Houston, We Have a Problem

A couple of people I know in real life asked me about the Houston job yesterday, and I realized that I hadn't updated you imaginary friends on my situation. I'm sorry to keep you out of the loop. It's not a reflection on our imaginary relationship--really, I mean that--it's just that I have been busy and it slipped my mind. I hope you can all forgive me.

So what happened? Well, basically, they told me to go fvck myself. Yes, that's right. They said "Go get your shinebox, ninjaman." I mean, they said it niceley, I presume, but the words don't change the message. If you get fired, it's no comfort that you were "downsized". If you lost your 401k when the market crashed, its no consolation that the market "corrected." If you get diagnosed with ass cancer, it's no relief that the doctor "has magic medicines to fight the demons in your ass." And if you are rejected for a job that you didn't even know you wanted until you couldn't have it anymore, it's no consolation that "they went with someone local."

The Headhunter told me that they went with someone local because they thought that I wasn't really that interested in it. Acutally, I wasn't and maybe that's why they picked up on that. But the more I heard about it, the better it sounded. ($30k-40k a year raise, living in a city that's half as expensive as DC, opportunities to live abroad). Towards the end I felt like some hot fashion model from Oregon who is living in NYC and agrees to go out on a date with a Wall Street banker type only because she wants to eat at Nobu, then by the end of the meal she decides she really likes the guy because although he's not the most attractive guy in the world (HOUSTON...HEllooooo!!) he ends up being sweet and funny and really, really rich. She likes him so much, that she regrets not shaving her legs before the date. Then he doesn't call her for a second date becasue he decides to date some dorky MBA chick with glasses, frumpy clothes and shoes that me and my hot model friends would laugh at. Then I see him out at a fashionable hipster bar with her and my hot model girlfriends I laugh at him when we see his new girlfreind because "I'm so much hotter than her and my tits are real and everything." I laugh on the outside, but inside I'm secretly broken up about it, so my hot model friends get me drunk , then we go back to our hot model appartment in the Village and we have freaky hot lesbo sex....which we film and sell on the internet and make slots of money.

I've decided (retroactively) that I never really wanted that job in the first place. All that new money would mean that I would have to pay more in income tax. As a libertarian, I object to paying the government more in taxes, so my turning down their non-existent offer will mean less taxes flowing to the corrupt political machine in Washington. That's right. Just think of it as my way of "Sticking it to The Man."

I turned that job down because I believe in freedom, bitchez! So don't bother trying to call me back and offer me more money or a bigger office, because I got pricnciples and you can't put a price on that. I hope you're happy with your "local hire" because I'm not even bitter or anything. I'm sure he's really smart, has all his teeth (despite being a local) and can spell as well a high school kid where I'm from. It sounds like you'll be a perfect fit together. And don't bother calling me back and BEGGING for me to take your job because I don't want it. (Unless you want to offer me more money and a bigger office, in which case I'll shave my legs this time.)