This site will self destruct in 2 months, March 17. It will come back, and be familiar and at the same time completely different. All content will be deleted. Backup anything important. --- Staff
My old lady brought me the last of my booze
and told me that I needed to get a job.
I believe she was implying
that there are better things I could be doing with my time.
Rather than leaning on walls along the strip
with a cigarette dangling in my mouth like a stumblebum,
answering the dour expressions of the amateurs scowling by
wrapped in beach towels
while skulking for their herbal supplements inside their Bentleys,
I could earn my keep.
Rather than throwing bottles off balconies from within the kitschy, overpriced
hotels that I hole myself up in,
where I can always be found chain smoking and compulsively masturbating,
I could be working somewhere.
So I suddenly aspired to be a dishwasher
and naturally she asked me why.
Because I would only need a single personal reference
to confirm that I can indeed wash a dish
before I would be rolling up my sleeves up along side
mean, non-English speaking women
and hebetating hillbillies bantering like goats
over their fantasy football teams and best dart scores.
I don't want to cut my hair, wear a tie or work on Sundays.
I want as little responsibility as livingly possible,
and show up my first day in my unsavory street clothes
scratching myself with one hand
flicking butts into dirty dishwater with the other.
I don't want to live under the judgment
of some cologne-wearing, hangover-worsening
douche bag in marital endangerment,
dentigerously taking his whole life out on all the abstinence-pamphlet faces
he has toiling for him,
or get caught up in the clutch oven of all of their superfluous concerns.
As a proud malingering loafer who only shows as he pleases,
would rather answer to the troglodyte down the street
who squats behind a desk cracking his knuckles,
licking his lips
and staring at the elephantine thighs of his tray bearing hussies
tripping over tables and clucking like sodomized chickens.
I don't have one fucking thing to prove.
I just want enough booze money left over to tip my favorite strippers.
And the moment some petulant, undermining ass face
tells me that I don't have time to jot a note or take a piss,
I could potvaliantly shout "FUCK YOU IN THE FACE"
and leave behind an acrimonious footpath of spilled over pots and pans
and destroyed kitchen utensils
with a middle finger struck like a match
heroically raised high into the air.
â€œRight.â€ she said, eyes rolled. â€œWhy not try the temp agency?â€
| potvaliantly? lol had to dust off the dictionary||| Posted on 2010-08-14 00:00:00 | by myx dad | [ Reply to This ] || THIS IS JUST EXCELLENT|
You've helped make my day.
Working in an office, under some cologned, marital-crisied thing (and I say this, working in an office, under my dad, who has just left my mother for a younger model and impregnated said younger model at the tender age of fifty) SUCKS.
This should become the national anthem, or some such.
Anyhoo, yeah, just wanted you to know that this rocks my face
Take care Mr Person,
|| Posted on 2010-08-14 00:00:00 | by AlyRose | [ Reply to This ] || Haha!!|
I like this! Seriously, just enough bitter anger and well-chosen words to make it both angry and ironic.
Yup, I hate that sh.t too. People getting in your face telling you what to do with your life. Expectations.
Except that when you try to drop out of life, it goes on without you. Like Jen says, everything comes with a price.
Personally I'd rather go back to wearing skins and dancing around a fire, but unless I can move to Africa or South America and get some unknown tribe to accept me without turning me into a human workhorse / bodily fluid receptacle I guess I'm SOL.
Anyway, it totally sucks when the options open are things like being a dishwasher. I agree with you in that I'd rather do what you are doing than that!
Surely there have to be other choices, except sometimes there don't seem to be. I'm trying to figure this out right now too. What to do. Escaping didn't work. So now I have to try the next option, which is joining the living.
But no I never want to get caught up in what you have so eloquently deemed "superfluous concerns." Like keeping up with the Joneses, etc. BLAH!
|| Posted on 2010-08-14 00:00:00 | by Soul-Hugger | [ Reply to This ] || Michael, your mother's right. Go to the temp office and learn some Spanish. THEN get a job.|
Ah. I was just thinking about this the other night when I had a very quick but uneventful shift at work where I watched immigrants come to my desk and try in every broken language they know to ask for their student file. I watched them. I didn't help them until they got the right words out. And then I smiled and said "Oui" or "Yes." I'm a horrible person to have in public.
But she's right Michael.
Anyway. Before I interrupted myself. I was thinking about this exact thing on Wednesday. Why do we conscript ourselves to this life? Working every day and going through the motions of an average life just to provide for the below average life we lead. We go to work, and that's shit. We go home, and it's even more shit. Immediate relationships are usually shit. So what the hell's the point? Why can't we live nomadic lives and indulge in our pleasures when we want to?
Then you realize that they did the jerk-off thing and made it so that everything you want to do has a price.
Oh well Michael. One day we'll open up a plant in France and print our own money and fake cheques.
|| Posted on 2010-08-14 00:00:00 | by JenFlynn | [ Reply to This ] |