Joblessnessness & it’s disgusting consequences (Pt.II)

As Prince once wrote (& that floating baby-no-tears doll’s head Sinead O’Connor once sang) “It’s been 7 hours and 13 days since the temp agency took my job away” – 2 weeks sans work & that niggling creeping tick of self-doubt & lack of direction has burrowed under the skin of my little toe to take root in my wavering telephone voice & illegible freehand pen-scribbling abilities…

Always knew I’d have to continue this thread at some point after first trying to summarise how debilitating & humiliating the reluctant process of seeking employment can sometimes feel. Here I am tossed back onto the heap of the faceless million plus some whom the government sub-texturally seem to accuse of being feckless – just another statistic.

But then I tell myself to lip up fatty & turn that frown upside down (without doing any permanent damage to my face). I try & wait at least 3 weeks before resorting to the ole rock & roll (dole) as previously mentioned in Joblessnessness Part 1 that can actually become MORE disheartening.

Anywho looky here – there’s a whole 8 pages of jobs advertised in this Wednesday’s Evening Post (Notts nightly rag) but in reality they’re actual 2 pages of A3 (if you’re being pedantic & pessimistic which I’ve decided to be for the remainder of this post). The last 2 sides are mostly for highly trained barstards supremoes with several minutes expertise conning already depleting pensions from the fuel-impoverished Osborne-taxed change-fearing elderly.

Trouble is, worthwhile & well-intentioned charity, human rights & other humane causes have no choice but to follow ‘ahem’ the suits as salesperson shysters. Harassing people with all too little to spare would be bad enough, but the only ones interested & in my experience usually less familiar with the ‘no pause for breath’ uninterrupted barrage of persuasive script tend to be lonely, somewhat reclusive, mentalist windbags who launch off into a tirade of tangents about ‘how plums don’t taste like they used to’ & why they’ve become convinced that the jackdaws are stealing their mail’. Actually one of my mates was recalling how his grandad has genuinely started to believe that the Chinese are stealing all our fenceposts – the ‘our’ presumably being Britain. I pondered whether he is mistaking this for agricultural intensification.

"Pssst Oi! Ginger, Pebbles, you both have your characteristic charms now cut that out!"

Hmmm now let’s see…for some reason the first listing under ‘General Vacancies Part Time’ is CATFIGHTERS – Feisty women to compete in new sport. Earn £50-100 per hour – flexi hours (& the women too you’d imagine – oh how you could imagine) Age 16+ (and this bit’s very important) No Upper Age Limit! Hold my cabbage helmet yep, you read that right. Catsitting is one thing, but any society that advocates & even encourages what could essentially result in Granny Wrestling I’d rather not remain a member of – although as I’ve included above, they do presently have plenty to be angry about.

Any just when you figured every civilised hallmark of a virtuous & progressive city such as ours prospects had been flushed down the khazi it reads ‘tryouts to be filmed by Sky TV’. Hosanna! And the world is right again. What the heck happened to my hundreds of letters to Meussrs. Murdoch demanding the overdue reintroduction of Foxy Boxing (Homer’s favourite female sport) to our screens as the pride of Britain’s attitudes to women in time for the upcoming London 2012 Olympics? Proudly sponsored by Loose Women & some shit bacterial yoghurt brand no doubt. They’ve been punching women of all ages squarely in the face for years already.

This could well be the flipside to a Diamond David Lee Roth 12"

Keep ya posted on my progress folks!