Serious Profession!

Last night, I was forced to stay up well past my preferred bedtime of 8:15. Why? Because I had, in an opium hazed, agreed to not only pick up a Jew from the train stop but then allow that Jew to sleep in my home where my mountain of valuables was in plain view. Luckily, I’m not a racist so this didn’t bother me. What did bother me however was the call I received around 10:30 from a certain Anglo-centric man/beast on the Easterly Seaboard. Of course, I don’t have to tell you who this was. As surprising as it seems our international culture leach is filled with trepidation and angst (and not the good philosophical kind, but the unsexy no bathing kind) about his upcoming speaking engagement at the Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual and Trangender "life conference" in Belgium. Apparently, he was calling everyone he knows (me, twice) in order to make amends in case disaster should strike him while he is in the lions den that is the decrepitude of modern-European culture. This was a wise precaution not only because all of Western Europe is a cesspool of indignity and gracelessness, but because he has pretty much screwed up every relationship be it the most casual to the few horrifically intimate.

An Doof Ass; Hey, Working Boy what’s up?
Working Boy: Oh nothing, I’m just reading some contemporary Analytic American philosophy to keep sharp.
A.D.A: Boy, you’re really a renaissance man.
W.B: It’s true. So why are you bothering me?
A.D.A: Oh, I just wanted to call an say if anything should happen while I’m away I want you to come pick up my stuff in New York and bring it back to Chicago and bury under an oak tree in Douglas Park.
Working Boy: The hell I’m going to do that. Fuck you.
A.D.A: Now I understand I haven’t been the best friend over the years. By my count I owe you well over 250 dollars and, from what I understand, you still haven’t been able to get my distinctive garlic-type odor out of your couch from the last time I slept on it.
W.B: All true.
A.D.A: But I want to put this all behind me as I may well die or become a douche as I will be in Europe for 4 days.
W.B: That makes perfect sense.
A.D.A: Anyway do you think you could find it in your heart to wire me about 300 dollars so I can impress those silly European ladies.
W.B: No.
A.D.A: That’s cool. But do you think you could do it anyway. I kind of need that money.
W.B: I have a better idea. I’ll pay you 50 cents a day to keep a journal of your Belgium adventure with pictures and then we’ll post your adventure on that venerable blog "Noononsat..." That way I don’t have to write anything for a while and you can actually have something to put on your resume.
A.D.A: You still write that stupid thing? I thought everyone stopped doing that sometime last year.
W.B: Anyway, getting back to our conversation, you could have something to put on your nasty, brutish and, most importantly, short resume.
A.D.A: Oh yeah. And what would that be?
W.B: International Correspondent.
A.D.A: Oh I like that.
W.B: Of course that would mean I would have to be the Editor-in-Chief of an international style publication for that to work.
A.D.A: I think you’d be a great Editor-in-Chief, Chief.
W.B: Nobody likes a suck up.