"Please be seated, " he begged, as he looked up my leg.

      "Now is that Miss, or is that Mrs.?

      And just how well do you do dishes?"

      "That's Ms." I said, as in magazine.

      His eyes got red. His look turned mean.

      "Now tell me just what is your ethnic descent?

      Are they hicks, are they spicks? Do they celebrate Lent?"

      Are you married or single? Do you like to co-mingle?

      Can you type, can you file? And continue to smile?

      We went to know if you can make it

      while you dust our office - naked.

      What we pay is a dollar ten.

      If you're not a Jew or a Lesbian.

      He whipped out his - notebook, and began taking notes.

      "You can put that away. It looks like a goat's."

      "Just give me your name and your telephone number."

      "I won't give you a thing. Is that a cucumber?"

      His eyes got green. He began to scream.

      "So what do you have that makes you fit

      to do this job? Let me feel your tit.

      Tell me all of your qualifications.

      Write down fifty recommendations.

      While I'm at it do you have pretensions?

      I need to know your exact dimensions."

      "Seven. Medium. And ten by four.

      My hat, my gloves and my bathroom floor."

      "This is hard to believe Miss Kike," he roared.

      "That's dyke," I said and began looking bored.

      "You're impertinent young lady; you should go have a baby."

      "You're impertinent, you prick. I should chop off your dick."

      And with enough said, I whacked off his head

      which rolled on the floor as I marched out the door.

      "What they pay is a dollar ten?

      Looks like it's job-huntin' time again."