I’m just a gigolo, and everywhere I go
People know the part I’m playing
Paid for every dance selling each romance
Ooh, what they’re saying
There would come a day when youth will pass away
What will they say about me
When the end comes I know
They say "He was just a gigolo"
Life goes on without me
Cuz I ain’t got nobody
Nobody cares for me, nobody, nobody cares for me
I’m so sad and lonely
Sad and lonely, sad and lonely
Won’t some sweet mama come and take a chance with me
Cuz I ain’t so bad
Sad and lonesome all the time
Even on the beat, on the, on the beat
I ain’t got nobody
Nobody cares for me, nobody, nobody
Really ain’t got nobody, sad and lonesome
Baby need love
I, I, I, ain’t got nobody
Nobody, nobody cares for me ,nobody, nobody
I’m so sad and lonely, sad and lonely
Won’t some sweet mama come and take a chance with me
Cuz I ain’t so bad
Really want that soul, little loving soul all the time
Even on the beat, cherry, cherry on the beat
Need a long tall darling, mama
Feeling sick
Got nobody, no, nobody, nobody
Nobody, nobody, no one, no one
Loopey loop, darling, darling
Getting serious, got to see the walls
Over there. nobody, got no one, nobody
Nobody, nobody, nobody
Nobody, nobody cares for me
I’ve got to quadruple the traffic I’m getting to Lukeford.net (about 70,000 page views a week, 400% of the next highest site in the Jewish blogads network) to earn a living from it. Otherwise I’m screwed. I’ve been working for myself for more than a decade. I don’t want to get a real job.
I always get depressed after a long illness.
My life is grim.
Life was easier when I wrote on porn.
I’m tired of fighting.
I drive myself out from the hovel into the cold dark Saturday night to take a bunch of stupid pictures to drive up my website traffic. I fight through the cars on Highland near Hollywood, and while my van idles, I feel the engine’s death rattle and know it must be replaced soon ($2000) and I pray to God it doesn’t die on me (and what about my friend who told me a month ago he’d sell me his beat-up Camry, is he really going to sell it, he keeps putting me off, I’m so screwed).
Once I get to the TV academy, I drive around and around to find free parking.
I’m tired of fighting.
When I get to the red carpet, I find out the arrivals began 90-minutes ago.
I have to stop drinking water more than an hour before I depart for red carpets because bathroom availabilities at these things is iffy.
My mouth is dry. My throat aches. I’m feverish. I’m sick. I’m weak. I’m scared and tired and cranky. I keep saying the f-word in my head. And mix it up with "F— it!" and "F— me!" and "I’m f—ed!"
I fight back up Lankershim to Highland and the traffic dies at the Hollywood Bowl. Twenty minutes later, I fight through a side street, pass 20 cars by driving on the wrong side of the road, and stick my van into a narrow parking place (free!).
I walk 15 minutes to Hollywood Blvd. My throat is dry.
I stand outside the club. No bathroom around. I fear I’ll lose control of my bowels. I fear that more and more now that I’ve passed 40 yo. It never happens but it would be humiliating if it did.
I get inside the Knitting Factory. I stand around for two hours while people drink. I take bad pictures. Then I fight the traffic home. I fight for parking. I get into bed and fight for sleep.
I lose.
I’m so tired of fighting. I’m so tired. I’m so f—ed!
