I look like a fat, drunk Boy Scout.

Most of these things are true without the uniform, but

the uniform is anything but. It!s quite irregular. I missed the bottom button and have
been walking around all day with my shirt front off-kilter. I rebuttoned it, but that doesn!t
hide my beer gut. In comparison with these assholes I look thin, but in comparison with
how they looked when they were my age I look now like how they look now.
I wish they!d shut the fuck up and go home. It!s already half an hour past quittin! time.
But maybe I!m too much of a wimp, or not good enough of a lawyer to bail on the party. I
still have free booze left to drink after all. Of course it only makes me drunker and fatter.
It doesn!t really help me be more of a Boy Scout. Unless I were, in the words of Baden
Powell, scouting for boys. The booze might help me make a life decision in this vain.
But just because the BSA allows homosexual scouts doesn!t mean I!m going to adopt
the lifestyle myself. Besides, I!m over 18 and can only be a leader anyways, were that
kind of sodomy is strictly forbidden. (It!s not like boy scouts get laid anyway...)
I can!t tell if these rich bastards love "80s music or not. They requested specic songs,
which I!ve made audible for them, and all I get is the grief. Perhaps thats usual, they
only speak up if to complain. If everything is going right than everything is normal, in
their world view. Why tell the help they!re doing a good job? At least I!m getting paid. I
don!t really give a shit about the quality of work that I am doing. This is money that I
humiliate myself to get so that I can give it to the landlord who lets me have a place to
sleep.
I worked up the courage (i.e. drank enough scotch) to send another text message one-
way. I don!t expect a response, but I put all of my hopes and dreams into it. I imagine all
the amazing responses I could receive. Proclamations of love, estimations of fecundity,
or maybe just confessions of passion. I!d settle for a Hey, howdy! but that!s unlikely.
I really should be teaching everyone karaoke. The borracho karaoke institute of tech-
nology accreditation program will surely be a success in Mexico. I just have to learn the
language and repertoire.
I didn!t tie these thoughts together into a bow and let you know what my point is. If you
noticed, I started every sentence with a narcissistic pronoun. As it turns out, this page is
all about me, my whining, and my bullshit. You!re the one that read this far, so I won!t
insult you by assuming you hadn!t gured that out for yourself.
I can!t believe this is a job. I am a gloried playlist. I didn!t even choose the songs, they
were picked by committee. I basically plug the cables in and press play. Some overseer
turns it up really loud and I!m responsible for turning it down when people complain. I
also take requests. I quickly play the songs that the audience asks to hear, and this
would be impressive if the Internet didn!t exist. Well, it!d even be impressive if it hap-
pened in 1992, when the Internet existed, but the software and data wasn!t so easily
available. The point is, I should be obsolete, but instead I!m simultaneously over-
qualied, over-paid and unexperienced.
I am not a DJ. I would never make such a claim. I do have a pretty good idea of how all
of the things in a DJ!s toolkit function. I also have heard a lot of the material they may
employ. I do not make it a habit of adapting a group of music to a group of listener!s to
drunkenly sway to. I!d prefer to be the one drunkenly swaying (well they can to). Point
is, spinning records ain!t my bag, but my gig (and by records I mean low-quality audio
les).
But of course there!s free food and booze and a paycheck. I can!t remember the last
time I had a job this good (I can). But this one is happening now and the others hap-
pened in the past, this is an important difference. No matter how good a gig is, you!ll al-
ways need another one until you die. I don!t try too hard to get employed, I personally
dislike jobs. However, I do try to earn enough money to give to other people so that they
will let me eat enough things to survive.
I wish we!d get a noise complaint. Last night we got two by half past midnight. It!s Friday
night now, going on one AM and the cops haven!t hollered. I!d love them to tell me turn it
up, I wouldn!t even tell them to blow it out their ass. I!d go home, spritz my babies and
be a bad inuence on my neighbors. I just want to spend time with them.
I!m desperate for companionship. I have high standards. I!ve made lots of great friends.
I love them. I want to impregnate someone. Not to make grandkids or for genetics or for
that child!s life at all, I just want to ejaculate so hard that I make a beautiful baby inside
of some female that I really got the hots for. It!s hard enough nding a gal that I do have
the hots for. The next step is convincing them to hook up with a fat, drunk Boy Scout.