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If You're Hiring, I Need A Job, And I Don't Mean Maybe

Hola amigos. How's your bacon shakin'? I know it's been a long time since I rapped at ya, but I've had the weight of the world resting on my shoulders.

First off, I messed up my car, but good. See, there was this party at the old quarry the other day, and you know how those things go. Ordinarily, I got better things to do than hang out with a bunch of losers in a quarry, but my younger cousin invited me, so I figured I'd show up and give these kids a thrill.

Well, if you've ever been to a quarry party, you know how it goes: Hush-hush is the word. You gotta park your car way off the road so no one can tell what's going on. Once you go in, there's beer flowing like water, and Jim Anchower is always up for consuming free beer.

Anyway, I had an ace parking spot way off the main road on an old dirt trail that no one but me knows about. I park at the end of the trail and make the quarter-mile hike to the party. Seein' as how it was mostly uphill, I was pretty winded by the time I got there. I'm no pussy or anything, it's just that it was dark and uphill, so don't go talking any trash about me.

When I get there, my cousin spots me right away and hands me an ice-cold Miller Genuine Draft. He tells me that everyone else is drinking Bud Ice, but he knows where my preferences lie. He's a good kid. Someday I'll take him under my wing and teach him all there is to know about cruising.

After a few sips of brew, I start looking around. Just like I figured, there were a bunch of losers there, only they were cranking some pretty good tunes, so I thought, cool, I can hang for a while. No sooner than I start my second beer, though, when some kid runs up, screaming, "Cops! Everybody ditch!" Now, I got no fear of the cops, as you well know, but the last thing I need is to get busted with a bunch of losers because some kid couldn't keep his damn mouth shut.

So I grab my cousin, who got a ride there from some dude who ditched him, and I start running to my car. But when I get into the car and start it up, I see the cops have got the search lights out to round up kids, so I can't go out the way I came. Fucking pigs! They can't even let a bunch of losers drink beer in peace in an abandoned quarry. They suck!

The only way out from there was forward, so forward we went. The way I figured it, we'd have to drive through the woods 'til we came out on the Ferguson farm about half a mile away. Then we could go through the field, pull onto the road, and drive past the scene of the crime to survey the mayhem. My cousin's never done anything like this, so he's freaking out like nobody's business. I tell him to simmer down, and I start driving.

After two hours of 10 mph driving, I have no idea where we are. All I know is, we're in some valley. I stop the car to regain my cool, and my cousin comes out to see if he can figure out which end is up. So he looks around and says, "Hey, there's the road up there." Sure enough, I see a road at the top of the hill. Now, I have no idea what road it is, but anything's gotta be better than driving around in some valley with your head up your ass.

So we get back in the car and start inching our way up the hill. When get about 20 yards from the top, I figure I'll give my cousin a thrill. "Hang on," I say to him, "'cause we're gonna catch some air!" I floor it so we can jump out onto the road. What I didn't count on was some old stump being in the way. Good thing I had just started to rev her up, otherwise the car would have been a total. As it was, I totally fucked up the radiator, so we had to drive super-slow and coast as much as possible to make it to town.

Fortunately, I got a friend at this garage who lets me stash my wheels there any time, no questions asked. But I still gotta find a new radiator—what a pain in the ass! That leaves me without wheels until I get it fixed, and without wheels I can't get to my foundry job just outside of town. I called in sick the first day, then on the second day I told 'em my grandma died and I had to take some time off for grieving and shit.

Then, the week after that, I call in sick again, and they ask what I got, all suspicious-like. I tell them I got diabetes, and that shut them up fast. I probably coulda gotten away with it for a while, but I got ratted on by some bootlicker at work who spotted me at this junkyard, and they canned my ass the very next day. If I ever find out who it was, I'm going to have a gentleman's talk with him and kick his ass, no two ways about it.

Now I got no job and no money to pay for repairs, so there's nothing to do but make this plea: If you have a job available, I'll take it. I have a lot of experience doing all kinds of stuff, and I'm desperate. Plus, I got this column, so I could plug the place here and get you some free publicity. But if it's a job selling clothes, forget it. Jim Anchower doesn't sell clothes, and don't you ever forget it.

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