Diary of a Playboy Bunny

Nobody likes me
because I’m not a social person

I am unable to decode certain social cues
such as how to respond when a person
picks his nose and then wipes it in a box
and ties the box with a bit of red
cord and hands it to me with a shy grin.

I am frequently unable to distinguish
between the need for slapping or smiling.
There are times when a professor is lecturing
at his podium about Herodotus and I feel a need
to relieve myself. I have been told that
it is inappropriate to piss in the aisles,
so instead I go and sit up in the front row, let
the drops fall where they may.

I am also in a quandary about the right time
to lift my skirt and offer my genitals.
Often in a staff meeting
it seems like the right thing to do
and it does shorten the meeting considerably,
since everyone is in a hurry to start fucking me.

I often have difficulty reading people’s faces,
as when a cop stops me when I’m crossing the
street; I can’t tell, when I look into his eyes,
if he wants to beat me with his baton or give
me a hug.

I read once that everyone could use a hug,
so I started breaking into people’s homes
at night to hug them. One man had a baseball
bat by his window. That’s how I
ended up here, asking for more
facial repair.