Diary of An Unemployed American: Day.... 3, I Think But Don't Quote Me On That...

I'm not sure how long I've been unemployed.  It feels like forever.  All of the days are beginning to run to together.  I haven't been this out of it since that one time in undergrad when I thought it would be a good idea to mix NoDoz and Pepsi.  

I don't understand how people live this aintshit lifestyle.  Doing nothing is hard damn work.  








Right now I my head is half full of twists... I look like a strange hybrid of Gary Coleman and Coolio.  And let me tell you honey... that picture you see in your head ain't nowhere near how unacceptable I'm looking right now. 

I blame John Boehner.  His coif is always perfection.  But I'm walking these streets looking like depression and dastardly deeds. 

My nails look like I've been walking on my hands through broken glass and lava rock.  If it wasn't for this shutdown, I'd be sitting in Holly's chair getting my hands and feet dipped in hot wax and getting the leg massage of life. But let me tell you something my friend, cheese and crackers ain't cheap.  So since I don't have a job I have to sacrifice that awesomeness for food and water. 

That's all Nancy Pelosi's fault.  I bet my paycheck... well if I had one, that she has her nails done.  Ole well put together heffa.

I woke up this morning and I had bruises and scratches on my knee and it was swollen.  I'm pretty sure I walked into a wall or something last night.  If I had a job I would only have a reason to want to drink... but no time to act on it.  Therefore, I wouldn't play full contact sports with shit that don't move.  And my knee wouldn't look like it has it's own heartbeat.  

That's all Mitch McConnell's fault.  His old hateful ass probably put a arthritic root on me so I'd  walk around all frail like him.  Ole geriatric jerk.

Well, I guess I'll go to sleep or something.  Maybe when I wake up this nightmare will be over.