and circumcise you. Well, K. E. is such an atomic salesman if he runs out of Octopus Kits he is subject, by sheer charge, to sell an M.D. Can Do to a barber shop
and some citizen wakes up with his piles cut out. . . .
“ ‘Jesus, Homer, what kinda creep joint you running here? I been gang fucked
“ ‘Well, landsake, Si, I was just aiming to administer our complimentary high colonic free and gratis on Thanksgiving Day. K. E. musta sold me the wrong kit again. . . .

MALE HUSTLER: “What a boy hasta put up with in
this business. Gawd! The propositions I get you wouldn’t believe it. . . . They wanta play Latah, they wanta merge with my protoplasm, they want a replica cutting,
they wanta suck my orgones, they wanta take over my past experience and leave old memories that disgust me.. . .
“I am fucking this citizen so I think, ‘A straight John
at last’; but he comes to a climax and turns himself into
some kinda awful crab. . . . I told him, ‘Jack, I don’t
hafta stand still for such a routine like this. . . . You can
take that business to Walgreen’s.’ Some people got no
class to them. Another horrible old character just sits
there and telepathizes and creams in his dry goods. So nasty.”
The bum boys fall back in utter confusion to the
brink of the Soviet network where Cossacks hang partisans to the wild wail of bagpipes and the boys march up Fifth Avenue to be met by Jimmy Walkover with the
keys to The Kingdom and no strings attached carry
them loose in your pocket.. . .