Pimps, Fish Mongers and Politicians

I was walking down the street to have lunch at the cafeteria, it was Friday you know.
I was at 22 and D and about to cross the street when I heard a splat and wet stuff hit my trouser leg. Then I heard a groan and I looked over to my left and there on the ground was a pimp in a fur coat with a purple feather sticking out of his eye.
And in his hand was a Ling. The ling was a fairly small ling as lings go but still would have been a formidable fish to reel in. And this pimp had the fish by the gills.
The pimp moaned again and looked up at me. His lips made words but the sound was lost to the traffic that was passing by. I got down closer to his face. I was close enough to see that he had strawberry syrup not blood, all over his face and in his hair.
He started to say something but I was too transfixed on the syrup. I got closer and closer and I could hear his whisper and just as the words, "Look out" registered, I was licking the man's face and hair. And I just about had a spot cleaned when another splat occurred to my left in the street.
The screeching tires made me look and lo there was another pimp in the street. But he was holding a TUNA! This fish was the size of my nephew Bart. He tried to get up but the fish was too big to lift and his legs seemed to be broken.
And then splat, splat, splat,
Holy Cow! It was raining pimps and fish.
I ran to the awing of the apartment building nearby and the door man looked at me and shook his head.
I asked, “Does this happen downtown allot here?”
He just shook his head again and said that fish Friday is always messed up since the pimps got involved.
I asked the doorman, "Is there anybody trying to fix the problem?" and he said that, “the politicians were postureizing and posing on the issue but the fish mongers argue that the tragedy is good for business and the whore mongers well I already spoke about the politicians were doing about the problem"
Just then a wild band of ninja hookers swooped in and carried away the pimps, the fish and the little kids that were not attached to their mommies.
The fish mongers cried foul and bawled like kids with dirty lollipops or lost balloons.
I stepped out from under the awning took in a deep breath and said aloud that I was glad I was not a pimp, a kid, a hooker, a fish monger or a politician. I began my arduous trip to the cafeteria for lunch, but I did so with a spring in my step and a whistle on my lips.

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