Oh Punk

Manual Labour? Psssh... Bring it!

So the topic of a group dinner not to long ago was who among us had it the easiest growing up? Who had that silver spoon? Who didn't have to do any chores or housework? Who lived on easy street?

Through a brief discussion, the candidates were widdled down to myself and a certain somebody (who I won't say her name). Can you believe that ish? ME?!! What the hell?

Do they really think they did more than moi? Come on! Look at all those days that I toiled in the garage as a kid holding the light for my dad while he worked on his car, or the times when I was forced to clean whatever, and carry this, and mow the lawn that... uhhh.. well you get the point!

Don't let my my soft, smooth hands fool you. I worked hard in the days gone by -- I'm just much more resourceful now. However, back in the day, manual labor was a way of life for me -- it was. But how could I prove this now?

Especially, when my friends have already seen me lazily shovelling snow with one hand while chatting on a cordless phone with the other. Or the time I contracted the folding of clothes to my brother -- 10 years younger -- for $20 (who in turn sub-contracted the work to my even younger visiting cousin for $10. What can I say, he rolls with the best). Then there was the time I didn't feel like doing laundry and just bought all new clothes...

These few incidents have left them with the wrong impression -- but -- that impression has led me here...

... of course neither of us two finalists wants to be the crowned "The one who has had the easiest ride." Nah man. Fuck that shit. I ain't going down like that. I ain't!

Either was she. The votes were stuck in dead-lock. So the resolution?l?

A Manual Labour contest!!!

It's as easy as that. Her and I are to get a job at the most minimum-wage place of minimum-wage places. You know -- some sort of field work, random dishwashing gruntwork and/or slave labour at the GAP.

Some say, we both already failed because we both share the "Oh no, I won't do that. You want me to clean what? With my hands? Today?" gene.

Others say our apparent lack of respect for those in such industries will be our demise: "What? Don't be telling me to put that a way. You've graduated from what? Grade 8? Give me a fucking break. I'm only doing this job for a contest. A contest! I ain't doing shit. What are you gonna do? Fire me? So I love a $20 bet? Get the fuck outta here with that shit."

I say my only shot at losing will be because of something like this:

Me: "Oh hey, it'll be 2 more minutes for your french fries. And, just so you know, I don't actually work this job for real. I actually work for a Fortune 500 company. You know? I have my own desk, a laptop and all sorts of stuff."

Hot Girl at McDonald's Counter: "McDonald's is a Fortune 500 company..."

Me: "Uhhh, yeah. Well, uhh have a nice day."

Man, I am not LOSING this contest. I'm sorry, so bring it (it's already been brougten...)

What's awesome is that this makes for great reality television. I'd watch it.

And in case ya'll are wondering, I already called Ashton Kutcher and MTV Networks and sold them the rights (just like I did with the word "punk'd" -- and seriously, MTV if you're reading this: Pay up bitches! My friends and I own the rights to that word. We've been running that since 1993! Pay up. Ashton, I know were you live.)

Anyhow, all I know is that I have this one in the bag. My proof from a recent conversation with my competition:

Me: "All you have to do is fax the form to the company and they'll take care of it."

Her: "Fax? I never used a fax before."

Me: "What? You've never faxed anything before?"

Her: "Nope."

Me: "What about for work?"

Her: "I have someone who does that for me. When I need something faxed, I call him. Hey you. Come here. Fax this to this person."

Case closed! This is too good to be making up...

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