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I left my job packing chicken into boxes. Definitely time to move up in the world, I decided. While I learned a lot from the gang at Beer Battered Crispy Dick's Chicken Express--Peaches taught me to steal chicken and eat it in the bathroom stall; Brian showed me I could jerk off after stealing chicken and eating it in the stall, my hands still greasy from the lard, thinking of Peaches and her simple, sexy ways; Daymon showed me you could steal uncooked center breasts and fuck them like a pussy, then smoke a cigarette in the bathroom stall and, later, just to get revenge, throw the butt into the "magical herbs and spices" vat--I heard from a friend I could make an extra fifty cents an hour where he worked.

Franklin Ishtar was a recent acquaintance but he came highly recommended as a keyboard player (we played in bands that had friendly rivalries). I trusted him when he told me I could get hired. He sold coupon books over the phone. The "Fiesta Parade" books had little panda bears all over them. There was a map of China on the back cover, and the first page claimed that 25 cents from each book was donated to orphan girls and boys in the Wang Dong province. Though substantiating the existence of the Wang Dong region of China might prove elusive, the central claim could not be denied; in fact, the books were printed in China for 25 cents each and the staff consisted largely of abused and discarded orphan children.

On my first day, I called everyone I knew and sold them books. My name ...

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