OF RAPE AND FRUSTRATION (real life)

I’m a sales assistant. Yes, I’m a fucking sales assistant. 

Which means I have to stand hours convincing myself I do like what I’m selling. Which means smiling and being polite even when I want to kill the customer in front of me. Which means I have to keep a serious face when they ask me if they can wash those leather boots in the washing machine. Which means many things, actually. 
But I could stand it all better if I just wouldn’t have to:

 1. listen to the same fucking CD taken from some dance club in the countryside where Adam Levine thinks he moves like Mick Jagger… Like Mick Jagger.
I'm Marianne Faithfull, by the way.

2. listen to Jennifer Lopez singing she wants to dance and dance and dance all night and make love to you baby…

Dear Jenny from the block, 

from a Beverly Hills villa (or wherever you may live),

I know you’re an easy going girl and want to reach everyone’s heart, but you’re almost 44. And you can’t sing love like a 15-year-old! You’ve grown up, hopefully.

Listen…

…and find the difference:

And it's not because I still don't have a home and I'll be selling shoes for the rest of my life and I envy you. 

No.

You They are raping my ears. With your song.

Then, I know… God Money makes people do anything.

Still... 

Anyway, that's already one step ahead, isn't it?

Don't be offended, eh. I still remember all the lyrics of Jenny From The Block since the first time I heard it on MTV!