Reach For The Stars! My Top 5 Dream Jobs

It’s important to have ambition in life. After all, ambition and a lack of empathy is all that separates successful, high-power, well-dressed millionaires from dirty street people like you or me. So, I decided that the sky’s the limit and the only limit to the sky is the limit a unicorn wishes on a dream…or something.

1. Film Noir Private Eye

“The name is Hardbody Nightstab, and I’ll find your missing father faster than you can say ‘genre stereotype’”

I never really wanted to be cop but there’s something undeniably alluring about the life of a jaded anti-hero who sits smoking cigars and drinking bourbon in a spartan office until interrupted by a beautiful woman in danger. You’d get to live in a time where drinking at work was the norm and fedoras hadn’t been ruined by hipster wannabes. Plus, you’d get to say cool things like “nice gams” or “twenty-three skiddoo” or “book ‘em, McQuaid”.

As an added bonus ‘The Caper Of The Purloined Platypus’ or whatever wacky case you end up on would probably take you to a cool, foreign location like the shadowy streets of Berlin, the shadowy catacombs of Paris, the shadowy alleyways of shadowy London, or even the shadowy shadows of Shadow City, Montana.

2. Personal Assistant, Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson

Ready to hit the club

This is a no-brainer. Look, The Rock is nowhere near my favorite actor or celebrity. That’s exactly why I could stand working for him – no weird issues with getting star-struck or having to worry about constantly impressing your hero. Just me and a beefy dude who probably really likes chimichangas. Can I fetch chimichangas and creatine powder for a living? You’re goddamn right I can. In many ways it’s the job I have the most experience preparing for in my short career.

AND it turns out we have the same birthday! So we’re primed to be best bros. As we became closer over the years I could probably end up the trusted source of advice for one of America’s biggest celebrities. Seriously, in terms of sheer mass, D-Rock is like 48 Anne Hathaway’s combined, or 14% of Hollywood’s total bulk.

3. Poetry Professor

It’s like if NPR became a person

This one hits a lot of my main interests: Pipes? Check. Tweed jackets with elbow patches? Check. Wood paneled offices? Check. Judging, critiquing, and chastising impressionable youth? Check. The best part about poetry specifically is that it’s so hard to tell what’s even good or bad. For instance, this is Eustace P. Shackleford’s Witter Bynner Poetry Prize-winning poem, Nature’s Bounty:

ketchup to my campaign, coupe the color of mayonnaise
I’m drunk and high at the same time, drinkin’ champagne on the airplane
Spit rounds like the gun range, beat it up like Rampage
Hundred bands, cut your girl, now your girl need a Band-Aid

Ok, so there is no person named Eustace P. Shackleford AND that was actually from 2Chainz’ verse on “Mercy” but you probably couldn’t even tell! And you’d definitely believe a professor at your prestigious community college if you were some dumb 19 year old. All in all, a great gig for a disingenuous person of middling intelligence such as myself and that’s really what I’m looking for at this point in my life.

4. Cheesemonger

Look at how happy this  side-burned motherfucker looks right now

I don’t even know how you become a cheese-monger. Is there a school? Do you have to take a cheese test? Do you just become one once you have over one metric ton of cheese? If it’s the last one then this is totally doable because I’m pretty sure I’m close.

I can’t imagine spending all day around cheese and being unhappy. Plus you get to be a “monger” which sounds cool and I’ve always had the same attitude about fish and war: only good once in a while under very special circumstances. So cheese it is. God I’m so hungry right now.

5. NY Post Headline Writer

Pictured: the death of journalism

The only thing I love more than cheese is puns, which is why I am insufferable. I can think of no institution as equally committed to laziness and puns at others’ expense than the hot garbage rag known as the New York Post. Can you imagine the kind of sweaty sleazeballs that must roam its halls? I could be one of them!! I’m already sweating just thinking about it.

In an age of increasing scrutiny about the role that the press and media play in our public affairs it would be nice to make puns about butts and the MTA for a living. Leave the big questions to the eggheads with a vocabulary who read the New Yorker and the Times.

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