My Dreams Gone Wicked

My Dreams Gone Wicked

First, I dreamed of being a farmer until I learned that farming weeds is illegal…and deadly. Just reading on the current Mexican drug war gave me the shivers, so I watched a marathon of Japanese and Korean horror films to relax.

And then, Donald Trump inspired me to go into the hospitality business, so I wanted to build a brothel. I did my research and discovered that a brothel is the sleazy cousin of the Trump Hotel. I would be called Big Daddy and not Mr. Trump. But I would be surrounded by a bevy of babes. Still, it’s definitely an abhorrent business, even for nominal Catholics like me.

Finally, I hit pay dirt when I have found a job that sets the barest qualifications and rewards its practitioners with superhuman power, truckloads of moolah, and a harem as icing on the cake. I have been turned down in the Bureau of Customs as I look like a cross between a dirty minister and an honest pickpocket, so I swallowed my pride and slid to a lower position. I ran for election and lost.

Like what I’ve said, I look like a cross between a dirty minister and an honest pickpocket. Maybe, they want someone who is half frank buffoon and half pious crook.



Prospero E. Pulma Jr.