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Need Management

I had an unrestricted childhood.


I didn't have to go to any club meets or practices or organized hobbies. No 4H or sunday school or soccer practice or chemistry club. Not for this little bear cub-no sir.

I decided to sell clay figurines of people's dogs when I was 8ish. I made friendship bracelets for myself and I made tiny paper cranes out of decorative paper then covered them in clear nail polish and made them into earrings. Everything I did, I did for me. I did for profit. I wanted to buy snow globes. And I did. I bought the fuck out of some snow globes.

That was the last time that I can remember where I had made something of myself.

Well, now I've got nothing. I've got no organizational skills to speak of. I don't even have any more snow globes.

But I can still make those dog statues. Only those dog statues are metaphors now. Sexy sassy hip metaphors.


I need somebody who can manage all of my affairs for me. I need somebody who can see the fact that I am a profitable source, waiting to be syphoned by several different corporate mouths. I am too ridiculous too do this.

Look, the only reason I might say that my creativity and word bonanzas are priceless is because there isn't an asking price. Rich people don't know I exist.

And the ones who do are painfully shy. Probably.


OR ELSE GET AT ME. Or does my ART offend you?! Frivolous philistine-back to your cave.


I need a person to who knows everybody who wants me to know these same people. Who wants to make them buy all the non-products I have to offer so that a we can swim in a pool of crude oil together.


I would sleep with this person. Preferably, they would be male. But I will also make love to a woman with strong arms. There's no better way to establish an outstanding business partnership than through DADT fucking. This has been true since the dawn of P.R.


But look- if you're great with business, you like my writings, you like my titty-meat ( R.I.P. PATRICE), you aren't rucking fetarded or anything like that, then please...manage me somehow... I don't really know how.


Negotiate with the Devil for me please.

Comments

  1. You don't need a manager, just follow this process:

    1. Figure out how much money you need to afford the lifestyle you want.

    2. Find a job that you would enjoy doing.

    3. If the job in step 2 pays more than the price in step 1, proceed to step 4. Otherwise, go back to step 2.

    4. Do you have a reasonable chance of earning the money from step 2? (Is it not art, professional sports, ...?) If not, treat it as a hobby until it starts paying the bills and go back to step 2. Otherwise, proceed.

    5. Do what it takes to get the job.

    Note: If you are having trouble making it past steps 3 and 4, it might be beneficial to reevaluate step 1.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Nah. ^^Fuck that.^^ Thats too much step following. Follow THESE steps:

    1. Find u a drug dealer & befriend him/her

    2. Get some product on consignment until you can get the product w/ your own $$$.

    3. Get your OWN product...& hustle the fuck outta that product.

    4. If steps 1-3 dont work...become a stripper.

    Note: If none of these steps work...you're doing somethin' wrong.

    ReplyDelete
  3. I would make a terrible drug dealer. I have poor business management skills and very little will power.

    I might be a decent stripper. Provided I work at a strip club where the majority of the women are either disabled or queefing dust.

    ReplyDelete
  4. I think both of you missed step number 2, which happens to be the most important one. Drug dealing is great until you start making real money, then you gotta deal with the feds and people trying to steal your shit, and nobody enjoys stripping.

    What are you doing these days anyway? I would love to catch up with you, but it looks like Im gonna have to be a stranger for the time being.

    ReplyDelete
  5. You know her? You lucky bastard! Why in the hell are you anonymous?

    ReplyDelete

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