This week in the Green Room: Alternative Identities and Cyber Sex. Join Richard Lett backstage at our CyberComedy Club as he discovers his G-Spot. Funny? Absolutely. Obscene? Maybe. Offensive? Your call. Personally, we find his honesty refreshing. Ladies & Gentlemen, welcome to the Green Room.
The Green Room
 RICK: So I'm walking down Davie Street, and there's
this guy and this girl curled up in a dirty old sleeping bag
in a doorway. Guy looks up and says, "Spare change?"
I say sorry cause he's the fourth person to ask in the last
two blocks. The girl goes, "Have a nice night."
Then I think, "I can't get a girlfriend. This guy's only
skill is his willingness to say, 'spare change' and he's got
a girl!"
Women are so fickle! They just want true love - money doesn't
mean anything. Which is worse - poverty or loneliness?
I paid for it one night. High class girl picked me up at
a club - talked me into it. Started at 250, ended up taking
500 off me by the end of it. That's not spare change. She
was never gonna be sleeping in any doorway. She was something
else. Real women don't come like that. The willingness to
please. Or maybe it's the focus. The ability to concentrate
on one thing and one thing only.
I was with this girl for awhile after my divorce. She couldn't
concentrate. Talked all the time. I was going down on her
and she says, "where did you learn to do that?"
Now I'm thinking about all the girls who taught me to eat
pussy. When I've got my face in someone's reasonably fresh
snatch all I wanna hear is "Oh baby", followed by
the word "yes" about twenty times. Stick to the
point. Then she goes down on my giving me little kisses and
licks. So I told her the call it sucking for a reason. It's
not a clit, it's a dick, don't lick it, suck it! We broke
up.
My little escort - she knew. She knew. They say you don't
pay a prostitute to have sex, you pay her to leave afterward.
Can't pay 'em to love you though. There's no price for that.
SHADOW: Blenz. Good name. At four a.m. everything
just blends. The street, the night, the coffee, the tobacco,
the lost, the lonely all blends into one dark thick smoky
buzz. Washroom has a blue light so you can't find a vein.
The fact that you end up pissing on your shoes is the lesser
of two evils - I guess.
The night of the black out, that was cool. It was like that
room I had on Nelson. Turn out the lights and all the bugs
come crawling out. The whole downtown went black and you could
hear them crawling out of the crevices. Maybe God sees us
like cockroaches - the world is like that room - too infested
to even bother with.
My kid sister told me in school now they have "lockdown
drills". Not fire drills like we had. Now instead of
lining up and moving out the nearest exit, they practice hiding
from armed attacks. And get this, if lockdown happens when
a kid's in the hall, you can't let'em back in the classroom
- even if they say they're wounded - can't let'em in. They're
supposed to hide in the washroom. This is what this infestation
has come to. The kids aren't afraid of Russians or the bomb,
they're afraid of there fucking classmates. Survivor Three
- the inner city classroom.
My mom died when I was a school - first grade. I didn't
like school after that. Couldn't figure out where she went.
I didn't get what dead was. So I would leave school and go
looking for her. Even now, sometimes I think I see her across
the street, or out of the corner of my eye. Stupid - I know.
Hey - you gotta smoke? I appreciate it...
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