I’m planning a fishing trip to the Outer Banks. Not sure how it will go since I don’t have a fishing rod or bait but I always remember to bring beer. I’m a little leery going back because I was arrested up there twice before. Not for anything serious, just parole violations and stuff. Anyway, the Outer Banks is a lot like the keys. A little fishing town with a drinking problem. I have always fit in up there but they like to export me back. This time I’m covering all my bases and got permission from my parole officer. Now I just need a plane ticket, a boat, a bag of weed, a fishing pole, and a change of underwear. Who am I kidding, I don’t wear underwear.

I went job hunting yesterday. Sunday is the best day to look for a job too. The boss is either at church or spending time with his mistress which means I have a great chance of being called in for an interview. I’m thinking a job with benefits would be nice. After drinking 17 beers at a particular sports bar chain, I put in my application. Looking at the staff I could tell dental benefits were out of the question. The manager with one snaggle tooth dangling from her head explained the only benefits they offered is whole life insurance. Great, so the place is so dangerous that they offer life insurance. Well today is a new day and I’m going to apply as a beer taster at Busch Gardens.

I got fired from my job the other day. My ex-boss is a total douche bag with a big twig up his ass. Anyway, he said he had to let me go because their business insurance would go on the rise since I drink too much on the job. What in the hell did he expect hiring an alcoholic at a bar anyway? Everyone knows I haven’t seen a sober day since I was fifteen. I think he misunderstand when I told him I could handle booze like a pro. What I meant was, I’m very talented at staying drunk and working behind a bar is the most perfect environment for a person like me. I got what it takes to turn a sober soul into an incoherent lush. Anyway, I’m off to apply as a beer taster at Busch Gardens.