How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Wage Slavery

Hey you lousy ass clowns!

Sorry, sorry sorry, that was needlessly hostile right of the bat. I’d like to strike that from the record please and start all over again.

Hey you smelly ass clowns!

Did ya miss me?

Well I’m not back as such but I was tricked into logging in here by a cunning enemy who may or may not really exist, so I figured I’d touch base while I was here. I wonder how many people use that term who have absolutely no idea what it means? Something to do with wedding cakes, surely. No Star wArs? CAKES final answer Chris!

Well, by some kind of weird combination of throwing enough shit at the wall, and what I can only assume is interviewer incompetence, I got a job. I am more surprised than anyone, and part of me thinks this is all an elaborate dream.

Obviously it majorly sucks – all wage slavery does. Only morons like it – you know, those same FUCKERS who bounce around the building all day with inane perma-grins asking you if you’re “alright????”. Yet refusing to afford you the 3 days it would take to provide a satisfactory answer to that question; an answer they’re not prepared to listen to anyway because it would shatter their delicate My Little Pony everything’s-for-the-best X Factor twat bubble.

Already blissfully aware of my limitations, I did try to find a career where I could work alone, such is my latent hatred for most people. OK that’s a ridiculous statement. It’s nowhere near most people, but it’s enough people that they are always fucking there, stinking up the new job, or the house share, or the bus ride, or the trip to the cinema, or the party. The ones who shit over everything by unnecessarily getting in my face and giving me shit for no good reason which sparks the old Pure O OCD machinery into action, which means I’m sleeping and working badly for a week best case scenario, or ~10 years worst.

Those fuckers!

Like the stupid pig-faced James Blunt*** who chose to conveniently ignore my extreme courtesy when I was forced(against my will I might add) to use her stuff earlier this week; instead focussing on the one thing I left out of place. Ceramic penguine alert anyone?
Silly cow!!!

So, a good start all in all. The rest of them seem pretty good though. Well in a way that a chained rower sitting below decks in a Roman Trireme would say the rest of the guys were OK if only he could take a break to write a postcard home without getting whipped by the fat bald bastard who goes up and down the aisle laughing for no discernible reason other than he seems to find the whole situation absolutely hysterical. Clear management material.

What the HELL am I talking about anyway?

Oh yes, so somehow I got a job by accident(thanks a lot assholes by the way!) and it’s all still just as utterly shit as I remember it.

That said, I can wear what I want and the holidays are better than what’s considered normal here. That’s right – I’m a tramp and I work in the bush in the park.

I’ve got a lot of learning to do so I doubt I’m gonna be able to do the blog like I used to. A billion screams cry out in unison!

Of course, my foray into self publishing was the grim disaster everyone told me it would be. Apart from the good folk here who very kindly supported me with purchases and reviews, I reckon I sold about 2 books. And that was with substantial marketing efforts on Twitter, blogs, Facebook and Amazon. Just WOW! When I fuck a thing up I really fuck it up good. Still at least I didn’t spend about 2 years of my life slaving over every little detail of it … no wait that is a real thing that actually happened. Oh well. It’s possible it stopped me going completely insane so fuck it.

Now’s as good a time as any to warn the faint of dictionary that there will be some sailor talk in this post.

I hope I can somehow scrape enough time and energy to keep writing, but truth be told, I’m a bit of a twat about organising my free time outside work. It feels like work takes everything and I’m only good for vegetating in a low energy zombie state outside work. So I don’t now if I’m gonna make it. I hope so though. I want to. I need to actually as financially I am utterly screwed and will end up in trouble later down the line if I don’t supplement my income somehow. The fact is I didn’t think I’d ever work in my old line of work again, and I was kind of winding down really. With a fool’s hope that somehow writing was gonna save me but really that was just a fantasy carrot I was dangling in front of myself to make life bearable. But now, everything’s changed and I need to seriously think about how I might turn things around here. I know I’m not a good writer, but still, writing is all I’ve got to supplement my income so I’m just gonna have to make it work somehow. That, alas, does not mean writing zany blog posts or poetry books, but it means boringly writing to market. So that’s what I need to be doing with my free time where possible. I’d much rather write about what I want to but I know it won’t sell and I simply cannot afford to do it at this point in the game. (no lectures please!)

Anyway I was touched(no, not there Susan you big pervert!) by all the support that people gave me here and on Twitter. I think that briefly restored my faith in human nature for a while before assorted family members and that work bitch slapped it back down again. In this day and age, with all our progress and cunning, can we not simply round all these cocksuckers up and make them live out on a remote island together while we enjoy an asshole free existence? Seriously? Why do we tolerate these stinking shitbags? Life could be so good without them. Knowing they’re always there, lurking, makes it awfully difficult to relax.

Take last night(no take her please!)(whoops wrong joke) – the bus I was waiting for was suddenly attacked by a gang of feral mutated teenage cyborgs. There was no reason, nothing to be gained out of it. Just a bunch of inbred freaks with no respect or fear trashing a bus in a weird hit and run. It was like a scene out of Mad Max.

Oh yeah and public transport doesn’t work any more either. I was averaging 2 hours each way the last 2 weeks. Hopefully I’ve found a ruse to cut that in half(I’m digging a tunnel into the city)(it’s not going well so far on account of the frozen ground and my apathy). It’s a sick irony when you find yourself battling to get to a place you really don’t want to be, to spend 8 hours doing a thing you really don’t want to be doing.

Is this how we were meant to be living here? I think NOT!

So in conclusion, I’d just like to say FUCK WORK and FUCK MUTANTS and FUCK COMMUTING and FUCK THE OFFICE HARPY!

But I couldn’t stay unemployed forever cos the welfare payments I went through a year of legal hell to get didn’t even cover my rent and everything was rapidly approaching a very bad place. (we’re talking selling organs here people!)(no not that one Susan, relax!)

Clearly this blog post sucks balls and for that I can only apologise, but understand I wrote it off the cuff(it’s literally scribbled down on my massive cuff here!). And I don’t have time to make it rad like all the others(stop that sniggering at the back you asshole – they ARE rad! I read them already and they’re really rad)

Just so you know, I am contemplating sharing with you some poems I wrote during my ill-fated competition delusion this year. Obviously none of them came anywhere in the contests. I was considering publishing them all in a book called “Losies” but yknow what – what’s the sodding point if no one buys poetry books. It’s put me off. That said, I envisage doing at least one more poetry book because I promised myself I would but that’s more about who it’s for than anything else.

So I’m considering putting them on here. Then again, that leaves me thinking “hmmm but what do they ever do for me?”. So I dunno – if you want to see the poems you’re going to have to put something on the table here. Beg me, bribe me, offer to kill the office harpy for me.

In the meantime I’ll leave you with this question: is it really so wrong, the idea of a man and a female dog sharing a platonic relationship like boyfriend and girlfriend? (platonic means they don’t have sex I believe)(poor Mrs. Plato though!)

OK you big fat smelly losers, it was great catching up with you all(erm, how did you say you knew me again? Ahhhh yes the Andersen wedding. Of course, of course! Now I remember! (???))
So as usual – answers on a stamped addressed postcard and I love you all equally(albeit an amount only detectable using a scanning electron microscope).

Pray for me.

*** It’s cockney rhyming slang and it ain’t for stunt, shunt, front, punt, grunt, blunt, hunt, runt, brunt, affluent or ignorant

p.s. sadly I do know it’s a baseball reference, just in case you think I’m THAT stoopid!

p.p.s. I really wanted to play baseball when I was a teenager but there were no teams around here so I couldn’t. Major bummer! In retrospect, I think I just loved the kit and the game looks kinda boring with too many advertising stoppages. I shouldn’t have ended with this.

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4 thoughts on “How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Wage Slavery

    1. So do I but I feel guilty doing it cos of money. I’d like to do another 2 at least really. It’ll probably bug me until I do it.
      Bah – pirate talk schmirate squalk that’s what my parrot says! If God operates on a swear jar basis, I’m so screwed.

      Like

  1. Uh. What just happened?!! While I was reading this a tornado came and picked me up and was zooming me towards your neck of the woods (now there’s a weird saying) when it suddenly boomeranged me back like an insane bungee cord. Now I am at my desk, all wobbly woozie after finishing your post. You know I love me my puerile humor, at which you so excel. THAT WAS A COMPLIMENT!! Good to read you again.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Suuuuuuussssssaaaaaaaaaaaaan!

      It’s good to be read again! I wish I could just write this nonsense every day. I need to find a mentally unhinged sponsor ASAP.

      Yes, indeed, the tornado was me. I was summoning you over the Atlantic with my strange magic, intent on making you Mrs Susan Puppet at last …. and then thoughts turned to Mr. Susan. and the guilt became too much to bear, so I sent you back, hence the twangy boomerang sensation.(hmmmm good name for a band?)
      Let’s face it, Mr. Susan probably had the whole thing planned. It’s not the first time he’s outwitted me. He probably countered my whirlwind kidnapping spell with a would-be adulterous conjurer guilt spell. The oldest trick in the book dammit! I can’t compete with deviousness of that calibre. So for now I will just have to make do with Susan 3000 – my robot version of you. Alas my robotic skills are not as highly developed as my conjuring skills and the current build consists of a toaster on a skateboard with a blonde wig. (the toaster has the blonde wig, not the skateboard – that would be ridiculous!)
      I am saving for some of those wobbly eyes teddy bears have and a carrot nose, doll arms, all the usual accoutrements. It’s not the same though somehow. I can’t put my finger on it. Still, the toast is great once you get used to the burnt hair flavour and she’s low maintenance. So … glass half full.
      It’s lovely hearing from you again. Honestly, I don’t know why you bother! (unless you think this is some kind of test and if you pass, great untold wonders await in my fabled inner circle!)(cue Olivia Newton John – Xanadu

      Liked by 1 person

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