What were Leon Firestone and Mr. Jones like as children?

Now, normally we wouldn’t answer this question but it recently came to my attention that our VH1 special was unfortunately left on the cutting room floor. Which is odd because although I do not understand how the cutting room works, I’m pretty sure entire hour-long specials don’t get left on the floor. However, we were compensated with a discounted lunch at Denny’s, so I’m willing to let VH1 off the hook only because they filled a Lumberjack Slam sized hole in my heart.

Much like our ahead-of-its-Goddamn-time TV special, our story will be divided into two parts.

Part I: Mr. Jones

The origins of the guide are best described as an epic tale prone to leaving readers empowered. Our story is one filled with plenty of go-getter attitude, optimism, dedication, and ample amounts of elbow grease.

Leon and I met at the Northern Divisional Speed Dating Competition, hosted in Racine, Wisconsin. But in order to paint an accurate picture of what kind of childhoods the guide draws from between Leon and I, we’ll have to look past that glorious day where we both shared a 5th place medal.

Growing up, I had a strong yearning to be a Fireman. This largely stems from the fact I was raised in a gentlemen’s club and fire protection-themed exotic dancers were my favorite. For the fleeting moments when the fire jackets and boots remained on, I was drawn to their bright red and yellow coloring. I also thought utilizing a fire pole would be a cool perk that comes with the job.

One of the 17 women that raised me.

Unfortunately, I was young and naïve. I soon learned that real firemen used poles as a means of traveling quickly between floors and not by rubbing your crotch on it until people throw money. Not only that, but given my environment, I also believed that police officers, construction workers, nurses, and cat people all employed fire poles as an integral part of their occupation.

At this point I should note why I was raised in a strip club. Like many children I was unwanted and my biological mother left me under the care of the dancers at Flesh Palace. I originally was under the impression that my mother knew people at the club, but I later found out that it wasn’t the case, and Flesh Palace was just the easiest building to aim for when throwing a laundry hamper with a baby inside out of a speeding van.

By sheer happenchance, I actually did get to see the inside of a real firehouse. What I saw was a bunch of dudes wasting time until the fire alarm rang by either working out or playing table tennis. Shocked that my dream job was nothing as I imagined it, my life was turned topsy-turvy.

Not knowing what to think I ran away from home at I believe the age of 8. Seeing as I did not attend school like a normal child and was instead stripper-schooled, I had an incredible level of street smarts. I made enough money to live off of by charging people on the street for my wisdom beyond my years. This was my first experience with something that resembles what I do today and little did I know it was the start of something huge. All I knew was that it was an amazing sensation and I wanted more.

If only my young self knew that, at the very same time, my future associate was experiencing the very same sensation…

TO BE CONTINUED