Introducing Our New Shill Page!

Do you like cool shit? Do you like cool shit that you can wear? Do you like cool shit that you can’t wear?

Well, mighty fuck, you’re in luck!

Introducing our new “Shill” page, where my crazy mongoloids and I can huck our wares for you all to buy because some of us don’t wanna entertain the notion of sleeping on the sidewalk!

Feel free to peruse our wares and throw money over our bodies as we gyrate and moan lasciviously for your artistic pleasure. Yes, oh yes, right there. Oh, baby. Don’t stop. I’m almost ther-

So what are you waiting for? That disposable income ain’t gonna dispose of itself!

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I almost shat myself today.

I received an email from FedLoan Servicing today about how my grace period for my student loans was almost up. I am taking a break from college at the moment and will periodically get reminders about it. However, today it came with a little picture that had me clenching my cheeks:

dose of reality 2

Ten years to pay off one year of college. And roughly two-thirds of it is just for housing. That is fucking absurd. So now I’m stuck in-between two shitty options: Go back to college in an attempt to delay the loan, resulting in me having to pay even more afterward for an even longer period of time (40-50 years for 4-5 years of schooling), or don’t go back to school and work a dead-end job for ten years while I live in a shithole apartment with my mom and then be in my 30s without anything to show for it. All of this for… What? A year in college? An immensely stressful, unproductive year? Not to mention I owe the school an additional $900 for leaving the term early.

It’s just fucking depressing. Don’t bother with growing up, kids. It isn’t worth it right now.

The Broiling Fires of Hell

I used to work as a cashier in a Burger King. It was an easy job. All I really had to do was take people’s orders and look busy for the rest of the time. Occasionally I would work Drive-Thru, which was pretty fun because I got to talk to people over a radio headset and stick my head out the window and suck in a quick breath of fresh air, because orders had to go out at a break-neck pace. There was also the constant danger of slipping on the greasy floors and maiming myself, or worse, falling into the deep fryers.

One day, an old friend of mine showed up from who-even-knows where he’d been living. He was only around for a short time, so the only chance we had to catch up was on my 30 minute break. He drops by, picks me up, and we drive around and talk about the old days; the shenanigans we pulled. At some point, we stop in the woods to smoke some weed. Well, to smoke a lot of weed. More than I should have to be in the right mind going back into work.

So I arrive back at work to resume my shift as a cashier, except my manager approaches me with a new job. “I want you to work the broiler,” she tell me. I replied enthusiastically, “sure thing!” I had no idea what she was talking about. She proceeded to walk me back to the broiler, and I find myself deep in the dark, dank bowels of Burger King, staring at the steel heart of the restaurant. A large, sturdy machine which has accumulated only a slight rust over many years. There is a slot on the top of the back-side. From it, you can see inside the heart, and the fiery hell-storm inside paints the walls red. My boss looks as though she’s burning alive at an uncomfortable rate as she tells me how to put patties on the tray, slide the tray into the broiler, and let it cook for a time. Afterwards, a small plastic tray should be placed in a side compartment where cooked patties fire out. She then walks away, leaving me alone to fend for myself in Hell.

Well, I tried cooking about 3 or 4 trays of patties, but I kept forgetting to set a tray in the side-slot. So they keep coming out, I keep feeling the flames licking my eyes, and I’m trying to pick them up with a spatula and tongs, but they keep falling apart and I can’t get them out. I think I heard yelling in the background. I don’t understand what’s happening or why, or how anyone could leave me to die in such a place.

I never worked the broiler again.