Thursday, August 20, 2015

Dreaming of a Better Career

As I may have mentioned in passing on this blog in the past my current job is not anything great. In fact it is far from anything what I want to do with my life, but it pays my bills and hasn't made me jump out of a window just yet, so that's a plus I guess. Also to keep my self from hanging myself with my mouse cord I tend to talk about absurd things and make inappropriate jokes that should never be said in an office setting, but I say what I feel because I know my coworkers and bosses and they all know I am only "joking". Also, they all seem to like me which is bizarre because I'm not a nice person. In fact today (while I'm writing this not when I'm posting this or you're reading it because I'm sure they aren't the same) some of my newer coworkers said they would miss me if I left. Mind you they have only been there for a little while, but I'm sure if you talk to others they may say the same thing. I like to think I add a bit of fun to an otherwise monotonous daily grind.

To all of my coworkers: you're welcome.

There have been times while working I have dreamt of taking a career change and along the way would recruit the whole office into wanting to drop our headsets and walk out. I should have just Jerry Maguried it, but I need to pay bills so it would be to risky. This brings me to the point of today's post, if you can actually call it a point. This post seems to be illogical, nonsensical, and purely written because I'm overly tired and can't go to be until my laundry finishes drying, but really I don't sleep anyway which is why I am overly exhausted.

Anyway.

I want to discuss these career paths I dreamed of while trying to decipher what redneck booze-hounds with a credit score lower than their IQ are actually saying (hint it's something about Jesus killing terrorists and illegal immigrants with an M16).

The first of the two ideas was a great one though the financing and logistic of it all were enough to leave it in the harbor of thought and not materialize into the ocean of reality.

I think it was like any other wonderful weekday morning where I was working overtime and I was miserable when I stood up and said to my coworker/supervisor that there had to be a better way. He of course being mostly sober agreed with me. What thought came to my mind first?

Pirates.

Yep. Pirates. I said “fuck it, let's get a pirate ship and go pillage, rape, and be merry.” His reaction?
I just went on about how great it would be. The freedom. I needed that. I don't want 8 bosses coming up to me telling me I fucked up the cover on the latest TPS report. As I pirate ship captain the only boss I would have would be Poseidon. I would be my own leader.

So I did the next logical thing an aspiring Black Beard would do: shop for a functioning pirate ship. It didn't take long for my boat to pop up on my phone. She was a beauty and sat in the Caribbean waiting for a crew of scalawags to buy 'Er up and set sail. Below are some photos of it, and here is the full link for more.

We just needed the $750,000 (I know, what a deal!) and to get to Honduras and the Caribbean would be ours! I recruited several people in the office slowly building a formidable crew, but as the weeks passed the amount of money we needed to buy it was just to much for a bunch of call center employees. That's when a light bulb blew up in my brain: “We are pirates, why would we buy the ship and not just steal it?”

Well as you may know this is not being posted from some Caribbean island where I lay eating fresh sugar can, drinking the finest rum, and being pleasured by a endless supply of local women. I should have done it, but the pirate life just wasn't inside me I guess.

I moved on.

This next idea started because some awful rap song was playing. I'm pretty sure this is the one, if not it was very similar. Anyway the point is I said that it was awful yet making money, I should just do this. I can make better raps than these illiterate assholes.

Thus my rapper alter ego 'Buck Fifty' was born.

Buck Fifty's main goal was to bring to light how awful the state of radio hip hop is. Buck did not take himself seriously nor did he actually think he can rhyme or rap. It is an art that for some reason has become a thing that every shit head thinks they could make (one of the rhymes Buck wrote that I am sharing below touches on the state of hip-hop) and Buck just wanted to show people how stupid they are for allowing such drivel to thrive.

Buck's lyrics are mostly about triple B's. A triple B is a big booty bitch or big breast bitch whatever you want to call it. Buck has a lot of intercourse and apparently is a pimp, both things of which I do not do making his rhymes me unable to relate. Also he seems to love to disrespect females, but he is kinda of an uneducated moron so he doesn't realize it is 2015 (14 when the rhymes were written) and you cannot go around being a dick, but he did.

Let's take a look at some of these rhymes
I'm not sure how dick and shit rhyme, but Buck likes to take his Poetic license 


These two go together and I think they actually are pretty good at getting across the state of him hop

That is just disgusting Buck. You need fucking help.

Apparently his hoes will not do it for free. So make sure you have cash or a money order.

She was probably better stripping then slumming with you Buck.

Awful and disgusting.

But the point is I got the office involved. They would all ask when the album was dropping (and by all I men like two). Or I would just shout “twelve four fourteen!” Which was my intended release date for Buck's debut album “Panty Droppers”. I was anticipating all the panties to hit the floor when that compact disc first hit stores, but like the pirate plan this to died. Well the dream didn't die Buck Fifty actually took his own life.

Lets pour one out for our homey.

Well now like my dreams of becoming a pirate or changing the game this post must end, so I shall go fold my laundry and maybe sleep.

You guys let me know in the comments what absurd ideas you have come up with while stuck at a dead end job

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