The work. The work. The work. . . . THE WORK!
You, who sit at home so comfortable in your athleisure or nothing at all, you who so easily decide what’s wrong and what’s right, what’s acceptable and censurable, what pushes the bounds of kink and what titillates, and what is off-limits and call it a night.
I’m not hear to garner your sympathy. I know what I am and what my place is. I produce disposable…