I Have No Job And I Must Scream

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By Dakar Morris 19: the age of discovery. The halfway point between life and death. By this time, my ancestors would already have had two wives, eight children and would be highly respected members of society until they died of hay fever in their early thirties.

Just kidding, my ancestors would have been picking cotton and getting whipped. Regardless though, in this modern age of fancy electronic gadgets and designer animal dildos, not having funds sucks. While my old “friends” [sic] from high school are all starting to make their first rent payments and exercising their newfound adult freedom, I instead sit in my dorm, sad and penniless, eating vegan pastas and jacking off to questionably legal pornography. The difference between their lives and mine? They, through use of satanic worship and black magic I assume, have acquired jobs while I still have not.

It’s not like I haven’t applied. Oh, I have! Just last week I applied to 15 different places, but let’s be honest: not many of them are going to call me back. In fact not a single one. Perhaps it’s the fact that on my resume, under “Skills” I simply wrote: “I’ll suck your dick for money (or pussy, this is 2015)”. It could possibly be my penchant for leaving potential employers harassing phone calls, threatening both them and their loved ones. Maybe it’s because I don’t have a business suit so I walk into interviews wearing only fishnet stockings and spray-on tramp stamps. Whatever the reason, the lack of work has started to really take a toll on my life and self-esteem. No longer can I look down on my peers for being poor as I slide by on my mummy’s above average paychecks. Now the very same people I laughed at for having to choose between a new iPhone or a month’s worth of food are lording over me for still having to ask my Mum for train money. Now this is what I call an institutionalized system of oppression!

The situation is getting desperate as I run out of precious time. I once knew a guy who turned twenty years of age without getting a job and now he’s having sex with his dog. I don’t want that to be my life. Not yet. I tried applying everywhere from Biglots to Backpage with the same result every time: “Nudes or GTFO”. So, I’m taking the initiative. I’ve purchased a gun and am learning how to use it. As the old saying goes “If you can’t join ‘em, beat ‘em”.  Crime is an 82164832.67 dollar industry and I plan to get a piece of that pie. And when I’m on trial, awaiting the death penalty for shooting a McDonalds manager for not reviewing my resume in a timely manner, the judge will look at me and ask, “Why? What drove you to do this?” I’ll simply look up at him (or her, this is 2015) and reply “This is what society drove me to do.” The room will awkwardly exchange looks of shame, and suddenly, I’ll no longer be the one on trial.