Monday, August 21, 2006

Move Along Folks, Nothing To See Here, Move Along. Just Some Dumbass Pretending To Write Something Original.

Happy Monday folks.

I'll just give you all a minute to tack up a picture of me and throw a few darts at it.

OK, now I can get on with the post.

It's been so long since I had anything that even remotely resembled a real job that I almost forgot how bad Mondays suck to the majority of the populace. I don't know for how long I shall have something that resembles a real job, but my Mama didn't raise no fool. I'm taking their money while I can get it. Best not to feast too heavily lest we be not prepared for the impending famine.

Sometimes I really wish that I hadn't adopted a strict "no blogging about work" policy when I started this thing. Damn I could have some fun getting myself fired if I didn't have to earn a living. There's just some companies, and some coworkers, that really should have their asses slammed on the internet.

It's like they're begging for it, pleading, groveling at my feet like filthy, starving little street urchins saying "Please Justin, please slam my ass on the internet and expose me for the fucktard that I am, I need the world to know about my fucktardiness, it's not enough for me to wallow in my own dipshitosity. I need you to point it out for me because I'm so stuck on my own silly assed little existence that I can't even see what a flaming fucktard that I am. By the way, you got any spare change?"

But I'll behave myself . . . . . . . for now . . . . . . . at least until I win the lottery . . . . . . . then the gloves come off.

The last year and a half, since I lost the only job I ever liked (I know, whah whah quit your goddamn whining about it, it was just a job), has definitely taught me a few things however. A lot of it I already knew, a lot of it I would've known had I simply taken the time to think about it, and a lot of it smacked me upside the nugget like a rocket propelled cinder block. The one thing that it all boils down to however, is that no matter how bad you think your job sucks, or how much greener the grass looks on the other side, it's probably just an optical illusion.

More pay? Better benefits? What's the catch? There's always a catch. Been there, done that.

Pay sucks? No benefits? Then why do people stay there? There has to be something. Is it the kind of place where the profit margins aren't too high but the boss would cancel his vacation to help you move? Yep, been there too, even got the T-shirt.

Pay and benefits seem alright but nobody stays there more than a month or two? Congratulations, your job officially sucks. Probably better join the ranks and move on yourself, especially if you're female, before you have to find out the hard way that the boss is a touchy feely alcoholic pervert with bad body odor that sees himself as superior to all who consider themselves men. Been there, done that too. But I didn't drink at work and I only touched the HOT chicks. Just kidding.

All the world is a trade off. There is no black and white, only a million shades of grey. More is seldom better, there's always a happy medium. If there's more on one end, there's less on the other. Take what you get and don't waste time dreaming about more lest you get yourself into trouble, or addicted to Prozac. And a whole lot more mushy assed Dr. Phil shit. Blah, blah, blah.

Do you feel all warm and fuzzy inside now? Face it, if you come here for the advice you're one sad sack sumbitch is all I can say. Hell, it's my blog and I don't even come here for the advice. I just do this because the chicks dig it.

I did get some good news today though.

I'm cured.

Yep, I had a nasty case of (insert terrible STD here) and it's cured, no more painful oozing lesions.

Just kidding.

I haven't talked about it here a whole lot, but in 1999 I was diagnosed with the dreaded "C-word", and I don't mean Chlamydia. Let's just say that when you've just finished attending funerals for three of your cousins from the same generation as yourself, and somebody tells you that you have cancer, the first thing you do most definitely is not to start making plans for your future, unless they involve cemetery plots or cremation urns. I though my goose was cooked, but here I am, seven years later, having just received the news from my oncologist that at this point, I'm considered cured. If you're feeling the urge to congratulate me, save it. I didn't do anything different, I didn't make any profound self bettering changes, I just submitted myself to being nuked in a giant microwave every day for a few months and the rest just handled itself.

When I was first diagnosed, my doctor at that time told me that 7 years was the cutoff for my particular affliction. Stay cancer free for 7 years and you can consider yourself cured. 7 years it is, I'm now declared the winner. Too bad I've been exposed to more radiation than a typical Hiroshima survivor in the process so it wouldn't be at all unusual for some other kind of likely far more serious malignancy to pop up some time in the future, but for now, just like with my job, I'm taking what I can get and thanking God for every bit of it.

All of you people that squirrel away every penny and work every available minute in an effort to ensure yourself a comfortable retirement, please don't be offended if I don't see your reasoning. Have you ever considered the possibility that you might not live long enough to enjoy it? I have. I'll do my living today if you don't mind. Every day is a gift, and once you've looked death in the face and told him to get fucked, you start to see the value of that gift. There's no telling how many more gifts the Good Lord is going to give you, there isn't any way to stockpile them, and Mr. Reaper only takes no for an answer for so long. Trust me, it's a lot easier to have fun when you realize that you're living on borrowed time, or at least it would be if it wasn't illegal. Now if you'll excuse me I have to go and find something dangerous to play with . . . . . . . as soon as I finish this rambling assed post.

Speaking of modern medicine . . . . .

It never ceases to amaze me that we have pills to make an 90 year old get a hard on, but there's still kids dieing of leukemia. Let's face it, 90 year olds with trophy wives have money, families with little kids dieing of leukemia don't. When was the last time you heard about some new disease being cured? There's new treatments coming out every day, but when was the last time you heard about a cure.

Or better yet, when was the last time you heard about a treatment that didn't have a list of side effects that would rival the original ailment in their severity? There isn't any money in curing a disease. From a financial standpoint it just makes a hell of a lot more sense to keep stringing people along for years on end all the while dishing out buckets of high dollar pills to treat the side effects of the last bucket of high dollar pills that were supposed to treat the original ailment but instead just caused a whole host of new ailments that are likely far worse than the piddly assed little problem that started the whole thing.

And you actually believed all of those feel good pharmaceutical company ads talking about how Ubergigantic Pharmaceuticals donated 15 bottles of placebos to the AIDS stricken population of Nigeria. Did I mention that I have some swamp land for sale?

I recently had a good laugh at the expense of one of those annoying pharmaceutical ads if nothing else. The ad was for a drug to treat (not cure mind you) bladder control problems. Of course it had the token side effects disclaimer at the end listing off all of the horrible things that could happen should you choose to ingest this little bit of witch doctor voodoo.

"Hexamephrophilactapseudophedricycline may cause a rapid increase in blood pressure resulting in a horrific death by bleeding profusely out your anus in rare cases. Other more common side effects include headache, erectile disfunction, loss of hearing, loss of vision, loss of your car keys, severe anal itching, hair loss, strawberry tongue, severe ass acne, armpit warts, muffintop, underboob, (thanks to RSM for the last two), that special feeling in your seminiferous tubules, projectile vomiting, and diarrhea."

WTF? All of the other stuff aside, diarrhea?

So let me get this straight. I take a pill to help me stop pissing my pants, so now I can start shitting my pants instead? Is this really the lesser of two evils we're talking about here?

"Good news honey! I saw the doctor today about my bladder control problem and he prescribed this great new medication that's supposed to fix me right up. It sure seems to be working great so far, not a single accident all day . . . . . . . um . . . . . will you excuse me?"

"My God, what the hell is that stench? Did you shit yourself? Hell yeah I'll excuse you, and wash out your own damn shorts while you're at it you sick bastard. Oh man, you're dripping all over my carpet! Get your smelly ass out of here, damn."

"Well at least I don't have a bladder control problem anymore! Three cheers for Monstrous Pharmaceuticals!"

The whole scene ends with the happy couple standing next to each other smiling and giving the thumbs up as the brown puddle on the floor gradually gets larger.

After imagining that little scenario, my son and I thought we needed a sedative to stop ourselves from hyperventilating we were laughing so hard at the implications of the whole thing. At least until we looked at the warning on the back of the bottle.

Side effects may include dry mouth, anal seepage, blurred vision, double vision, tunnel vision, watery eyes, runny nose, leaky hose, ear hair, and an extreme tendency to swallow bullshit.

We decided to take our chances, and are now officially



1 comment:

a-fire-fly said...

Your on a roll tonight! Thanks for the laugh.