I am a prostitute. Do I spend my nights walking the boulevard, you may ask? No. Do I turn tricks for money, supporting my lavish lifestyle with a lascivious job? Nope. I am a whore for insurance.

Let me be clear. I have not, nor do I have any desire to bed any of the 80 forty-year old ladies who make up the insurance office where I work.

Let me explain.

I am currently a temp. The lowest of the low. A nosehair on the face of life. The ugliest poopstain on the nastiest red ass of the most retarded baboon in the Jungle, if you catch my (complicated) drift. Being in such a humiliating (read: lowpaying) position, I am ready to escape the miserable, sexy world of the file clerk. So, when my supervisor told me a REAL position was opening up for a claims examiner, and that I would make a "super addition to the TE-EAM!!", I thought..."what the hell...my life already sucks. May as well lose myself in the world of Worker's Comp for a few extra bucks!" After all, daddy needs the bling-bling.

That brings me back to the sad fact that I. Am. A whore. My interview for the job started well enough, with all of the obligatory 'what are your strengths/weaknesses' bullshit. But then they asked me The Question.

"What makes you ( a lowlife temp ) the best candidate for the job?"

I smiled. Ran a nervous hand through my hair. Deep breath...and-

Let the whorin' begin.

I began to explicate the intricacies of my complex work ethic, juxtaposed with my desire to succeed in ANY job that I take (especially a crappy ass insurance job), coupled with my go-getter attitude... BLEEEAAACHCCHCH.

I barfed all over them.

Not literally, but I really think I blew them away with the shiznit that flew out of my mouf. It must have sounded like I actually wanted to pursue an invigorating career in insurance. I mean, who wouldn't? What would the world be like without insurance, right? RIGHT?!?!

I'll let you know if I get the job.

Hopefully I will be struck dead before then.

Ty-Diddy