Screw you algebra! Screw you, physics! Screw you, teachers!
I don’t give a crap. I now spend my whole day scratching my balls — earning an income at home. I knew I never needed those useless subjects in the first place. I’m fine without them. In fact, I’m awesome without them!
Here’s how my typical day would start:
I’d wake up in the morning screaming, “where’s my coffee, woman!”
The wife would slap me in the face.
I’d go scratch my balls and check on my e-mails. I’d scratch my butt, go to the kitchen and brew some coffee. I’d check some site updates and scream again, “where’s my breakfast, woman!”
She’d slap me again.
I’d go outside, play with my precious baby and feed the dogs. Then finally, I’d try to find a way to steal the wife’s breakfast. I’d put my “ocean’s eleven-esque thinking hat” and find crafty ways to distract the woman.
“Hey woman, the baby’s crying again.”
She would turn her head– then I’d snatch the toast right under her nose (that rhymed). I’d run so fast as if my life depended on it and lock the room. I hear her banging on the door. “You’d better give me back my toast, you jerk, or I’ll bash that computer on your head!”
I’d give it a shrug, put the headphones on and relax. “Ahh! This is the life.”
Coffee and toast in front of the computer, what a great way to start the morning.
I’d scratch my ass some more and use the same hand to pick up the toast. (I don’t care what you think)
I’d read blogs from my favorite writers and then write a post or two after that.
Then I’d hear the wife banging the door again. “The dog crapped all over the lawn again! Get your ass out here and clean that shit up!”
I’d pretend not to hear her; I’d play some loud music.
She’d then “instant message” me.
“If you don’t get your ass here in the next 10 seconds, I swear to God, I’ll break that damn door and shove your head up the dog’s ass.”
Good grief. What a temper. “Okay, okay. I’ll be there!”
I’d clean the shit up all over the lawn. Boy, those Golden Retrievers could really dump such big shit.
I’d wash my hands (finally) and continue reading more site updates. I’d scream, “where’s my lunch, woman!”
She’d throw her china plate at me. It would miss, I’m too fast,
The plates would break. Who cares, I hate anything China. That
stupid boss is still fresh in my head (more on this later).
Of course I’d end up begging for food. Along with my Dalmatian and the Golden Retriever (that shits a lot), we would be in the corner of the dining table, panting, tongues out; begging for crumbs.
That woman would feed the Dalmatian and the Retriever, but not me!
“Get your lazy ass up and cook your own food!”
I’d dial pizza delivery.
Of course, I didn’t! Shame on you. I’m not that lazy.
I’d beg some more. She’d finally give up. She’d finally give me lunch. Now that’s how a real man demands food, heh.
After lunch, I’d scratch my belly and read some more. Maybe I could write a thing or two again. But then I’d feel lazy after an hour or two and will decide what to do next. Do I go motorcycling? Fishing? Or hit the gym?
I would stretch, relax and give thanks to God for not working a horrible dead-end job anymore. (All day jobs are dead-end jobs, you just don’t know it yet)
I’d try to push myself going biking or fishing, but I’d lazy up and watch movies instead. Maybe even nap for a bit.
Afternoon comes and I hit the gym. No! It’s not a tutty fruity body building gym. It’s a kickboxing gym. So basically, I get my butt whooped everyday by trainers and sparring partners.
I’m horrible at this kickboxing thingy, I don’t know why. I don’t know why I still keep doing this. Is it the pain? Why do I like pain so much?
I head home, cranky and sore. “I need a massage, woman!”
She’d chase me with a baseball bat. But I’m too fast, nobody could chase me. Well, except the IRS, but that’s another story.
Now, I’d play with the dogs a little bit. Then attempt to play with the baby, but… “Little man, if your stinky sweaty paws from the gym touches my precious child, it’ll be your last day on earth.”
So I’d head to the shower. Singing wildly, the dogs would howl.
All fresh and clean, I’d play with the baby, telling him “how great he would be someday.” Hiding the fact that life would pummel him down first before making him great. But he will be great someday, nonetheless.
I would think about my life. Life pummeled my over and over, “how come I’m not as great as Steve Jobs or Bill Gates?”
“Nah, too much work.” I’m happy with my life right now, I thank God for it.
I’d check some final stuff in the computer. Then watch a few good movies.
The woman would finally warm up to me. We would put the baby to sleep. She would finally give me a massage (Errr, no she wouldn’t – in my dreams). That Vietnamese massage parlor down the block is looking great right now. But I’m too sore to get up; I’d watch TV until I’d fall asleep. The wife would kiss me goodnight — I’d pretend to be asleep. Mostly, I’m too beat up to care. But that’s sweet. I think all those death threats all day were just her way of showing love. I think… hmmm… Nah, I’m too sleepy to care.
Tomorrow, I wake up. Yawn, rinse and repeat.
That’s my life. No more bosses to breath down my neck. No more backaches from too many co-workers sticking a knife on it. No more taxes to pay — well, I’m paying taxes now. The IRS put me in my place. But that’s another story.
Back to teachers – Teachers are jerks.
They don’t care about you. Not really. They care more about the paycheck they get. They care more about the bills they have to pay. You? You are the last thing on their minds.
To be continued — I didn’t think this thing would take too long, I decided to split it into two. Continuation here.