I heard another knock at the door. "Who is

I heard another knock at the door. "Who is it?" I asked exasperatedly. "YOUR WORST NIGHTMARE!" replied my grandma. "Third time today," I muttered as I opened the door only to find

my grandma dressed as Catwoman. "Grammy, I said you're too old to be trick-or-treating. You're not getting any candy." But she wouldn't take no for an answer - not this time.

"You better give me some candy, boy! I'm gonna have me some candy!...... Boy!" Grandma grabbed me by the throat and snatched the Snickers and Milky Ways off my hand, and ran out

of air when I plugged her nostrils with my fingers and blocked off the booger-nicotine brown emphysema tubes. The skin between her nostrils and lips started to rip, but the candy

cane I was sucking on was as delicious as ever. Even as the skin continued to split all I could think of was how good candy canes are and how I wished I were one.

If I were a candy cane, I would go into people and bring them the most intense pleasure they would ever experience! I'm a prostitute though, which is almost the same thing.

If I were a pincushion I would let various pointed objects penetrate me as their will desired, but again, I'm a prostitute so really, what's the diff? But if I were a

hammer, I'd be hammered in the morning, I'd be hammered in the evening, I'd be hammered all over this land. Being an escort, objectifying myself helps. Hours go by and I think,

remember that none is more accurate than "whore", "sell out", "can't get a real job", or just plain old "prozzie". Captain Standish had a lot of euphemisms for everything, though.