The Dream Job

Word count 529

The Dream Job.

I bloody hate folklore. It’s of use to no bugger and, unfortunately, keeps me up at night.

So, what do I do? Well, I pop around from place to place, throwing sand about me in a casual fashion. It seemed okay the first thousand years or so, but you sort of get tired of the same routine over and over and over and over and over again. True, I did optimize the methods, but when you have gone from expert to exalted in “over the shoulder three at the time flick wrist throw” there’s simply no longer any fun left. Working odd hours loses its charm over the millenniums. And every bloody Christmas, there’s all the extra work in sanding the roof tops, so the fat man in red, doesn’t slip and break his bum. Cut down on the brandy, I say! I mean everyone is bloody jolly after thousands of snifters. Well, except Baphomet, who gets seriously unstable but that’s another story.

Love life sucks. You can’t have longer dates, unless there’s an unlimited supply of amphetamines within nose distance. I did however have a nice relationship with an insomniac, but that ended the morning after a wild night, where I really got carried away. She was not so impressed with having a complete crew of demolition men, sledgehammers and the lot, trying to get her out of the waterbed, I accidentally turned into concrete in my excitement. But I still try to find the perfect woman. Though, it’s quite frustrating not to be able to date, without giving the woman narcolepsy.

Clothing sucks. It’s always searching for the right fabric. You see a really nice suit in a window, but know full well that, if it’s not made out of strong fabric, it’ll last four hours. And let me tell you, you get seriously fed up with wearing leather; and asbestos isn’t very fashionable.

Hair dues suck. You always have to have smooth, loose hair. Back in the seventies, I had my first and last perm job. I looked like a male Medusa on a bad hair day with a serious case of dandruff. I went to a concert that night, but after a few minutes of head banging, the first fourteen rows were asleep, so it kinda ruined the atmosphere.

This dream job doesn’t even come with pension. Time off is quite hard to get and there’s no overtime pay. You only get frustration. You can’t be around cats without them having a constant pressure to their kidneys. Every time you chew or close your mouth, there’s an annoying crunching sound in your skull. There’s a really uncomfortable sensation in your scrotum area, when you wear tight pants. Giving a new girlfriend a rub down, is not really erotic unless she’s a hardcore psycho masochist. Last but not least, you have to vacuum for a fortnight, when you take off your shoes.

So, could you please begin believing in, oh I don’t know, the funny parrot nose man, that puts people to sleep at night, because I seriously need a holiday. And no, I’m not going to the flipping beach.