Get a Real Job.

So everyone needs to get off my nuts about posting. I’ve been in prison and the internet there was spotty at best. “Prison Toastygod?” Yes, prison. “What for?” Glad you asked. I had to kill a man. I’m not exaggerating, I HAD to kill him. He clearly did not want to live. How do I know?Because he was one of those fucking guys that stands on the street corner trying to get your credit card number to save the whales or trees or children or some other ambiguous group that you will never see and can therefore not validate 1) their existence, 2) their need for your money, or 3) the effect your money is or (more probably) is not having on their plight. Taking this job is tantamount to shoving a gun in your mouth. It’s beyond a cry for help, nothing can help now, it’s a cry for someone to fucking kill you.

I used to just tell these people, “Get a real job.” And when they’d be all, “What do you mean?” I’d break it down for them:

“Real businesses offer goods and services that people want. They market themselves and then interested parties seek them out for said goods and services. Customers come to them, they don’t force themselves on anyone stupid enough to go outside. You try to hock the intangible commodities of ‘good karma’ to people who are at best apathetic to you and your cause and at worst hate you for your intrusion into their lives.You are nothing more than snake oil salesmen mixed with panhandlers. But at least most pan handlers will dance or sing or make a sign or say ‘please’ so they have somehow earned my meager contribution. You earn nothing but my scorn and are a blight on all of society. Your existence shames humanity.”

At this point they are speechless from the ruination I just dealt them so I tip my top hat and walk away with a jaunty spring in my step that says, “I’m so much better than you in every way.” My treatment of them has probably led to many an inevitable suicide (I inspire people with the courage to kill themselves), but, admittedly, I have never had to resort to actual murder before. And this was murder. I didn’t just kill him, I murdered him. Premeditated style.

He would not stop talking to me. I tried to walk away, he blocked my path. I told him to fuck off he said, “I will, just sponsor a child, fish, acre, unicorn first.” Then he did the unthinkable. The sin for which no one escapes my realm unscathed. He hugged me. He was some stupid hippie fuck that thought everyone should just get along. He was all, “Here have a hug for your trouble” and the next thing I know he’s leaning in to FUCKING TOUCH ME.

I don’t know what happened next. I went into blind smiting mode. I woke up in a jail cell covered in blood. They tell me there wasn’t enough of the guy left for the family to bury. They’re going to have to fill the coffin with his black light wall art and Grateful Dead CDs. I said nothing, because everyone knows you never talk to cops. EVER. You hear me loyal readers. Let Toastygod give you this life lesson. NEVER TALK TO COPS. For any reason. They could be behind you in line in the Krispy Kreme, and they’d say, “Nice day isn’t it?” and you’d say “Yeah. Sunny.” And the all of a sudden you’re on the floor, coming to after a taze to the temple. True story.

Ok so now you may be wondering, “Well then how DID you get out of jail?” Why do you have to be all up in my kool aid? But I’ll tell you anyway. I waited until they charged me and I went to court. The judge asked for my plea and I said “Not guilty by reason of that guy was a hippie douchebag with a clipboard who wanted my money and a hug.” And the judge said, “Wait, from Children International?”

“Probably.”

“Case dismissed!”

And now I’m free and back on the streets to spread my even-handed justice and make this world a better, more hippie-free place. You’re welcome.