Thursday, October 31, 2002

Pay A Small Child To Spit In Your Face Day!

Best to do this one with the child's mother watching. You can't have mommy ask little Kevin where he got that thirty five dollars and let him tell the story of the man or lady who appeared out of the shadows of the bus shelter sounding a death rattle with every breath, trying to even out his or her voice so as not to scare the boy away, or worse, make him cry, before he or she got to feel the wonderful splash of hot innocence staining the face of failure with profanity in its purest and most powerful form. The spit of a child. Mommy might not understand if you don't ask her directly and you will be arrested for soliciting a child or at least beaten to death by the child's uncle.

And pick a kid from an impoverished neighborhood. If the mom can reconcile the fact that either her little baby perform this wholly non-sexual, albeit odd, service, or her little baby get made fun of for wearing shoes donated by the church, then it all should work out. Though she'll most likely jack up the price. And she still might have the child's uncle beat you to death. But you won't feel anything but the stain of that spit streaming down the left hand crevice where your nose meets your face anyway. If it's cold enough, the spit might freeze there. Either way, as spit dries on skin it gets really, really heavy. You've loved, no?

Happy Pay A Small Child To Spit In Your Face Day!