Packing a Musket, by Jerri Blank. When you work from your home and johns call on the phone, you're a call girl. When you walk till you're limp and give a cut to a pimp, you're a street whore. When they're begging ya "please," to get down on your knees, near their groinage, 'scusa me, but ya see, don't ya touch where they pee, without coinage.
[on tape] Hi. This is Wilford Brimley. Welcome to Retardation: A Celebration. Now, hopefully with this book, I'm gonna dispel a few myths, a few rumors. First off, the retarded don't rule the night. They don't rule it. Nobody does. And they don't run in packs. And while they may not be as strong as apes, don't lock eyes with 'em, don't do it. Puts 'em on edge. They might go into berzerker mode; come at you like a whirling dervish, all fists and elbows. You might be screaming "No, no, no" and all they hear is "Who wants cake?" Let me tell you something: They all do. They all want cake.
I've changed. People change. Changes... I'm not the same Jerri Blank who informed on those blind orphans. I'm not the same Jerri Blank who revealed the hiding place of those Guatemalans... such as yourself. And I'm not the same Jerri Blank who took a crap in the Fleishmanns' holly bushes... last night.