I'm So Angry, If I Were an Actress, I'd be Livid Tyler.
Looks like the Korean Army will have an opening in approx. 10 days ago.
The funniest thing happened to me this weekend. I was eating chinese food out of a bucket, using shoe horns as chopsticks (all my utensils were dirty), and finished it off with a satisfying crack of a fortune cookie. My fortune read:
Do something with your goddamn life and get a new motherfucking job, Dickhead.
As you can imagine, this really hit home. And how they knew my middle name was beyond me. I threw my horn-spoons aside and sidled up next to my computer. It was time for some good ol-fashioned "Job Hunting", which will somehow involve me shooting a fat kid in the face because I thought he was a delicious buffalo. That last sentence was an imaginative metaphor describing my life, where good intentions always screw me over. My looking for a better job will undoubtedly end with me whoring myself to Republican Delegates on the corner of "Steamed Elderly Crotch Ave." and "Conservatives Like Snuff Films? Way", because I need some extra cash.
The journey begins. A few tippety-taps on my keyboard on LukeWarmJobs.com, and I've already found a great opportunity. A major cosmetics corporation (rhymes with "Flayvon") is looking for someone to be a cosmetics tester. Cut to me, three months from now, my cheeks permanently tinted the hot new shade "Rosacia", and my eyelids infected with a nasty case of "ocular herpes."
Undeterred, I continue looking. Time Warner Cable is looking for an "Abuse Coordinator". I like it already. Can you imagine coordinating abuse?!
OK, Jimmy, you're on orphaned children today. I want to see tears, I want to see welts. You've been slacking lately. Nancy, you got nursing home duty. You wanna raise, I want more bedsores, simple as that. Johnny B! Where'vya been all my life. Putcha undershirt on, Stumpy, you got wife patrol. You know the drill. (Exhales long, satisfied sigh, while placing another huge black "X" on "Puppies in Baskets" calendar.)
Frustration sets in, and I lose it. I begin applying for jobs willy nilly, throwing my qualifications and fine college degree to the wind. Hmm... Chairman of Sotheby's? Alright! Marketing Coordinator for NAMBLA? What's NAMBLA? WHO. CARES. Alls I know is, something's gotta give. In a real way, not a fake Keaton-Nicholson vomitous way.
And as a prize for getting through that insane rant, I give you this.