Not a whole lot, it turns out. All you plebians out there working your coffee shop jobs and squirting liquids into testtubes might have a leg up on me monetarily, but I have found my calling!
And no, it's not being a pundit. I wanted that for a while but found that it doesn't quite work to just stand outside the NewsCORP building in NYC yelling opinions. In fact they sent quite a nice young man named Daniel outside to escort me out of sight into a small black room, where I was given a Wendy's double cheeseburger and a shot of gin (homemade in the bathtub, I believe!) in exchange for my silence.
Fat lot of good that did 'em. Tasty though.
No, my calling is to help people, and I will start by resurrecting this edifice of shame that one calls a blog, remolding it in my Easter-Island-Head-esque image, and foisting it upon your unprepared psyches. But someone's gotta bust you out of your every day dime-an-hour existence, don't they? Your sad, lonely, pathetic, flaccid, magenta existence?
Too much.
I promise I won't always be that cruel, America. I'm just still in a bad mood from parking.
RJC
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