I didn’t write this. It was emailed to me via myspace and I’m pulling a classic Mike move and reposting:
The truth about life is we’re all just call girls and hookers, prostitutes out daily walking the street.
We too sell part of our very selves just to exist; a place to live, clothes to wear, food to eat.
Now most of the tricks we turn aren’t in a motel room or on the side of the road in a parked car.
And we don’t pick up our Johns on a city sidewalk, we don’t meet them is some sleazy bar.
See prostitutes sell their bodies for the pleasure of others, in place of their girlfriend or wife.
Yet we sell something even more ultimately valuable, we sell the days, weeks and months of our life.
If you have a job for any company public or private you are whoring out your life till it’s finally limp.
If you’re self employed you’re still a just another hooker, you just happen to be your own pimp.
We spend our time working away for some company that doesn’t really care about us in the least.
Just another employee, just another warm body; until were used up, old, retired or deceased.
We’re all doing deeds every day we’d rather not do, Monday through Friday out turning tricks.
But instead of one single John slipping it to you. It’s a corporation of many slipping you dick.
Doesn’t matter who you work for, if you work at all, you’re out selling your days like a cheap slut.
But unlike a call girl who can refuse or charge extra, we’re forced daily to take it up the butt.
Our lives are toil in one form or another it seems, from the day we’re born until we take our last breath.
But instead of enjoying this one life we’ve been given, we prostitute our short time until death.
It doesn’t seem fair that so very few of us truly live, and experience our life to it’s fullest extent.
But like some whore we use up our time on earth, until our days and our energy is finally spent.
One day when were of no use to some company, we’re just like a hooker who’s worth has all passed.
Any enjoyable activity we might yet want to do, we find we sold our youth like a piece of ass.
Every day that I’ve worked I’ve felt like a slut, doing something for money I’d really rather not do.
And while not on my knees or flat on my back, with each pay check I know I’m getting used.
There is so much of this world I want to see and do, but I find I must sell my time just to survive.
But it seems in the end no matter what career chosen, I’ve put some dollar amount on my life.
I’m sure there are people who enjoy what they do, and probably some call girls who enjoy the sex too.
But to make a product I don’t use for someone I don’t know, seems more sleazy than being paid to get screwed.