If you work for a living, why do you kill yourself working?


Work

The Sheer horror of it.

Even the word fills me with an empty black dread, now don’t get me wrong, I’m not afraid of good honest labour, but let’s be frank, there is a big difference between Work and labour, the former bringing with it countless other annoying social conundrums to contend with, work relationships and the putting up with of assholes “The Boss”, rules , regulations, being on time.. Etc etc. All very annoying we can agree. I Say this because I happen to be stuck in work at the moment, slaving like an 8 year old Malaysian Adidas employee, endless reams of numbers, statements, Invoices, quotations, phone calls. This high pressure corporate world is crushing my poor Hobo Soul, turning me into a machine of profit… All I can think about now is my Job and the making of lots and lots of money so that I may buy such important things as thick Gold Chains and Jewellery to inform the world around me that I have a lot of disposable income and don’t mind flaunting it with meaningless displays of perverse affluence, maybe a flashy car that makes very loud Vroom Vroom noises and is shaped and curved like some fifties American pin up, so that I can impress members of the opposite sex in  the hopes that I might be afforded the chance to stick my penis into them……. Come on ladies, look at me, I have prospects, I have wealth, you can have some too, just let me stick my penis in you!

No…….. wait, wait. I am lying through my sun tanned teeth.

You see, in actual reality, today is “Bring your shotgun into work day” A really fun work bonding experience that involves a Shotgun, 450 rounds of ammunition, 450 Clay Pigeons, a Clay Pigeon Launcher, and one disused scrap yard filled with the hulking wrecks of looming cranes and great big diggers you used to see as a child and dream of driving through anyone and anything that stood in your way… Now just carcasses, a mix of rust and that comforting danger yellow most heavy machinery seems to be blessed with, resigned to rot until someone deems it finally profitable to smelt them down. This idea is the brain child of my father (The Boss). For his many faults, and I do mean many, he is actually one of the greatest employers you can have, (If you’re not his son, that is) as far from conventional as you can get basically. So instead of working this afternoon we all went out back to the scrap yard and set up a firing range, why work when you can blow the crap out of hunks of Clay as they hurtle through the air, I like to imagine they’re little alien saucers flying overhead, trying to spy on us, finding victims for their suitcases of Anal probes, not on my watch, not with my trusty double barrel shotgun at the ready, eat high velocity lead you bug eyed bastards!

Anyway, there was six of us in total and we each took our turns belting out the lead as the clay pigeons sailed silently through the sky at various angles, the wind catching and twisting them in unpredictable directions right at the moment you’re about the pull the trigger, needless to say just about everyone missed most of what they were shooting at(Except myself of course), but not really caring as the sheer thrill of hearing that violent burst of sound that makes your heart jump and your ears scream, the mood was jovial but edgy, which can’t be helped because no matter how much fun you have shooting inanimate objects that secret fear is always in the back of your mind, this machine is designed to Kill, I never forget that when I hold a shotgun, it was no different this time around, especially given the fact that what we were doing was not strictly legal, randomly deciding to shoot weapons in the workplace (Unless you’re a gun club) is generally frowned upon by health and safety inspectors.

But on a slightly lighter note I think I made quite an impression on the youngest of our employees here, “Little” Johnny as he’s affectionately come to be known, due to his small stature, just shy of five feet tall and at 17 probably not going to get any taller, cue little man syndrome, he’s joined a gym to beef himself up, I think his logic is that if he beefs himself up to an Adonis like condition it will somehow compensate for his lack of height (Endlessly fascinated with the expressions of little man syndrome in the vertically challenged people I meet) But he’s a nice fellow, with a good heart and a common sense you don’t expect from someone that age (I had none at that age, not much now for that matter) but all afternoon he wouldn’t stop complementing my skill with the shooting, asking me for tips, had I ever competed or would I consider it, flattery flattery flattery, no idea what to do with it once I receive it, he seems to think my rather nihilistic view of life and its problems is hilarious and easy going, I don’t have the heart to explain to him that it’s really just a cover for my own inability to find and express any type of meaning into my life at the moment, that’s too heavy a truth to place on the shoulders of  little angel faced johnny, who knows nothing of these things, let him have his delusion, at least for now, life will crush him soon enough. Anyway… Excellent times were had all round, by the time we finished it was 4.30pm and almost time to go home, I just had to reflect on the fact that I’m glad I don’t work in some normal structured environment,  I’d never last, Chaos is too close a friend for that kind of world, I’ve no idea what I am going to do with myself long term, I’ve yet to find my purpose, my “use” to make this world a somewhat better place if such a position exists for me, but for now, this will do just nicely, at least until it all comes crashing down around our heads, which it will.

Roll on “Bring Your Hammock and Honey Rum to Work Day”

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