I swore I'd never do this

I've finally succumbed to the whole "Blogging Craze", several years after everyone else. I'm very disappointed in myself at the moment; both for losing all self-control and giving in to the urge all human beings feel every moment of our lives to let everybody around us know exactly what we think about everything. Of course, I could justify this by saying I'm doing it in a post-modern sense, and know that my friends will be forced to sit through post after post of dull as dishwater bullshit about my day, and what I had for lunch, and stupid things I read on the internet, and so on and so forth until their eyes bleed and they beg to their God for some mercy, some respite from the all-encompassing Blogosphere.

But I'd rather not justify it that way, as that sort of talk can end up with said friends dragging you to the nearest Insane Asylum (or as they are known now, Communal Rest Centres for the Differently Sane) and having you committed. While the straightjacket is an often overlooked mode of dress, (they can look fabulous with a T-shirt worn over them) I'm not quite sure I'm completely ready for a room with padded walls yet.

Were this a normal blog, I would at this moment suggest you click on a little Paypal icon and donate to some sort of fund so I can afford a real psychiatrist, instead of reading the jokes on Penguin Bar wrappers and searching for hidden meaning, but this is not a normal blog; I'm not a sellout, and I'm not going to sprinkle the text with little Paypal links. They go at the bottom of the article.

Which leads me to the main point (if there is one at all) of this article/post/insane rant. The main point being Money. My Integrity -> Lack of Paypal Links -> Paypal -> Money, see?

I like to think I'm quite an enlightened person, and I believe in the equal distribution of wealth, and fairness, and capitalism is bad, and love the Earth, and love not war, and all that. However, my one failing as a quasi-socialist is I love money... possibly because I have none. However, you can help me here by donating to my Payp

Oh, wait, I said I wouldn't do that, didn't I? Damn.

Anyway. Money. Today, I was talking to a friend of mine and the topic swung round to money. I was complaining about my lack of said commodity, and how it took me ages to save up for the bare essentials of life - food, clothing, Core 2 Duo Processors - and, to condense my disjointed ramblings considerably, how I found this annoying.

My friend suggested I get a job.

I cleared my throat and asked him to repeat himself. He did, and it was clear I had heard him right. He suggested I get a job. Apparently, jobs are some form of 'work' which yields monetary reward. I decided to read up on this on the internet, and found out that one of the highest paid jobs out there was to a psychiatrist. Psychiatrists, apparently, make a mint. They're the people you go to before you get thrown into a Communal Rest Centre for the Differently Sane.

I discussed the whole matter with another friend, who asked not to be named. For the purposes of this article, then, I shall refer to him as Jamiel Sanchez. When I proffered the whole psychiatrist idea, he scoffed. You see, Jamiel wants to become a 
Doctor - as in, medical Doctor.

"I'll come to your practice every day," he said, "And say "Oh, hello, Doctor. I've got a subdermal haematoma, Doctor. Can you operate on it for me, Doctor? Oh, no, you can't. You've got the medical degree, but you're not a real Doctor."" He then performed an ancient Phillipino 'Victory Dance' that left both of us mildly concussed.

When I regained consciousness, I decided that Jamiel was right. I decided that I shouldn't be a sellout, and do a job merely because it pays well. I decided that maybe I should do something that helps others, something selfless and noble, something that would better myself and the community in which I live.

Then I decided to make a blog instead, wait a couple of years, and publish a book that everybody talks about like that sex crazed woman or that guy who was Wesley Crusher. That way, I would earn millions and never have to consider this 
'work' thing again.

Incidentally, perhaps this is an appropriate juncture to mention that the Paypal 'donate' button is... wait, damn. I said I wouldn't do that.

-Alex Harvey is unemployed.