Welcome to Chicago. Don't mind the city's slug-slow evolution.
But they can't be blamed. Once, when Henry Ford was an icon, this town was an industry center, and there was probably at least five auto plants in each industrial park. But then, of course, the Sun Belt migration came along, and that belt, in turn, lent birth to the Rust Belt, in the Northeast. As a result, most factories in the Rust Belt are now shrines; places that only employ ghosts to work for them.
But despite this city's industrial regress, at least vaudeville has resurfaced in popularity. Naturally, it'll never be as hip as it was in the Roaring Twenties. (Last century's, not this one's; this one's are still as good as infantile.) Even so, who doesn't love a bunch of nubile women dressed in burlesque, and dancing to stimulating tunes?
(Single women and gay men, I know; but if you're still reading, try to work with me, here...)
Night falls. The stage lights light up. Music plays. The dancers make their entrance, and put on a performance of burlesque and sass.
Their legs are long. Their asses are huge. Some of them have feathers. Their lips are unmissable...
Even now, the Latinx infestation doesn't quit. Here, in Chicago, such a Latina takes the spotlight. Her name is Rosalita. Physically, she's small; but then, that's what men like about her.
As the spotlight shines on her, she sings. Her words are different, but her mind is like this:
This is burlesque
This is vaudeville
This is Chicago...
Not the one Catherine Zeta-Jones was taught us about
But good enough to pass inspection
We come out here to dance
And inspire men
And anyone else
Who gets shit from this
O, the balls we would have
If only we didn't have to do this for an audience...
But you know, men have more to gain from this,
So we MUST do it in public
Plus, it costs money to accommodate for all the special effects,
And what better way to get it
From the people who value it most?
The people who can afford it?
The MEN who can afford it?
A, the scourge of the white men in the NAU
When will it ever die?
The Latinx nation would be on a roll,
If only we ourselves weren't half-white
And Romania, on rare occasion...
But still, the conservatives treat us like vermin
For threatening everything they love
Their men pretend to be indifferent to our hooters,
But only out of a so-called "duty to wedlock"
(My words, not theirs...
(They're so ballless, they can't even talk about this shit)
Where are their balls when they need them?
Once, they were so ragged,
And yet, it seems they don't want to fight anymore
At least they still cheat on their wives
But somehow, they still don't talk about it at work
Can't imagine why
Capitalism knows few rules
Fewer than socialism would
If only socialism worked
Wish it did
O, how I long to have my ass poked
By a rich conservative men
Preferably whiter than half-native American
Probably doesn't matter anymore
All capitalist men dress the same
Even if they're Muslim immigrants
God-forbid if that actually works
No doubt, his wife will see me as a worm
But he, my new god, will see me as a diamond
Even prettier than the one he offered his wife,
Once upon one lowered knee
And a jewelry case
And an inspirational backdrop
That changes from person to person
On rare occasion, it's broadsided
By the wrath of situation comedy
But the good thing about me is,
I won't even come in a jewelry case
I won't even require him to propose
All he's gotta do is corner me and fuck me
And never tell his wife,
Assuming his wife is one of THOSE types...
(She usually is...
(I don't get it
(But it's just as well
(Only good people change, after all...)
In a darker room closer to the ground, surveillance footage shows off little Rosalita's performance. It's VERY inspirational. She's not even the tallest dancer in the ensemble. Even so, most men would have to be deluded to think her performance is low-rate.
Before it, a dark man watches. He hates the state...and the currency...and the rich. Even so, he's like a royal where he comes from. And in his world, that's as good as.
He dresses in white. Nearby, a muskellunge swims in a tank.
He gets out a telecom, and phones one of his pawns. He fixes his hair, while waiting for the line to become active.
"Get me her," he says, popping a mint into his mouth. "I want one."