game you’re playing? You little attention-skank. You love it. You’re a flirt-banker, and everyone’s lining up to make a deposit. And you want me to think that you don’t need any of it, that you’ve got your big ole heels on, and your organic soy drink, and that you’re good, you’re “sufficient”, and dudes like me don’t exist. Well I’ve got news for you honey. You can turn the other way, you can shrug it off, but everybody wants that shirt off.
To the streetcar driver with the pony-tail: Yoooooo girl, you workin’? Mmm, yeah, I got the fare, but don’t worry about that transfer, I ain’t goin’ anywhere, I’m staying right here wit’ you, beautiful. What’s that? Oh, I can’t stand here? You want to put a little white line between you and me? Ohh, I get it; you’re on this side, and I’m on “that” side. I’ve got to stay bottled up all hot under the collar back with the other lowly peasant creatures, while you’re up here on your rocket-throne, drunk on your own streetpower. You little transit-hooker. You love that bros like me need a pony-tail like you just to get home in time for Glee, don’t you? You’re playing like without you, my point A doesn’t have a point B and that makes you special. You think wearing that uniform makes you better than me? You think you untouchable? Well this just in, pony: you can honk the horn, you can brake real soft, but everybody wants that shirt off.
To the lady-judge from my arraignment: Mmm Judge! What are we even fightin’ for, sugar-robes? You want it, I want it, let’s call recess and rock the bench a little! …huh? No bail until trial? …ohhhh shit I see what’s happening here. You see multiple charges of sexual harassment against me, and the way lightning shoots out of my eyes and impregnates yours, and it’s all conflict of interest and shit. You stubborn little hot piece of justice. You’d enforce the law, even when they’d outlaw love? Well don’t worry baby, you can deny my e-motions, you can gavel and scoff, but everybody wants that robe off (and if there’s one underneath, everybody wants that shirt off). And also, maybe that lawyer’s shirt off. And the court reporter’s shirt off. And you, and you…in fact, let’s just lay it out. The following people have shirts that are wanted off:
- Christy from down the street
- the girl who works at the convenience store on Tuesdays
- She Hulk (girl literally Hulks out, I don’t even understand how it isn’t off yet)
- that foxy Frenchie in the back of the courtroom
- Aunt Sally
- the model from that treadmill commercial
- the cast of “A League of Their Own”
- Venus Williams (but never Serena Williams)
- my buddy Dave
- nuns
EVERYBODY WANT THOSE SHIRTS OFF!!! COME ON, IT’S OFF-TIME, BABIES!!! ANYBODY!?!
…Hm. Jail’s been hard for me.
