The Thousands

This week I’ve been asked to write about being a medical test subject. I’m tired of writing about being a medical test subject. Suffice to say that volunteering yourself for medical research is an excellent responsibility-avoidance strategy. Free money / sandwiches / cab vouchers / time to think about your life. Google it.

What I really want to talk about is you quitting your job, dropping out of school and spending more time at the pub. Life is too short to work. What you really need to be doing is discussing sports and celebrities and hilarious cocktails. You can always get money – aside from medical testing, there’s the dole, grant money, "design work" or being a door bitch at the Metro. I’m not even being funny. Seriously, quit. Quit, then when people with real jobs look at you like you’re wasting your life, look them in their dead, gormless eyes, point at your crotch and give them the finger. They’re the ones wasting their lives. They’re the ones who’ll wake up in twenty years next to an overweight accountant, addicted to painkillers and overpriced shiraz. God gave us all electric guitars and burgers and tits and livers and wangs and canisters of nitrous oxide for a reason. Use them, and use them unwisely.

St Peter: Heeey! So did you have fun down there?
Employed Person: Fun? Of course not! I got three degrees, worked hard, married an accountant and raised two ungrateful children. Now where’s my reward?
St Peter: What are you, retarded? That was your reward! Now you’re just going back into storage.
Employed Person: Wait, what? But life is hard! What was I supposed to do for money?
St Peter: Shit, dude. Didn’t you read the thing about medical testing?