“Ask not who let the dogs out, but rather who locked the dogs in?”

When I was a boy, I was told by my fifth grade teacher that I would either be the President of the United States(POTUS) or I would be a bum. Well the jokes on her because I am neither. I know what your probably thinking, “But Bill, I’m sure I voted for you in the last general election and I’m pretty sure you won the popular vote”. Well the joke is now on you good sir or beautiful lady, because the popular vote means nothing. Fucking stupid electoral college. Don’t blame me, blame the Twelfth Amendment. Or you might be thinking, “Didn’t I see you begging for spare change while wearing a bathrobe outside the Piggly Wiggly the other day?” No that wasn’t me. First of all I don’t have a bathrobe. Secondly there are no Piggly Wigglys Wigglies Whatevers in my neck of the woods. Not that I live in the woods, as far as you know. Anyway I thought I could compare the two career paths and see which side of things I ended closer to. I say ended, but I probably have a few good months left in me. With that said, let the self-flagellation begin. (Editors note: I’m not talking about a particular party or a particular president, just the actual job of President)

Point #1- The POTUS rides in style. A luxury bulletproof limousine with a posse packing a pantload of power, whilst a bum usually relies on his getaway sticks as a primary mode of transportation when not riding cross-country in a boxcar. I’ve seen them congregate in groups with an undetermined amount of firepower and assorted weaponry…….Me: I drive a 2003 Nissan Altima, sans posse and weaponry. Once again, as far as you know. My car is very much like a limo…Kind of… Sort of……Not really. While not bulletproof nor claiming to be, I once had a rock or road debris of undetermined size and structure hit the windshield while driving on the highway and I emerged unscathed. At least physically. I do use my getaway sticks to work the gas and/or brake pedal based upon whether I want to speed up or slow down. Sorry, I don’t mean to get all technical on you.
Career assessment= POTUS BUM

Point #2- The POTUS wears fine suits made of fabulous materials gathered and hand-woven by only the most reliable and highly sought after child slaves that the third world can offer. A bum wears tattered old rags made of simple cottons and polyesters and/or plastic bags collected and stapled and/or duct taped together by less reliable third world child slaves, most likely hired by a temp agency. Some of them might even be from the fourth world. Face it guys, nothing is made in America anymore…. Me: I have upwards of two pairs of shoes, three pairs of pantaloons, and a veritable cornucopia of t-shirts. Some even fit me. Most of them are cotton, but I’ve been known to sport a poly-lycra blend from time to time, now and again.
Career assessment= POTUS BUM

Point #3- The POTUS makes an annual salary of $400,000. They also have their expenses(housing, travel, sexy hooker bitches, recreational drugs, ice cream sammidges, etc.) paid for while in office. They also can make quite a bit of lootcakes after leaving office through speaking engagements, public appearances, reality tv shows, and scratch tickets.I heard the President gets free scratch tickets for life in any state. I don’t know if that’s valid in Alaska and Hawaii. A bum typically makes significantly less money than the POTUS, although cashing in empty cans and stolen catalytic converters can be a lucrative enterprise on its own while also helping and hurting the environment at the same time. So it’s a Win/Win/Lose…… Me: None of your fucking beeswax dudes.
Career assessment= POTUS BUM

Point #4- POTUS lives in opulence at 1600 Pennsylvania Ave. in Washington D.C. The White House. You’ve heard of it, no? Listen, I can’t tell you 98% of my friends addresses without consulting some sort of internet search engine or using my phone a friend lifeline. But I know that fucking address off the top of my skull. I’ve never lived there or used it as a forwarding address. I may have, as a smaller pre-pubescent version of myself, sent in fake subscription cards to Tiger Beat or Playgirl magazines using that address and a fake name such as Dr. Thaddeus T. Thunderfunk, Esq. But that’s what kids do. No harm no foul, ghost of Ronald Reagan….When you think of a bum you think of a cardboard box, or a tent, or homeless shelter. I shouldn’t say “when you think”, I should say when I think. I don’t want to be presumptuous enough to put my thoughts inside your brain basket. You’re your own you. Me my own mine. But we can agree you probably can’t name a bums address. All the famous bums lived like that though, on the road, unfettered by domesticity. You know that guy from that movie, and that other dude……Me: I own a house that I live in with my lovely wife, and I can recite the address on demand. As long as I have my drivers’ license or piece of mail with me.

Career assessment= POTUS BUM

Point#5-My teacher was a bitch. I mean, I guess you could say I was a class clown. But I always hated that term because you can’t spell class clown without ass clown. I don’t want to be an ass clown, in 5th grade or present tense. But how could she tell me something like that? For making a joke? For mocking my ABC’s, my 123’s, or my do-re-mi’s? For that she pretty much calls me a “fucking stupid ass clown” (her words) in front of the entire class, the teachers assistant, and I think the school janitor might have been there too. Oh and the class guinea-pig. We called him guinea-pig. I loved him. That’s what hurt the most. Shortly after this incident guinea-pig died. Of a broken heart you ask? Maybe. Maybe it was starvation, maybe a little of both. No autopsy was performed. He went to his grave, to meet his God or Allah or Buddha or whatever deity a rodent believes in(probably Mickey Mouse) thinking that his best friend in the whole wide world was a “fucking stupid ass clown”. I live with that to this day.

But that was the ’80’s. People did all sorts of fucked up shit back then. I remember sitting in the Emergency Room having an asthma attack and my mother sitting next to me chain-smoking Pall Malls. INSIDE THE FUCKING HOSPITAL!!! Those were the times, and it was awesome. A teacher could tell a dumb kid he was on the batting end of a no-hitter and no one would blink an eye. Just put him in special ed and be done with him. Well goddamnit, I am special! I will get elected, Mrs. Whateveryournamewas. Then I’ll show you. I’ll show you all….. in my second term. Always think ahead.

Career assessment= I should have been a fifth grade teacher. In the ’80’s.

I heart you guinea-pig.

I’m Bill McMorrow and I approved this message.

2 responses »

  1. Smaktakula says:

    So much depends on your definition of bum. For example, my (now sadly-late) uncle joined a wacky religious commune years ago, and occasionally he would come visit. Although he got out of it on his own and went on to a successful career in software, I remember my dad, when chastising me would ask, “Do you want to end up a goddamn bum like your uncle?”

    Except for the religious part, I wouldn’t mind being that kind of bum for a few years as a young man. The other kind comes with too many open sores and angry junkyard dogs.

    • billmcmorrow says:

      Very true Smak. I’m pretty sure my teacher was talking about a “penniless, living in a cardboard box” type of bum. But a successful software designing bum wouldn’t be bad. Also without the religious part. Hahaha

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