a big-money job

Your main man Dick is in the process of being downsized. An upshot of this, is that, as I move toward a nirvanic state of unemployment, I am taking steps to find employment elsewhere. I thought it would be good to touch on the theme of my job hunt and to help other job hunters out there to ease into their next career with some helpful advice from the Dickster.

First of all, I checked the online employment ads today on a website that boasts of having 1.3 million jobs available. Not to blaspheme the website—they are great—but some of their jobs are lacking. Here is one I came across today.

A four-year degree is required. No problem, I have that.

Four years of experience in the field is needed. No problem there, either.

Then there are about ten other job requirements, some very sophisticated. However, none of them are a problem for me. I meet them all or exceed them.

Then, the kicker. The job pays $15 per hour. That is slightly over $30,000 per year. That is obscene. This is George Bush’s America, all right.

If you listen closely, you can almost hear the sound of George Bush’s urine splashing on to the American flag. Thank God no one has been able to transfer smell across the Internet, even with broadband, or the unpleasant aroma of the Commander-in-Chief’s waste product would permeate your computer room.

I thought it was interesting this week that the Senate tried to pass an amendment against flag burning. While burning the flag is a recognized and legal form of protest—at least for the time being—old glory is being stained by the constant yellow Republican stream. And no one seems to care.

It is a Goddamned shame—or a fucking shame, if you will.

And I mean that.

Or my name isn’t Dick Clinch.