wherein the author seeks employ

As you may know, my last foray into the working world ate a family size bag of salt-n-vinegar rat dicks. It ended quickly and relatively painlessly, the only collateral damage suffered was to my wallet, and even that didn't amount to much more than walking around money. However, I enjoy that filthy lucre and all that it affords, luxurious items such as petrol and a cup of coffee; so I am nonchalantly trying to find a job in between domestically engineering this bad mofo of a family and bong hits. There isn't much around this area that it pays to apply for -- either the wage is inherently low or the wage is normal but the drive to retrieve it requires a personal line of credit.

Today on my casual stroll through the virtual want ads I happened upon an opening at the company I left recently. Their ads look so promising and professional which is no indication of how one's working life will look upon signing The Papers, should one have the misfortune of being offered a job here. I noticed something while I ripped apart the job description as overwhelming pity built in my chest for the unlucky candidate who would someday hold this position. In the header, right there, they are speaking in code to the applicants. One cent. One cent? That is approximately how much they are willing to pay. Truth in advertising.

It's an employer's market out there. Be careful, kids.

And yeah, I don't care that I just name-checked this piece of shit.

OG RIP

Lil Wayne's touching tribute to Steve Jobs. Keep it real, Weezy. Keep it real.

the terrifying truth about sex

this tape has been haunting me since i viewed it late last night. no one, not even the ugliest among us, wants to believe that sex is this banal, awkward, lumbering, or...unintentionally mullet-ed. these scenes depict actions that have started wars, caused murders, heartbreak, suicides. if any of us knew what we looked like while engaging in coitus, china would no longer need an "only one baby per family" clause and population growth would reach manageable levels.

these images will never be erased from my mind -- for better or worse, i'm pleased to have made it past my breeding years without seeing them.

not safe for life

the more you learn, the less you know

simply meeting people is making an appointment for disappointment.

bath salts and cannibalism

daggit. i've never wanted so badly to read a news story about a theater shoot up or a thanksgiving meal comprised of a homeless man's face so that i could have something, anything, to deride; thereby taking the attention from my own ennui and staggering irrelevance and instead shining a klieg light on the absurdity of  humankind. i hope lindsay lohan gets in a fender bender soon or gary busey gets all toofy up in some traffic cops face.

there's always tomorrow.

happy birthday, blog!

It would seem I've successfully acheived my one woman campaign against being fancy-boring simply by refusing to participate in a construct in which I deliberately engaged. I encounter more and more of these accidental zen occurrences now that I grow more aged.

This is for real this time. When I came back around to revisit the blog thing I was chuffed to see that it had been exactly one year to the day since I first resolved to be more transparently self indulgent. Without further ado, let me be the first to wish this blog a HBD and along with it a warm welcome to my legions of followers.

LET'S DO THIS.

hey, guys. this is my blog.

no, for real. i promise not to be prosaic. which sounds like it's fancy and literary but is really just a two dollar word for boring.