04.16.08

I'm poor and it doesn't make sense!

I was listening to the radio today at work and they were discussing income of people. Of course, Tiger Woods racked in some big bucks. I mean, if I was the first Cockblackasian, or whatever the hell he called it, people would be sending me checks, too. And of course, The Bushies was stacking them big bills. I mean, the man isn't The Man for no reason. And apparently, there's a 15 year old girl who racked up $18 million dollars this past year. I want to know what the hell this girl has been doing. She has either got to be partaking in massive amounts of prostitution or distributing illegal contraband in the big weights over international borders. Or both. At the same time. All I know is that she sure as hell ain't pushing girl scout cookies in front of ShopRite like regular 5th graders. I'm just wondering how the hell did this teenager made close to 2000 times what I made this past year and probably more than I might make in this lifetime. Shit like that piss me off more than a prom night abortion with a soda on the side.

I may be poor, but I shouldn't be complaining because to the really poor, I could be considered a middle class money puller.

I was standing on the welfare line to apply for my free government checks and the guy behind me strikes up a conversation. He says to me, "You sure as hell don't look like you need welfare money." I was dressed in my dark grey, pinstriped Pierre Cardin suit with matching tie, solid gold-colored cufflinks and 13 year old, scuffed up Italian leather shoes, but since I had happened to brush my teeth that day, I could understand why he would assume I wasn't in need of government monies. We started talking about life and he went on and on about his trouble finding jobs and getting arrested for crack and heroin possession every few months. I tried to tell him that there's still hope, but I knew there wasn't much left. As a matter of fact, I could still smell the liquor in his breath, so he had to be intoxicated. He rambled on about how he couldn't figure out what he's been doing wrong his whole life to get to where he is. I cut him off mid-sentence and just told him he needs to lay off the drugs because if he can't keep his life together while attempting to maintain particular habits, then some of those habits need to go. That's why my life is almost together now. I was able to separate the necessities from the luxuries. I realized underwear is just a luxury and after wearing dirty underwear for 2 and 1/2 weeks straight and developing that diaper rash, I found that I didn't really need it. (So what if the scent of my farts are more noticeable?) And I realized that food isn't too much of a necessity when you have caffeine and the internet. A $12 dollar coffee and a wireless internet connection is well worth it when the lady sitting across the room is a hottie with a body deluxe, wearing a black business suit and skirt with glasses, showing cleavage and panty line, and when you wink at her, she'll think you're a creep and leave the cafe, and I'm left watching previews of internet porn for the next half hour while sipping on my small Extreme Caramochalottaccino with raspberry swirl and whip cream. Or some shit like that. It's shit like this that I live for. Of course, there's always water. Because you never know when someone will internally combustulate into flames. And Lord knows how often that happens.

Do what you have to do to survive.
And always keep prime color crayons handy because you never know when you'll run into a coloring book.