It's official: being hungover makes me a half-day too late in being the hinge in bringing up every day absurdities.
I'm all for people being all for living healthy, but I contend that you're not that proactive in promoting The Cause by sitting in a bar, simultaneously sucking back on an unfiltered Lucky Strike and a Jack and Coke. What really annoys me is that these things have become fashionable. Is there even a brown one now? If not, I'm going to introduce one into the already oversaturated market as a ShitStrong bracelet.
HAHA, poop is funny.
Don't even get me started. Hey, look at me! I'm supporting our troops by driving around like an asshole in my $50,000 Lexus. I even bought the magnet. See the magnet? See it? It's right there above the gas tank! Please stop the magnet insanity.
No, I'm not talking about drinking fountains, or as our Cheesehead neighbors to the east call them, "bubblers".
I'm talking about decorative fountains. The kind that are big, sometimes pretty, and spew water all over the place. They also seem to be under repair constantly, even though most of them only deal with water pressure and no moving parts. Then again, I didn't go through Sally Struther's course for Fountain Repairmen. I took her advice and chose my own degree. If I had, I'd have cornered the fuck out of that small fountain repair niche.
A few minutes ago I was walking through another building in the office complex my company is located, and I noticed that there was a fountain. I'm not sure how I missed it before, because it's loud as fuck, and spitting constantly--kind of like my last girlfriend. Take that however you want.
In the bottom of this fountain was an unusual amount of coinage somewhere between a handful and a shitload. I was never good at math. I've also never understood why people always throw change in a fountain. Is it due to superstitious mumbojumbo? Come on, we all know that tossing coins and wishing only works for Goonies.
Humans are powerless to the allure of the decorative fountain. The moment we lock eyes, it's all "Ooh, look--a pretty fountain. Let me just see what I've got in my pocket...", followed by a concentrated squinting and a hefty coin huck. We have no control.
As I walked out of the building, I was hit with this overwhelming feeling that I had finally found my true calling.
So, I've finally going to buckle down and get to work on being a writer, eh?
That would be nice, but right now, it's going to stay as a hobby. No, my true life calling is much better, not to mention much more profitable.
Then I've decided to be a prolific stand-up comedian, right?
Hardly! I'm afraid of large crowds, and even though Mom is always calling me her "Funny Little Motherfucker", I get even more nervous talking in front of large crowds. I'll leave that occupation to the real professionals.
Get ready for this, and Pump up the Jam at the same time, please.
My calling in life is to be a fountain.
Whoomp, there it is!
Sorry, I obviously lack control over Jock Jams, Volume I.
Think about it, though-- just look at how much money is just sitting in the bottom of these things all around the world. Look at it. Hey, you're not looking! With a little ingenuity, a small water pump, 15 feet of plastic tubing, a kiddie pool and a whole fuckload of duct tape, I could slowly start moving my way towards "Full Time Fountain".
I'll be irresistable!
Take that, Sally Struthers!