I applied for a job the other day at the Unicorn Meat Factory in Sacramento, California.

Yes, the factory that actually processes, pre-packages unicorn meat and then applies a crapload of Monosodium Glutamate (MSG) to prevent the meat from spoiling.. OR for taste. It’s then shipped out nationwide to several grocery stores for all those who wish to gluttonize.

Why did I apply for such a job?

I couldn’t find a job elsewhere so I figured – why not – I can possibly get a chance to work around unicorns. Maybe I can use a few for my Dung Beer concoctions … or I can just get a mouth watering tasty bite myself. It’s normal to eat unicorn meat right?

Well it turns out the last position for the job just got filled. A man who recently received his masters degree in swordsmithing was given the job to be the butcher.

What the fuck. This isn’t ancient Rome.

I confronted the guy who stole my potential job.

“Since when does a swordsmith become a butcher? Is there even a job market for a swordsmith? I think you’re in the wrong time period buddy.“, I blabbed.

“Since when does a Business Economics major apply for a butcher’s job?” he retorted.

Good point.

Besides my economics degree, the only real job I had since college was when I had to pose to be the Linsberry Doughboy. Yes that is me below – I had to erase the good part out. (What a shame).

Not exactly a resume builder.

That being said. Here’s where my main mini-story starts:

Addiction. I have this major addiction to buying things on my credit card and never paying it in FULL during that month, accruing high interest charges. My father is quite the opposite.

Everything he buys using his credit card, he pays right away the next day.

That totally defeats the purpose of a credit card, but whatever. The guy handles his money well.

But not me. Must be the Viking blood from my mom’s side of the family. I buy a pack of Starburst and I pay it back after 2 months. Why? Because I can.

Ok, maybe that’s exaggerating it a little.

Some say America is built on a system of credit. Well that’s where I found myself at – the Bank of Shitmerica credit union. I recently received a crap fee. Literally, I did. It says so in my bank statement right here:

I just had to know what this “crap fee” was about.

There I stand, paws sweating, my butt chin wiggling, at Bank of Shitmerica’s office headquarters, wasting away a beautiful day. I’m pissed about my 25 dollar crap fee. The receptionist stands there, staring at me blankly.

I’m not a mean guy, but since I’m pissed right now – I immediately wished I could shove a pair of dinosaur testicles down her throat.

“Umm .. Excuse me, why did I receive something called a crap fee?” I ask.

The receptionist takes my horribly printed out piece of crumpled paper and adjusts her glasses. After a moment of confusion, the frowning of her brow relaxed as if a light bulb clicked in her forehead.

“Aaaahhhh – see, here at the Bank of Shitmerica, we have what we call a ‘crap fee’.“

A pause. She was expecting a reply.

“Yes I am very well aware of that“.

“A crap fee – a crap fee occurs when you overuse your credit card. There is a limit to how many transactions allowed with your account here.“

My response was very similar to this:

“Waitaminute – don’t you guys get richer and richer the more times I use my credit card? Why would you limit the number of times I use my credit card as long as I’m making payments? How many transactions am I allowed per month?” I politely asked.

“That I don’t know and I can’t find out sir. But we can upgrade you to an ShitsExplosion account – which is our deluxe account and you have unlimited transactions.“

“Awesome! Sign me up so I can get back to credit whoring!” I piped happily.

That was not an exaggeration of my awesome chin.

“Yessir! That’ll be $24.95 monthly service fee for the ShitsExplosion account type. Should we bill you on your credit card?“

I’m going to have to pay TO pay?

I feel like banks are like the little kid in this situation below. You ask them for money in terms of credit, and they just take and take.

I was sick and tire of Bank of Shitmerica’s bullshit. I decided to call up my friend. He was a giant, looked like he was bred from Hagrid – from Harry Potter and that one ogre woman from Lord of the Rings – forgot her name. She was the kinda sexy one.

Back when I first met him, I kinda thought at first he would be as ugly as this:

We called him the Money Giant. Why? Because he was just awesome at helping people rob banks! He was a robber’s secret weapon!!

I decided to partner up with him so I can get ahead of the economy once more – at the quickest way known to man – by stealing it.

We scheduled a bank robbery. With the money giant on our side it was an easy thing to pull off.

On our way out, we just spilled money everywhere. People were happily grabbing money left and right. I felt like the modern day Robin Hood!

If only it could last longer. All of sudden, out of nowhere, a cannonball plummets through my partner’s head.

I could literally see through the hole on his forehead.

It took about 10 seconds for the blood to pour out – but pour out it did. It’s like the red blood cells in his forehead just wanted to escape. There was no stopping it.

Slap me with a dinosaur testicle, they used a fucking cannon ball.

I got in the car and ran for it. The cops saw me. Oh shit oh shit. I turned the corner as fast I could and made it home after several minutes of twist and turns.

Damn.

The cops were coming. I could hear their sirens. The money giant was already dead. All I needed to do was get rid of the evidence.

Considering I was already a heavy set man from drinking all that Dung Beer daily, I pondered:

What’s the best way to get rid of American dollars? The gluttonous part of my brain decided to take over.

“Eat it. Eat the money.” Said a voice from my head.

The cop sirens coming closer, I decided to indulge myself in a fat stack of cash.

I never knew money tasted so awesome! You should try it sometime just for the taste.

After eating for what seemed like hours, but in reality was only a few minutes, my stomach started to churn.

Uh oh. I’ve had this feeling before.. during my college days when I overdosed on Dung Beer constantly. It wasn’t a good feeling.

With its declining value in this crappy economy – the American dollar is clearly POISON for the body.

WAITAMINUTE! Maybe this way, I can solve my overweight problem that has plagued me for years. That ‘Positive Mindful Thinking 101‘ class my dad paid a 1000 bucks for during college was totally worth it!

I have never puked so much in life. I started to imagine the United States Federal Reserve System and the crappy things they have done with their money and just puked my guts out.

Almost done. My body is really starting to feel all that weight just disappearing into thin air.

Wow. I feel great. Never been this skinny in YEARS. Maybe I should turn this into one of those get rich quick fitness training programs!

With all the evidence down the kitchen sink, I jump out the window. Time to make a run for it while I can.

I feel devastated. I’m broke. No mo’ money for moi.

Moi? The French? That gives me an idea.

I buy some petite sized clothes and book a flight for Europe.

I arrive the next day. I acquire some Euros. But I don’t trust banks. I don’t trust storing money at home. I don’t trust anyone besides myself. What could I do?

Maybe its the Viking gluttonous ancestry in me but I immediately thought in terms of food dynamics. If the American dollar was poison – HEY!!! Maybe the Euro can be stored safely in my gastrointestinal tract without puking!

After all, the Euro does have a lot of value compared to crappy American dollars (as of early 2012).

I got a few bowls and made a nice crunchy bowl of Euro Currency cereal.

I just couldn’t stop eating.

I still had a lot of money left. So I blended and made a shake out of it. I could tell it was going down the gullet quicker!

I think I was getting dizzy. My addiction problem was kicking in again. I just needed more. I walked outside and saw someone paying for a shake.

What happens next – I just couldn’t help myself. I bit down right on the poor guy’s hand.

I just kept wandering around. Wandering, wandering.

I NEED MOAR!!! MOAR!!

My pointless wandering took a while. It became dark. I got lost.

What’s that I see ahead?

After grabbing the monies, I run. I run for dearest life. Oh help Jesus Christ.

After running for what seems like hours, I somehow find myself home.

Homeeee Sweeet Hommmeee! I need to rest.

I had the best sleep I had in days.. knowing my money was safe within my belly.

BUT…. after several hours, it turned out my digestive tract just couldn’t handle the pressure. Everything ended up going down the poop chute.

I guess I didn’t end up defeating the economy and I now finally found work as the author of “How to style your eyebrows with pig fat“.. but I definitely got an interesting story out of the experience.

Comments anyone? I would definitely appreciate the comments below.