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xmag.com : July 2002 : Carnal Knowledge
Frank
Carnal Knowledge
MY LIFE AS A MASCOT
 
Yes, it has come to this...
I began "this little thing of ours" nine years ago, and as publisher I have endured many disappointments, frustrations, humiliations and shed buckets of blood, sweat, tears and various other bodily fluids.
Then about two years ago I started to burn out and decided it was time to delegate some authority. That's when all the REAL trouble started.
First they had me sign over the checkbook. Innocent enough, right?
Now they routinely lock me out on the fire escape; sometimes with lipstick smeared all over my face.
I no longer have any control around here. If "with great power comes great responsibility" then vice versa: I have no responsibility, therefore I have no power.
When I'm not around, I know they use my desk for unspeakable acts of reviling debauchery.
They pretend to listen to me. They nod their heads and say, "Yes, Frank," then they turn around, smirks on their faces, and act like I'm clinically insane.
They make me smooth over things with important clients, but they script exactly what I have to say. Then they make me take all my clothes off and sit in the corner.
They don't tell me where the weekly meetings are, so I have to wander around downtown, peeking into all the bars and restaurants, yelling their names. And when I finally do find them, they act all concerned like, "Didn't you get the message?" Yeah, right. I got the message.
They make me call them "Daddy" and wear adult diapers during deadline.
I think they are all making fun of me behind my back.
They THINK I don't know, but I do.
They take me to all these "Covergirl Contests." Then they make me take those pills, take tequila shots and I wake up the next morning in the Kmart parking lot. In a bunnysuit. And heels...
They take funny pictures of me and put them in the magazine.
They are all a bunch of conniving bastards. These guys are cutthroat. Bottom line.
Well, I'm not gonna take it anymore.
I tell you, I'm tired of living my life as a second-rate pornographic mascot.
They even chop up, mangle and decimate the one last little thing I've kept--the one shred of dignity I have left­ this column­ and they change it to make me sound stupid or worse they just cut it
Continued on Page 392 >>

 

 

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