The Live-In Prostitute Plan

I think I need a live-in prostitute.

Now, I've never actually paid for sex, by which I mean that I've never hired a prostitute. But I also don't let women pay on dates, which means that I spend a great deal of money making sure that women are well fed, well-buzzed and generally taken care of. It's the way I was raised. You can take the boy out of the Midwest but? well, you know the rest.

The older I get the more I come to realize that maybe relationships aren't really worth anything. I mean, very few of them ever work out, they all cost a buttload of money and in the end, no one ever gets exactly what they want from a partner. Relationships aren't worth it. Point blank. Game, set, match and all that.

And then there're one night stands. I used to really love one night stands. But even they get repetitive and boring after a while. Plus, they make little operations on your soul that will make you both cocky and callous. Also, there're venereal diseases, the best of which is Chlamydia (swallow some pills), the worst of which is AIDS (die slowly). I've been doing the one night stand thing since I was fourteen. I don't need it anymore.

So, if relationships and one night stands are both useless, that doesn't leave much in the way of interpersonal inter-gender kind of relationship type things for yours truly. And that's why I want a live-in prostitute.

It's the best of both worlds.

Here's the way I envision it:

You find some chick who maybe kind of sort of has a drug problem or is abused or what not, but yet she's still hot. Maybe like a queen of the trailer park kind of hot or perhaps even a coke-problem-having stripper kind of hot. You provide her with room and board and you pay her between $15 and $50 per sexual act. You never have to talk to her (or, more importantly, listen to her). You never have to care what television show she wants to watch, what kind of music she likes or how her familial relationships are going. If she wants to go do some stupid shit or hang out with stupid crack heads who you don't like, you simply say goodbye, comfortable in the knowledge that she will return when she runs out of cocaine, at which time she will do her damndest to satisfy you, earn her money and maybe crash out on the couch for sixteen hours or so while she regroups from her thirty-two hour drug binge.

I don't know about you, but that sounds more convenient and more pleasant than any relationship I've ever been in.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to find me a woman I can be with, not forever, not for love and not for lust. But for $15 to $50 a day.

I'm a freaking genius.

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