That Point in Your Life When You Wonder If You Wiped Thoroughly, But Don’t Care

It is tax season, right? Or is in a month? April something or other. Haven’t really thought about it much until I saw a man dressed like the Statue of Liberty (with his face painted green) and twirling an arrow sign that read Liberty Taxes. Haven’t seen one of those fuckers in a while. Usually they are trying to sell pizza, wash your car, or “accidentally” lose their sign. It was twenty-six degrees out, and I could see his exhaled oxygen streaming out of his mouth like a smoke stack. I wanted to desperately know this person — ask him a hundred questions about his life, starting with his lonely childhood, awkward teen years, and even awkward twenties and thirties because he still was a virgin. All leading up to how the fuck he is on the sidewalk spinning a sign, dressed up like Lady Liberty, and working for less then ten dollars an hour in the middle of winter. But I did not stop my car. I did not ask him the story of his life. Instead, I went to drink beer in my friend’s hot tub like any other  goddamn decent American. Now, I realize I might have made the greatest mistake of my life. I have come to three conclusions (but there are an infinite minus one possibilities):

  1. That man was so terribly unqualified to do any other kind of job because:
    a) He has alcohol/drug issues that prevent him from making positive and rational decisions when he is sober. E.g. Pissing in the deep fryer at Burger King.
    b) He just got out of jail and is trying to get back on his metaphorically feet. E.g. Someone chopped off his feet in jail and he needs to get a job to afford wooden stumps.
    or
    c) He has head lice.
  2. The man is a struggling single father or divorced father working three jobs to pay the bills, and give his children food, clothes, and shelter. (I’m choosing to believe that one)
  3. He really wanted his taxes done professionally, but couldn’t afford it. So that was the trade off.

But I will never know!

And they say that Americans won’t do shitty jobs and that is why we have so many immigrants. Sure, it is not picking oranges for fourteen hours a day until your back is permanently twisted and your finger nails are bleeding, but it is still dancing in the cold with a stupid outfit on, pretending you give a shit about whatever company you are representing. You know that the boss is inside taking pictures, cackling with the receptionist.

It is a pretty sad state when someone basically has to work like a clown instead of doing something productive for society. But they say that is the difference between millennials and every other fucking generation in history. We don’t work hard. One reason for that is because we don’t feel like our work and time is being used wisely in this short life we have. The younger generation is knocked for not wanting to work in GM plants or tough it out for thirty years at an office job so we can retire someday and be proud we have enough money to jerk off all day. I say we should work till the day we die, but that our work should be worth more than green paper.

 

Future Mate Criteria

At one point in her life, she wondered if the universe was just a grape, waiting to be ate.

 

Note: a²+b²=this blog²

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