Les Mis

The crux of my problem is that I can't find a job. Or I'm unemployable. Probably the latter.

It's not that I can't find I job. It's just that the skill set I have does not lead to the type of job I would like to possess. But this isn't about me, it's about them. You know them. The happy people. The people that things just seem to work out for. The ones that stuff falls into place for.

Some people are able to just glide through life, without a care in the world, and all the pieces fit together like a really simple jigsaw puzzle. A six piece one at most. They get a nice little job that suits their area of study, right out of the gates of university. They have social skills, so they are able to meet new people, and develop healthy relationships. Sometimes even meeting a special someone.

They have families that love and support each other. Siblings that they view as human. Pets with names much better and more clever than my own. (I'm referring to my pet's names obviously. My own name is wicked cool.)

They know how to dress nicely, and present themselves in a pleasant manner. If you ask them how they are doing, they will immediately shoot back a well rehearsed and socially acceptable answer rather than spend a few seconds thinking about it and deciding that the real answer isn't worth giving.

They have cars. They go on vacations. They have dental plans. They have all these things I sorta want to have, yet don't. Apparently going to school and studying something of actual interest to you is not the way to go (thanks for the heads up to everyone I ever met before entering university). So to all you future music majors, save yourself the time and money.

I'm not saying that I want to be one of these people. I'm just saying that I'd like to sleep with one of them.

Cattle Call

So a friend was telling me about eating the sun. It involved some basic food chain data about how every level only gains 10% of the nutrients from the one below it. The gist was some hippie spiel about how we should eat plants because they get the energy directly from the sun.

This tied into something about animal cruelty and how we shouldn't rely on killing in order to sustain ourselves. That's all fine and good, but I've done the no-animal killing thing, and that just means a lot of carbohydrates, and that means a lot of diabetes.

But I decided to humour this friend, and in doing so found a way to save the animals (minus 1 species), salvage arid land, and best of all, bring peace and democracy to the Middle East.

At the centre of all this is cows. They aren't cute, and with the premise here being that we eliminate animal suffering, we aren't going to be using them for anything, so they gotta go. This is 100% cattle genocide I'm talking here.

Just a tad to the left of centre here is the Fertile Crescent. This once wonderfully lush area isn't looking so hot these days.

The solution to our cow and sun eating problem lies in renewing the fertile crescent. We do this by digging out massive tracts of land. I mean like multiple soccer fields in area. And lets say down about 30 feet or so. The we take all the millions of cows in the world and kill them. It can be done humanely, or with spiked-bats. The important part is that they are free from any future suffering.

From there, fill these massive holes in the desert with all of these carcasses. Really pack them in tight. Call in some pile drivers and smash them down. I want the densest pile of cow you can achieve before creating concerns of a possible event horizon forming.

Once its packed in nice and tight, we water the cows, and pile on some of the dirt that we pulled out and level it down. For good measure, we water it again, and get some good rot going on underneath. And with that, nature will do its thing. The cows will decompose, and all those nutrients that they were selfishly hording will be redistributed to the soil. A few years down the line, that soil is good as new, and some fresh farming can be done. Love and prosperity will flourish.

Now, I can imagine that the several hundred million Hindus of the world won't really be down for this. But you know what? I bet they won't be complaining when the have access to fresh apples and corn that don't have ridiculously high market costs because of where the have to be imported from.

Jesus Wept

This isn't the plan, now is it?

So somewhere I went wrong and wound up writing to myself. According to some career aptitude test I wrote, being a writer is something that I would enjoy doing. According to this same career aptitude test, who kindly provided me with the expected steps for the career of a writer, at the peak of my career, I can expect to make anywhere from five to 30 thousand dollars a year! Now don't get me wrong, getting paid to write down gibberish that I made a flow chart for would be awesome. The problem lies in that I can make about 30 thousand by having a menial job that doesn't necessarily lead to a constant stream of rejection. I can cripple my self-worth quite handily on my own, thank you.

The thing is, I can't shake the dream. Somewhere in me is buried a really, really great Harlequin novel. Now I have no idea how much an author of such esteemed works would make, and my only point of reference is the consolation prize that Philip takes as a mistress in Of Human Bondage, but it seemed to work out for her. And I know I can smut it up to right degree that Mrs. Neglected-Housewife needs. And I can also dream of being the author of choice for whatever type of woman mass produces used underwear to sell on craigslist. I can be that guy.

But I'm a long way off. I'm already the new 20, more or less unemployed, and without direction. The prospect of any boob touching I may perform as part of my research seems nought but a dream. All I have left is my general contempt.

And my wacky ideas about mass graves for cows.