Nobody

Sometimes one gives up his life as a gigolo, buys a terquoise umbrella, and saunters in the rain. Unfortunately, statues with horns (obviously symbolism for horniness) follows him wherever he goes. The umbrella blocks the view, the wetness, and the feeling for the most part, but it doesn't block the statues from existing. If he could reach up to grab one of them he would. But then what would he do? Would he embrace it, or would he spend the rest of his life picking at it with his Volkswagon key until it vanished like a firework on the 4th of July.

Maybe he just needs to find some other people - people without umbrellas. It might be too late.

*And yes, I was crizunk when I wrote this shit.