Growing up is tough, unless you’re a gynecologist

Hi Gang. It’s me, J. Williamez. I’m back for yet another edition of my weekly column “Good and Evil with J. Williamez” (because there are clearly not enough people complaining about it to make the editors force me to stop).

Today I’d like to talk to you all about the virtues and evils of employment. I’m choosing this topic because, this past week, I finally got a job. This is something I’ve been talking about doing (while secretly promising myself I would never do) since the last time I had a job which was about three years ago. Since then I’ve made a living playing what I like to call “cock and ball music,” but what could also be called offensive musical comedy, every Monday night at Shannon’s Irish Pub. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a pretty sweet deal. I get to have a lot of fun doing that stuff. For example, next Monday (March 30), I’m having a Projectile Party, which means I’ll be bringing my crappy guitar and I’ll be encouraging people to throw foodstuffs at me while I play. It should be a lot of fun.

But the time has finally come for me to start thinking about acting like a grown up – for me to really buckle down and become a productive member of society. Maybe I’ll buy a car, and get myself a nice mortgage on a little house with a white picket fence and then have a couple of kids. Or I guess I could always start an expensive heroin habit with the money I’ll be making. Who knows? Anyway, my point is that it’s time for me to grow up, and by that, of course I mean make a ton of money.

When I was young, I thought that having a job was just something grown up people did because they had finally grown weary of running around playing all day and was therefore none of my business. Whenever someone asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up I always said that I didn’t know, but secretly I knew that this was a silly question due to the fact that I was never going to grow up. As it turns out however, I was wrong. I clearly did grow up. I grew up into a big mature man with a moustache who plays songs about pee pees and wee wees who still giggles when he farts, even while completely alone.

That’s why I got a job. Now I can do grown-up things like commute to and from work, buy groceries and complain about my job. I know there are some people who don’t complain about their jobs, because they actually like their jobs, but these people are called gynecologists, and we can’t all be gynecologists because there is only so much gynecologizing that needs to be done. So the rest of us will just have to suffer through. I know I will. I start my new job tomorrow. It won’t be that bad, though. I’m sure I’ll get used to the working life. Plus, the pay is pretty decent. I just never thought that I, J. Williamez, would ever end up as an assistant gynecologist. Life can be surprising, I guess.

J. Williamez is a local musician. You can catch him every Monday at Shannon’s Irish Pub where he complains about his job, or, at your local gynecologist’s office.

Published in Volume 63, Number 25 of The Uniter (March 26, 2009)

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