Someday you’ll open your own restaurant.
That’s the dream, anyway. I mean, you’ve got your "signature" dish that hasn’t crapped out on you the six times you’ve tried making it; you’ve got the various bartending contrivances that you bought in anticipation of all those glamourous parties you were going to throw, the steady absence of which having left your shakers & shot-glasses moribund with dust; you’ve got buddies who want to hang out and watch The Game at a place they can call their own, and you’ll be pulling in so much cash that you’ll FOR SURE cover them when they stop paying their tab because they know the owner...
That sucks, doesn’t it? Your friends not giving as much of a shit as you thought they would about you owning your own crappy restaurant?
Fuck that!
Instead, impress your friends again by becoming an online "writer"!
Yeah!
All you have to do is set up your own free blog, cover it with ads, and take advantage of "pay-per-post", the newest, most exciting, insidiously corrupting fad now sweeping the Interweb!
Now, rather than incessantly harping about your visions of that sports-bar that you will never get off the ground, you can tell all your co-workers that you’re an "author" with your very own "column"! Best of all, you’ll brag, YOU’RE GETTING PAID TO DO IT!
Imagine it: coming home after a "hard" day at the office, ignoring your shallow wife and under-attended children, popping onto the Internet, where they’re just handing out free money, and write about the new Tom Clancy novel, leaving us in suspense with your soon-to-be-famous tagline, "But That’s Me...Why Don’t You Go Pick Up a Copy and See For Yourself"...then sit back and count up your winnings that should be nowhere-near enough to offset your losses at online Texas Hold ‘Em.
You’re a "professional" blogger who hides your advertising "artfully" in your page design, and you have a legion of accidental "fans" disgusted by your small-time money-grubbing and outright transparency!
Awesome!
Way to go!
It’s a win-win!
Whore!
[A Cherubic Old Britisher spies a comely Young Lass and makes his play]
COB:
Might I interest you in a randy roll in the hay...if I were to hand you one million pounds?
Young Lass:One million pounds? Well...
[looks him over]
...that really is a lot of money.
[pause; much deliberation]
All right.
COB:I’ve changed my mind, unfortunately. I’d like to rescind my offer...
[roots around in his pockets]
...and instead suggest the same hay-roll, but for this ten-pound note?
[waves money in air]
Young Lass:Ten pounds? That’s insulting! What manner of girl do you think I am?
COB:Well, my dear, we already know what you are...now we’re just negotiating price.
Paraphrased quote from parts unknown.
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