Having now visited the job centre on several occasions the novelty of ‘the dole’ has faded. If standing in the same cue as withered, emphysema ridden, old men, waiting for hand outs doesn’t encourage you to make something of yourself then I’m not sure anything will. Why all unemployed people seem to spend their time hacking up their lungs remains a mystery but I’ve developed a cough already.
I feel a fresh ambition to become rich and successful. Then I can afford to buy the next series of The Wire on DVD or, depending on salary, blu ray. It seems that in this difficult financial climate work can be very hard to come by and so as a result the old CV needs a bit of beefing up. I have been volunteering to do fundraising for charities and such, but am consistently struck by pangs of guilt over the selfish nature of my efforts. As a fairly cynical person I would hate to put myself in that same bracket as Bono and Bob Geldolf who, despite being incredibly charitable with their time and money undermine any good will I have for them with their self-righteous, smug git facial expression and overly sincere visits to poor African villages. It’s as though they feel they have the insight and right to insist that normal people give their money away.
“Give us your fucking money!”
No thanks Bob, I’m not as rich as you and I want to spend the little money I earn (have given to me by the government) on stupid things like Crunch Corners and Tesco’s Chicken Wraps.
So I feel a moral obligation to leave any charitably activities I undertake off my CV. That way I’m not directly benefiting from something that I ought to do for good will. Then again I really want an HD telly and a Ferrari; so I should probably just shut up, accept Bono is a better person than I am and say that I’ve raised four million pounds for cancer research on my CV. It does seem a little hypocritical of me to criticise, whilst living off Job Seekers Allowance....
Anyway, Last night was grad ball, which is probably where today’s bitterness stems from. I am, as usual, hanging. A hangover has the power to surgically remove your optimism gland and leave you an angry lobotomised bastard. Today I’m that bastard. It would just be a repeat of several of my earlier entries to describe the events of last night so I’ll leave you to imagine, but you can safely assume that a large amount of time was spent wildly chanting football songs and cueing for drinks. The ball made leaving seem university much more real than it had been previously. Amid the numerous domestics and sickages I took time to soak up the atmosphere one last time, before passing out on a wooden floor.
Inevitably I woke up with a stiff neck and speaking of stiff; (I’m sorry, couldn’t resist) I have recently been given the opportunity to review a new range of condoms. Shockingly there’s a shortage of sexually active heterosexual men who keep online diaries about their feelings and so I have been given the task of fucking my way through 5 packets of Durex... result! It is now my, awesome sex mission to woo a lady and fill her with so many different types of latex that she develops an allergy. Rather optimistically, the friend who gave me this opportunity included several XL rubbers in her parcel. I fear that may be like slipping a cocktail sausage in a sock.
PS. Sorry Potty Mouth....... “You have to forgive me!!!”
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