Career Aids

Cough...

A year ago, our employment was skipping queerly on a charmed career path, wrapped in flowing shrouds made from the finest compliments and toting a wicker basket bloated with wildly over budgeted CapEx projects and a healthy regional expansion outlook.

If you need our career today, its lying under a wet pile of crimson stained needle tips in a Detroit railyard squatter's nest wincing hysterically for more sweet horse. Our mom has already knitted a quilt patch for our current job, but denies this anticipatory action to prevent us from tossing all hope in front of a coal train run off tracks. We sit beside our sallow, emaciated profession at community clinics with sole aim in gaining enough free trial opiates to grind up, blend with a 5th of Military Special and funnel choking until coma.

We'd throw our face in this bucket if you'd promise to buy something this month.

We've got the career AIDs, but we got it from a transfusion, so we aren't definitely spending eternity in an evangelical hellfire playing heads-up 5 card stud against Boy George's libido for escorts. It was a transfusion of management which invaded our living utopia, propelling a blanket of frozen bricks at sales funnels with hooded prejudice. The old partners from Philadelphia think this style of management is a bit unfair.

We aren't the only wretches suffering from this viral coup. In fact there has been a veritable holocaust of casualties. You have to look hard past shallow attempts at hiding their deep facial bruisings and vast territorial yeast infections to observe the signs of plague, but its there. If sales orders are lifesavers, then jobs have been tethered to many a slow sinking boulder in open waters form months.

The only fix for this affliction is to rip a page from Magic Johnson's playbook and heave weighty bricks of cash in its general direction. By cash we mean bags of sales and yes, we're saying Magic Johnson cured AIDs with platinum smoothies* and diamond suppositories*, its fact, its science, its the NBA on TNT.

This guy has the HIV like we have Godzilla's tail in the front of our pants.

*We know there are no such things. Ervin cured his HIV with an amalgam of Chilean organs, chai tea and a kingdom of breaded protein.