See, instead of like, buckling down to EARN COLD HARD CASH DOLLAR and SUPPORTING THE FASCIST POLICE STATE BY CONTRIBUTING TO GDP/RISING CONSUMER CONFIDENCE/etc, I have spent most of the last 27 years doing shit like lying half dressed in someone else's clothes on my greasy kitchen lino drinking Yalumba straight from a cask and singing along with Blondie songs circa 1979 (WOAH-OH, OH-OH, WHAT ARE WE GONNA DO?) while my cockroach buddies play poker on my distended torso [or similar]. This has been fun and all, but it hasn't really meant 'Worldly Success' has come at me like an acrobat shot out of a canon....or whatever.
All that is about to change.
You see, on Monday, I start my dreadedexciting new job as a COCKSUCKING SELL OUT WHORE TO THE MILITARY INDUSTRIAL COMPLEX Grown-Up-Adult-WithOut-a-Drinking-Problem, NosirreeBob, I-Can-Take-Vodka-or-Leave-It-You-Bet, BUT-THANKS-FOR-YOUR-CONCERN, SIR, Type of Professional. In preparation for this heinousimportant event, I have been researching Pyschological Techniques of Motivation. This has taken a bit of time, like I have investigated shit as diverse and inspiring as Anthony Robbins CD Packs, K-Mart Staff Manuals, Bert Newton's Hairpiece, and the Rise and Rise of Lara Bingle.
When it came down to it, though, I really couldn't go past the simple yet awesome philosophy of renowned international 'Brain+Muscle Combination', Fiddy Cent:
"[INSERT GOAL HERE], OR DIE TRYIN"
You have to admit, it's pretty awesome.
So I guess the only point of this post really is to warn you that by next week I will either be 'dead' or 'adult'. My bet is on 'dead'/minimum of coma.
Well, it's been fun bros.
xoxo nora
5 comments:
Dear Mister Nora
Good luck with that shit eh. Please note if you get so fucked off you want to end it all, pls take lots of co-workers with you so it's on the news and I can go 'hey that was probly Mister Nora off the internet' and my companions can go 'Shut up can't ya'.
NB: Pls don't do this 'IRL'.
Kind Regards,
Mister Nora,
Don't let "The Man" take your soul. Or, if you must give up your soul in lieu of handing over the cask wine, keep the keyboard.
Also the computer.
Best Of Luck In Your Coporate Endevour(s?).
Herbert
Maybe you'll just die a bit inside <--the best anyone can hope for, really
Ah godda hop der idnt nufn wot needs innanet skilz ins yo nu pozzie coz yo 50c linc don wok.
BWFS: That is a solid gold idea, bro. If there is anything that keeps me going in this pitiful excuse for Modern Life it is the dream of disembowelled lawyer corpses strewn across my workplace, maybe with no heads left.
I promise I won't do it 'IRL' more than once.
Herbert: Thanks for your words of encouragement etc. I think I am pretty safe from The Man as I probably already sold my soul to some hobo on Smith Street for a swig of gin and a cigarette one time when I was hammered.
Jobe: you are my sunshine, my only sunshine. Also, after two days 'on the job' my insides are now pretty much gangrenous and full of maggots.
Jayboy: If there was an award for Poor Technology Skillz I would totally be the odds on favourite. I will attempt to fix it 'with magic' then you too can enjoy the THRILLZ of fiddycent homepage; listen out for awesome gun sounds.
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