| Ben Thompson: My Stupid Website. |
| News ‡ Articles ‡ Badass ‡ Reviews ‡ Mail ‡ More |
Update 6 January 2006 by Clastor B.
Hey all you out there in the internerd. This is the other pride and joy of the Thompson gene pool. The prodigal brother of the Big Amazing B in the sky (and undoubted the Hottest Thompson of all) Cashless Clay, Cleavin' Clayton, Clastor B. Absent here. I decided it was finally time to show the world more than just my handsome, chiseled features on this website. The time has come that I stretch the ole' literary muscle and overwhelm you all with my 20-megaton intellect and witty comment after non-stop comment.
In theme with a lot of the rants on this website I've come to you as an impoverished and malnutritioned college student to bring you the 5 Worst Jobs of our Times. As Amazing Ben the who-all-of-ology has shown in the past year and change, we Thompson's are well known for working the shittiest "I'd rather be hit in the nuts with a claw hammer and be dipped in the river Styx" of jobs. But as much as all of our occupations have sucked the big nut of Hades, there are shittier and more demeaning jobs around. Working together with a crack team of scientists known as "Team Nuke" (aka 3 guys bored during lunch break) I’ve come up with this List. This was devised so that one day while your cleaning Chasey Laine's bed sheets or working security at an all Russian Gay Bear Bar you can think to yourself "This may suck, but at least I'm not doing what those poor bastards have to do." So here it is:
[Disclaimer: You will notice that in the Top 5 "crack whore" and "suicide bomber" are not included.
These aren't occupations, they are ways of life.]
The Top 5 Worst Jobs of our Times
(or Holy Shit, I'll take minimum wage any day.)
- Thai Hooker
- Land Mine Remover
- Sex Toy Factory Employee
- Janitor at any Sex Shop with a Peep Show Booth
- Southern Bar-B-Que Grill Dishwasher
If pimpin ain't easy, I'd hate to know how hard hookin' is. At least I know everyday I'm not gonna come home raw and riddled with bedsores just to be slapped around by a guy that looks a lot like Jet Li but with a huge scar running across his face from his entrance into the Yakuza. Now I know what you're thinking, "Why a Thai hooker? Wouldn't being any kind of hooker be the worst job?" The correct answer is no, dipshit. Being a hooker would suck dick (pun intended), but if you notice, any weird sex joke or Bizzaro video your friend finds on the internet always includes a Thai hooker. That's because Thai hookers are expected to go beyond the call of duty of normal hooking and go gonzo-fucking-balls-out straight HOOKIN'. They are the Rainbow Six of hookers, the ninjas of sex for money. Every skeezy 60 year old geriatric who wants their nuts stepped on with a pair of stilettos while they gorge themselves on chicken wings dressed in a pickle suit knows to go directly to the All Thai Bath House on the corner of OBT and Aloma....errr......scratch that last part. Anyway, they are the Houdini's of whoring and I wish that job on no one.
They WILL love you long time, for the right price. And only at the cost of their dignity and self respect.
This job is the definition of no-win situation. Ever fuck up at a job? This one doesn't write you up; it blows your legs off. And if you do a good job, you know what you got to look forward too? More landmines.
"Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit."
You get home at a hard day at the plant. You're arms and legs feel like Jell-O and you're more battered than Martha Stewart's breaded veal cutlets. You sit on the couch, look over the bills and turn on the TV to unwind for the night. Right in the middle of the Cops marathon on TNT your two little kids start screaming their little heads off and getting in the way of the screen. Your wife is yelling that you don't buy her anything anymore. You lose it and start screaming "I don't bust my ass 13 hours a day at the dildo factory just to come home to this! I work hard! All day my boss had been riding me telling me I can't make the new goddamn Dildonearator-5000 fast enough! I don't need you little maggots annoying the shit out of me the second I come home!"
This job isn't the worst in the sense of it's suckitude but more that no one can take you seriously. What do you say to your friends? "Tough day at the dildo plant today?" What do you write on your tax forms? How can anyone cash your paycheck without laughing?
They can't get no respect.
Being a janitor is worse than giving Rip Torn a Brazilian wax, this goes without saying. I mean even they come up with a thousand different ways to say it. And every time they tell you to call them a “custodial worker” or “broom assistant”, you’re thinking "just put the weird orange stuff on the puke and leave me the hell alone creepy dude, I'm busy making a rubber band ball here." But this job gets even worse when you’re cleaning up $0.25/minute peep show booths at Jerry's XXX Bookstore Emporium. That is the lowest of all the janitorial bitchworks. I'd rather watch every single one of M. Night Shyamalan's shitty movies back-to-back for the rest of my life in a theater with that fat guy from Lost on one side of me and Mussolini on the other side, and he keeps grabbing onto my arm during every single dramatic pause than ever clean a single Peep Show Booth. But for an occupation? Like 40 hours a day? Jesus Christ, kill me now.
Mop, mop, mop all day long. Mop, mop, mop while I sing this song…
I'm sure you've noticed at this point that almost every one of these have to do with some kind of sexual activity. The reason is simple: Working in and around hanky panky is the chode of the occupation pyramid: Everyone knows it's there but no one wants anything to do with it. Me and my crack team of scientists thought this while balls-deep in our underground secret think tank after hours of debate (i.e. we were bored and drunk at a pizza place one afternoon). This of course makes a perfect segue into the last one, big number 5:
"What? That's Number 5? That's supposed to be equal to cleaning up landmines and/or sticky tissues?" No, no it's not. You see, I tricked your ass. I really just want to bitch. This, my multimedia audience, is my new job. I am not-so-gainfully employed by (Bubbalou's Bodacious Barbeque-link), a central Florida slaughterhosen which is essentially Auschwitz for pigs. I got this job just so I wouldn't have to keep working with customers and could hang out in the back and listen to music while doing a half-assed job and let my mind contemplate: "Who would win in the UFC octagon, 'The Demolition Man' John Spartan or Judge Dredd?" (The answer, by the way, is John Spartan by a long shot). Instead, I found out, much to my chagrin, that this job is more than wax on, wax off, put away and crane kick. Most of my time is spent digging through trash cans and with my good friend Dexter.
You, meet Dexter. Dexter, meet face.
On average I cut more meat every night than a frat boy at a rufinol-and-wine tasting. Pork butts, brisket, turkey, you name it. Basically, if it ever breathed, I butcher it up and stuff it into a giant smoker for 12 hours. I guess this is a good time to tell everyone that I'm a vegetarian. ( I can hear Mr. Shannon having a triple brain aneurism right now. Well Viking Warrior, relax for a minute and save the hacking and slashing for joggers and wiccans.) What I'm trying to say is that this part of the occupation sucks the proverbial wang if you're not all down in Meat Town. Plus, if you think dishwashing sucks, imagine it at a place where they even put ham in the green beans.
My Life Sucks.
So that’s about it for now, hope everyone had a great New Years (except the Chinese, yours is on Jan. 29th. So after that, Happy New Year to you too) and I hope to catch everyone on the flip side.
–transmission over--
Links of the Week: Get This Sweater Off Me The Field Guide to North American Hipsters |