Happiness is a Warm Gun

---

I suppose my story is a long one.
Do you really want me to tell it?
Really?

O.k.

Well, I lived on a farm. I am the youngest of four children.
Two sisters and a brother.
I haven’t spoken to them in years.
It’s not really a loss.
They remind me of what I left in the first place.

My mother was a victim to the era.
The 30’s, 40’s, 50’s…
Bad time to be a woman.
My father, well, what can I say about my father?
He did things to me and my sisters.
So when he died, a few years back, I couldn’t care less.

Moved to Washington D.C. in the 70’s.
Got into my gig for money.
Got degraded a bit, yeah,
But I wasn’t meant for astrophysics, you know?
The johns paid, lots of drugs, and I like sex.

I ran into some pretty prominent men.
You’d be surprised who is in my little black book.

People always go at me with God this and God that.
What I do, what I am is a sin...
Blah blah.
I think God is really not for me.
I’m for me, you know?
I got myself through the shit so I depend on me.
Now I’m working for high end people.
You wouldn’t believe some of these men.
People think I am in the objectified position?
Not with men who like to wear diapers, you know?

So, yeah, I can’t say I am too ashamed of my story.
And fuck feminists who yell at me for misrepresting woman
There are a lot of forms of woman I am a woman.
I’m me, you know?

So that’s really it, I suppose.
That’s about all I can say.
Talk to you all later.

---