Okay. My subconscious is a bad stand-up comedian. I know people say their dreams show how weird and special they are, and all that special snowflake twaddle, but my dreams are the equivalent of a bad stand-up comedian trying desperately to get the half-empty bar that is their audience to laugh whilst nervously pulling at the collar of their cheap, un-ironed shirt. Think of it as the Joker pre-chemical peel treatment.
I had this dream that I had invented this new occupation. It was a cross between a man and a janitor: behold, the ManitorTM! He was basically a janitor, except young and exceptionally handsome, thus giving females and males (if they were so inclined) something to look forward to next time they did their business in a public toilets. Eye-candy for those answering nature's call, if you will.
And then, someone questioned me: what about the male janitors? Wouldn't that, in definition, make them a ManitorTM? No, no, you silly, stupid, naive fool, I smile while smacking them upside the head. A male janitor and a ManitorTM are two totally different things. Let me explain:
...
You know what, I don't know either.
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