humor
Workplace witticisms, job jokes and career quips; who says work can't be a laughing matter?
Why I Will Never Make Any Money Writing
Yep, I suck at writing If you are anything like me (trust me, you are not), then you suck at writing. That said, just because you suck at something doesn’t mean you can’t make shit tons of cash by doing it. Look at this very website. There are a few truly great writers who regularly contribute, some pretty darn good ones, a few more OK ones, a shit ton of average or below average ones, and the remaining who probably make up just over 51% of the writing population here, the terrible, horrible, downright craptastic ones. Oh, and then there’s me. I will leave it to the reader to decide where I fit in on that sliding scale of trainwreckage, but that is really beside the point. The point is that there are a boatload of writers in that 51% who are making gobs and gobs of cash by writing. Yep, you read that correctly, you don’t have to be one of the greats, or average, or any good at all, to fulfill your dreams of endless bags of cocaine and supermodel blowjobs by the gross, through writing. Female dreams and your own dreams may differ slightly from mine of course.
By Everyday Junglist5 years ago in Journal
How To Get A New Job
Looking back over a fifty plus year career in a wide range of occupations I was struggling to think of a single job I had succeeded in landing through the conventional method of sending an application form to the company in question. During that half a century I have had about fifty different jobs and they all came to me in a variety of methods, not one of which involved posting an envelope stuffed with my cv and a covering letter.
By Liam Ireland5 years ago in Journal
The Saga of the Roach
It was much to my dismay that I came to notice, a roach that has taken up hospice in my master suite. We are currently reenacting Tom and Jerry scenes. I think he finds this both amusing and thrilling. I personally find it appalling and annoying. Little does he know he will die soon. His days are numbered and his time is marked by the Grim Reaper himself. However, he grows ever more ballsy. Let me explain:
By Alexis Lariviere5 years ago in Journal
My Dream Career: Writirement
Writirement ("/rīt/"-"/ˈtī(ə)r/"-"/mənt/"): A non-career, or unconventional employment path paved by sweatpants, and earning loads of money for writing. The act of leaving one's job, and writing for income instead. Contrary to traditional retirement, this career path is designed to happen early in life.
By Lindsay Neal5 years ago in Journal
I Think I Just Got it.
The overwhelming urge was set before I even finished reading the prompt. Sitting in my office chair, rereading the question a few times in my head, I immediately opened up Google Docs. Pulling up a fresh document, the flashing insert point of the blank, pixelated page instantly started to chuckle. The more I stared at the blankness of the page, the more I saw my reflection in the nothingness. The same nothingness that manifested the absence of what seemed to be my own brain power. The ideas in my head seemed to be locked away, bolted down by the screws of hesitation and disorientation. Around a steel bolted door was fog, lots of it. I found myself searching through the mist, foraging for a key, down on my hands and knees like a toddler. reconnoitering all around the fog for the answer to arrive like an encounter with a fawn on a midnight street. Passion? What the hell do I know about passion?
By Nathaniel Ireland5 years ago in Journal
The Top 5 Ridiculous Things People Ask About Writing
Every time I mention that I’m a published author (which I try to do as little as possible, because it makes me feel like I’m covered in an icky film of self-promotion), people get this look on their face. Part awe, part confusion, as if I’d just demonstrated to them that I can sprout fluffy fairy wings.
By Jackson Ford5 years ago in Journal
Happiness Is A Sharp Cold Pair Of Scissors...
This story begins at the end of my caregiving for my elderly parents. Dad 96 and mom, 92. R.I.P. As a caregiver, you rarely ever have enough time to take care of yourself, so after many years of it, I found myself in the worst shape of my life. Getting out of shape for someone like myself was a slow process. For years, I was that guy that hit the gym about four or five days a week. Not until I'd had turned 40 did I slow down. You know, responsibilities — equals not enough hours in the day.
By Tom Pranio5 years ago in Journal
