Getting Well

Judging by the numerous emails I've been receiving, many of you are worried about my welfare since I haven't posted anything for a few months. This is to assure you that I'm fine. In fact,  I've never been better, and that goes double for my girlfriend, Sissy.

I recently alluded to the fact that I have been working, and that's technically true - I have been working on the perfect tan as well as working to be the best me I can possibly be (hey, look, I'm a rapper, yo). I've also been getting quite a few jobs from Sissy, and if the product of hard work is mental and physical exertion leading to utter exhaustion, this is easily the hardest work I've been doing :)

My road to self-improvement started around the same time Sissy's sister Spud received her medical marijuana card from the State of Arizona. As many of you know, Spud (pretty sure that's not her real name) is retarded developmentally challenged, and therefore a perfect candidate for this wonder drug. Spud found a doctor on Craigslist who wrote her a prescription and an hour later she showed up at our house with various medicines to treat any condition: CBD cream, THC gummy bears, some kind of smelly oil, as well as a bag of pot. I immediately told her to get that pot out of our house, as Sissy and I are former attics (me - Magic Marker, Sissy - Vagisil) and we don't tolerate that shit. 

My long-held suspicion that I have been suffering from PTSD as a result of being nearly smothered when Sissy passed out after eating a bunch of V turned out to be well-founded after only two gummy bears. For the first time in years, I felt truly alive. As I listened to an endless loop of 'Who Let The Dogs Out" by Baha Men, the music peeled away the layers of stress and anxiety that have made my life a living hell. Sissy experienced a similar healing after slathering herself with the jar of CBD cream, then lying naked in the backyard like a beached manatee so long she killed part of the lawn. Unfortunately, Spud showed little improvement after medicating herself with several doses of oil from a crack pipe - standing on the porch and cursing my neighbors at the top of her lungs until the police showed up and took her away. 

Now that we're on the road to good health, I need to do something to get money so Spud can get us more medicine. I'm really wanting a job that doesn't involve buckets of drool, squealing like a pig caught in a car door, followed by feelings of shame and hours of uncontrollable weeping. Maybe something like working in an office.