Having found myself at a loose end over the summer now that Uni has told me to sod off for a bit and stop bothering the lecturerererers with questions like; 'yes, but why is globalisation a threat to modernity?', Mrs El J has given me strict orders to find a job and start paying my way in life. So, like a lamb to the the seasonal employment slaughter, I wove my way to the nearest employment agency to register for the kind of work a man with my skills is skilled enough to do safely.
The receptionist Natalie, who assured me she is a natural blonde despite the ginger eyebrows, sat me down and told me to stop it because it was bothering the post-graduates. She asked what previous experience I had. I told her I'd been collecting driving licences for some time although the police said I had to stop that as well. To cut a long story short, the agency said I've got to stop ringing them so at a loss I strayed here for a stiff Brandy with Im_P who tolerates me in that gentle way of his. It was while I was lying on the doormat that I had an epiphany. While Rex the Alsatian was moaning about all his Smackos mysteriously going missing (again), it hit me full in the face. The morning post for Mr and Mrs The Occupier. I could do that I thought. So I started posting blogs. It was fun for a while, shoving my ill thought out opinions through peoples doors instead of down their throats, but eventually, as with all my previous jobs, the monotony got to me so I made like a teenager with a free paper round and shoved all the blogs through the nearest letterbox.
So once again I find myself out of work, though not entirely out of luck because as my Dad says, you make your own. Sadly passing forged notes at the roulette table is also illegal which is a shame because I had a stack riding on Red number 7 and it came up twice in January. I'd have been minted, but that nice Mr Titchmarsh off the telly threatened to call the authorities if I didn't get out of his herb garden. A word of warning, he comes across on the telly as though butter wouldn't melt in his mouth, but I'm telling you, you roll around naked in his garden and watch what happens.
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