My industrial strength suckage of a job is ebbing my life away. I only sold two vacuums last month, and both were because I made an offhand remark about how I recently suffered from internal bleeding after lodging the hose of the vaccuum in my anal cavity and flicking the on button. I damn near sucked my gall bladder out. No suprise, but both of those sales were from homosexual men. But they didn't respect me. Nobody respects me. Hell, I wouldn't respect myself if I knocked at my own door. And I do. I often stand outside my own door knocking and crying for hours on end until Mother just can't take it anymore and she comes out of her room, opens the door, and forces me to come inside and go to bed. I have had twelve sales to date, and Mother was my first ten of those. But I've been doing this for six years! I don't have a girlfriend, nor do I even bother to look anymore. Who needs one when you get to sleep with an industrial strength vacuum? My vacuum cleans for me, and sucks for me, and my mother cooks for me. What more can a man ask for? Except for friends. I do need friends. That's why I'm here. So leave me a comment, send me a message, and I'll be the happiest salesman ever. I try to live life by this motto: Dirty sex, like dirty business, is better with multiple vacuums.