"Numero Uno"

by Dom B.
2001.06.28

On a blue planet, at one of the far spiral arms of the Milky Way Galaxy, it is business as usual.  I am one of the 2% of this planet's human population with the luxury to complain about hating my job, because, I have food in my stomach.  We have many things to discuss, children; things like debt, and advertising, and breakfast; we will get to them all soon.

As for my job, I don't like it, and most of you know what I do, so you can probably understand.  For those of you who don't, it involves myself, and it involves rats, and the rats really get to have a bad day.  I guess I can find comfort in the fact that the rat probably has a much worse day than I have.  But the point: I'm tired of getting up in the morning every day feeling like someone crapped in my cheerios.  This last paragraph should have given you some perspective on my current outlook on life.

As for debt, I read that the average middle class American has at least $14,000 worth of debt, and in many cases much more than that.  I can tell you that my student loans put me way ahead of the curve on that one.  Add credit cards to that debt. Getting addicted to your credit card is as easy as getting addicted to crack if you received ten letters every month telling you to smoke crack and offering you different types of crack; and if your parents told you that when you went to college you had to get crack of your own, and this crack was only for emergencies; and if the only way you'd be able to have your own apartment and manage your expenses was to have lots of  crack, and you'd live paycheck to paycheck just trying to pay off the crack dealer; and even if you were late on paying off the dealer and had lost favor because of these late payments, there were still other shady crack dealers offering you crack.

As for advertising, and I'll try to keep this short, those Trojan condom radio commercials are disgusting.  I want to hear two people moaning on my stereo about as much as I wanted to hear my roommate making out on the bunk above me in college while I pretend to be asleep. And try not to vomit. If I want porn I'll go buy some, I don't need to hear it in between Korn Bizkit and Linkin Underground Crazy Papa Town Roach Voodoo Bullshit on the X.  For those of you who haven't heard the commercial, it sounds like this:

"...Rolling to your mother! AIIIeett!...(song ends)...

Oh Roger! OH! AH! MMM! schlorp schlorp schlorp TROJAN MAN!!!!...

(song begins)...I'm the lyrical bizzatch!..."