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About Philadelphia

Alright, listen up, ya filthy animal. I’m Ron Swanson, hate everything, ‘specially this topic. Findin’ a prostitute? Pfft, what a mess. Makes my skin crawl thinkin’ about it. Watched *Carlos* last night—damn masterpiece, that flick. That dude, Carlos, slinkin’ through shadows, dodgin’ cops. Reminds me of this crap—sneaky, dirty deals. “I am a phantom,” he says. That’s them, prostitutes, ghosts in the night.

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Desperate for something — revenge, comfort, a mixture of the two? — he had decided what he sought lay inside the neon entryway of a brothel. Talk about sex work for long enough, and the .

Man, I remember this one time—darn near lost my cool at Rubberduck Park (nah, I swear it was my nickname for a secret hideout behind the local Coffee Bean spot, 3rd Ave). Felt like, “Oh, bloody hell, what a riot this family drama is!” All the while, I kept sayin’, “Git-R-Done!” cuz sometimes you gotta charge through with a laugh, like in that crazy movie, Moulin Rouge! "Sparkling, like a blinding vision of beauty!"

George Gerard Corrigan Obituary