A Dash of Work And A Lot About Being An Asshole

So it was day 2 at the doctors office- a specialty doc who caters to a moneyed clientele. Clientele like Yoko Ono who deals with NO ONE. That is the kinda asshole- well moneyed asshole- I want to be. The one where I lose the ability to speak to anyone (common folk), only through my assistant- a gay man named either Romeo or Usher (OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO hahahah give that dude something to do). Will also lose the ability to walk- will travel via Maybach or helicopter or be carried by a Samoan named Hi-Top...and will have a midget woman named Beatrice feed me because being rich will make my arm muscles limp (from counting all that cheddah) and therefore unable to to lift my fork.
Needless to say, I'll be happy when this week is over and I no longer have to wonder what kind of emotion people are expressing because they are botoxed and facially surgeried soooooo effin' tight! Only eyes blink and lips move....
What gets me through besides youth n' great genes are my asshole epiphanies.
We all know I don't strive to be an ass but I am damn good at it when need be. So when a dude- from the dating site I am a part of- emails me...saying I obviously like being the center of attention. He can tell this because of the pics of me I posted...to my...profile. Hmmm. I wrote him back mentioning that that is the point. Perhaps he was being humorous or meant something else by it...I'll find out whenever I decide to read his response.
Either way imma be an asshole about it. Why? BECAUSE I CAN!
....yeah, I am also an AWESOME dater.
OH, there is hope of me not living alone with my servants and cats. One of the chicks at the doctors office is IN LOVE WITH ME. Okay, actually....I will end up alone warmed by my chinchilla throw and whatever lover I plan on taking in. Preferably male and named Idris.

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