July 13, 2002

52% and Rising The


52% and Rising

The glass is less empty than full, by a hair. Still, we be needin' a plan, Stan.

What to do with this empty crater of space created by my recent joblessness? That is the question. In my most optimistic moments, I see that this is not a problem, it is an opportunity. Heard it knocks only once, better get up from Gunsmoke and go see who's rappin'.

Actually, there is no doubt that there will NOT be any knocking; my chance to Do Something With The Rest of My Life will have to be found, it will NOT find me. Hmmm...

Surely there is something to be done to create income or security with our land as a base. Raise Chinchillas! Llamas! Ostriches! maybe Snakeheaded Fish culture? Or in the vegetable world: hydroponic tomatos! Kiwi! Tofu plants!

Doe anyone really Work from Home, making "two, five, even NINE thousand dollars a month, working part time, using your computer"? I haven't had the guts to even look at what part of the soul one would sell to find paying customers, to build a 'downline'; how many friends and relatives would not answer their phone calls or emails once you were 'on your way to financial freedom' with the rising, rapidly expanding, exciting (OOH! OOH!) Viagra Diet and Hair Restoration Program.

And of course, there is always writing for a living.

You know the difference between a (musician, writer...substitute one) and a large pizza?

A large pizza can feed a family of four!


Ha ha. Besides, I'm getting a little creepy looking at my website visits from yesterday. One from someplace.mil. I figure the Fed Snoops have picked up some of my gentle nudges at our Shrubbry-in-Chief, and are monitoring all my vegetable posts, looking for subversive code that might threaten the s'curty of ah Homeland. And there was the mysterious visit from someone at randomhouse.com. I fear that one day in the future, after enough evidence has been accumulated from weblog posts, I may be sued for the negative effects that my misfigured writing has brought to the publishing field in general and to writers in particular. I'm REALLY sorry, folks. Forget writing. I'll wear mittens and watch lots of TV and abandon my buccolic subversions and only talk to the cat. Really.

On the other hand, this might be just the time to act on marketing my physical therapy inventions. The ones that patients always said, "hey, you could sell that one!" Hmmm. Materials: a buck fifty. Printed matter, 20 cents. Patent attorney: $7500 upfront, then three bags full when product goes to market. Marketing: one arm, one leg. Distribution and advertizing: 25 of 24 hours a day, no pee breaks. Profit: 20 cents per unit, before taxes. Taxes: whatever is left. Sounds like a plan to me!

Okay, who am I kidding. I need to hunker down and cut to the chase. There is one phrase that can reliably redeem the fallen from the rank and file of the unemployed. If conquered and expressed with conviction, confidence and poise, this phrase can lead to financial independence, employment in any American city of your choice, a nifty cap and a oh-so-kewl Britney Spears microphone headpiece. All of you who share my plight, say it with me now:

YA WANT FRIES WITH THAT?

Posted by fred1st at July 13, 2002 10:21 AM
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