Work is the curse of the drinking class.

I'm glad I got fired! Getting fired was the best thing that happened to me in a loooooong time.

Working for a living is kind of like smoking cigarettes. Sure, you know it's killin' ya, slowly, but you don't really notice it on a day-to-day basis. In fact, it becomes kind of addictive. You start telling yourself you need to sit in front of that computer screen and eat those goddamned mother fucking Krispy Kremes all day. You're being "a productive member of society." You're an honest, hardworking American. You're selling your soul one piece at a time.

Then, one day, you quit, cold turkey. It's painful at first; you find yourself answering your cell phone with your company name. You find yourself missing the calming chime of Outlook Express calling you to yet another interminable meeting. You find yourself humming the Lite FM songs your department's mindless secretary insisted on playing while organizing her Beanie Baby collection. You don't quite what to do with a day that doesn't have a good 9 or 10 hours blocked out for doing what other people want you to do. You begin taking up hobbies you haven't practiced for a while, like sleeping.

Then you start noticing the subtle things: You start walking a lot straighter since you're not hunched over a keyboard for most of your waking moments. You suddenly have a whole lot more energy for doing the things you've always wanted to do like, your laundry or having sex with your girlfriend. Looking for a job suddenly becomes much less of a priority. You think to yourself, "Hey, I could get used to this. I wonder if there is some way I could make this my permanent lifestyle." Fantasies start running through your head (no, I'm not talking about the Jenna Jameson ones). Life is filled with potential! You can start a band! Finish that novel! In fact, you forget why you were even working a "real job" in the first place!

Oh, right. Rent money.

At least our dear President Shrub, in perhaps the first intelligent thing he has ever done in his life (except give up snorting coke) has just signed a bill extending unemployment benefits for an additional 13 weeks. You start thinking to yourself, "Hey, with what employment is paying me, I could get by quite nicely. As long as I eat only Goya beans and Ramen noodles 3 meals a day." Then you realize, "Hey, wait a minute. I don't want to eat Goya beans Ramen noodles three meals a day." So, you start to think up ways to earn extra money, such as prostituting yourself to elderly perverts or opening doors for people at ATMs. Why, everybody likes those helpful people that save you from sliding your card in those locks that never work!

In fact, if you think about it, there all sorts of ways to make money. The free indie newspaper says that the local university is looking for 25-to-30-year old asthmatic Jewish transsexuals to test some great new drugs—Well, you're in the age range, you're circumcized, and, as for the asthmatic transsexual part, a cashmere sweater and some model airplane glue, and no one's the wiser!

Then there's donating sperm. You think, "Hey! I like jerking off to lesbian porn! Why couldn't I become the father of some anonymous lesbian's kid?! I have all the skills required for this job!"

At least one thing about being unemployed is that you have lots of company. It's almost like the sixties again: Hanging out all day, wearing whatever you want, going through restaurant dumpsters for your next meal like dirty, filthy hippies. Why, in a country this prosperous, we all ought to be unemployed. We're almost all the way there—real unemployment in New York City is almost 20 per cent! Amongst my friends, it's something like fifty percent!

That's why we call on you, our readers. Join us. Join the great masses of unemployed. Individually, we are nothing but slackers.

Together, we are the future of America.

Want to offer us a job? Don't e-mail editor@corporatemofo.com