The other day I was sitting around in my home in Clarke County, where prostitution is legal, and I realized something. I wished I had a hooker. Well, the term hooker comes from the time of the civil war. The politically correct term is prostitute and is generally not offensive (I happen to have a good friend that is a prostitute and I quote: “You can call me whatever you want. Whether it be bawd, call girl, camp follower, courtesan, harlot, prostitute, hooker, whore, scarlet woman, street-walker, strumpet, tart, fallen woman, slut, floozy, moll, lady of the evening, nymphomaniac, painted, or even working girl. I am what I am and I don’t care what I am called.”). Many women lost their husbands to the war and needed money to support themselves. At the same time General Joe Hooker and his men who were constantly in battle needed something to keep their spirits up. So they hired women who lost their husbands for some good times. The term came to be known as “Hooker’s Girls” and eventually shortened to “Hookers”.

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So I was sitting around one Sunday morning with a beer in one hand and the remote in the other just watching some George Lopez and it hit me, “How great would it be to have a hooker right now”. Hookers are great people; they will do what your pissy prude wife won’t for barely any money. Also, once you get to know one, you can share anything with her and she will show that she cares, because although on the outside, she’s poor, ugly, and wears to much make up and fishnets, deep down inside, although her lungs might be pitch black, she is the only one that can truly make you happy. A hooker can be your best friend, hell, if you pay her enough she’ll even play dress-up with you.

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Too bad they are controlled by cruel pimps. Did you know the average successful pimp makes $800,000 a year!!! They will even go as far as striking down hookers for disrespect. Hookers are your friends. YOU DON’T HIT YOUR FRIENDS. Well yes you do but that’s not the point I’m trying to make.  

So anyways, as I sat there and fantasized about the perfect hooker, I felt wetness on my pants. Just the thought of a hooker made me so happy that I subconsciously spilled my beer all over myself. If only there were a hooker standing in front of me at that moment.  Remember, as you zip up your jeans and put on your jacket and leave the motel room and part ways with your beloved hooker, you will most likely have something to remember her by.