September 2012
Anyway, I’m feeling pretty god damn motherfucking good at work today, except for, you know, I fucked some little things up. Who cares. I hate that menial part of my job, I hate it I hate it I hate it- it’s over. It’s over. God damn, it’s fucking over, thank you Jesus. Thank you Lord.
Now all I gotta do is figure out how to get some god damn motherfucking money. Cobble a living together. Cover scripts for money. Get some bullshit job. Work for (REDACTED), doing some real estate scam. Something.
I will make it. It will be OK. I came to California with no money. Or, my grandmother had given me a $500 savings bond and I used it to buy a bicycle, a mattress, and pay the rent on a room. I got a job out of the newspaper the next day. Cold calling places. The job was telemarketing. I was good at it, but it killed me. Jobs kill me. I wasn’t built to work. Continue reading
delicioustacos 