I saw a flyer yesterday for a ten-week workshop for low-income men and women to tell their stories. These poor buggers would learn about writing it up and delivering it in public.
I thought this could help me overcome my shyness, particularly with the opposite sex.
I’m poor. I figured I qualified. I figured I was a poster-boy for poverty.
So I applied and then I found out that the grant underwriting the workshop specified that low-income meant earning less than $15,000 a year.
I make more than that.
I can not tell a lie.
I guess I’ll have to figure out other ways to tell my story.
All I need is some female attention. Then I blossom and become quite gregarious.
Like the song says, I need love (but only within the strictest halachic boundaries rigorously enforced by the surliest RCC rabbis and kashrut-supervising convicted sex offender).
