I found my dream job!

Funny Pictures


But before I get into that, let me tell you about raincoaster.

Not this one.

This one:

Username: raincoaster19 Jan 2008
Gender: Man Income: Please ask me Age: 55 Located in: Abbotsford, NA, Canada Title:
New register member of nudistfriends.com. – http://www.NudistFriends.com/

Just for the record and so there is no confusion, that is not me. Nor is the one in the Tiffany Pollard sex tape.

No, for realz.

Now, where was I? Ah, yes, pontificating about having found my dream job. Longtime raincoaster fans (at least, fans of THIS raincoaster, not those ones) will know that the liquor cabinet (okay, safe) at global HQ is not quite as full as it could be, owning to a tragic lack of prosperitousness; indeed, it could well be said that, most remarkable among my many in-and-of-themselves-remarkable talents is the ability to avoid so much as the very appearance of capitalizing on any of the other skills and abilities, let alone the actuality of theredoing.

Even my marvelous tits.

Consequently, I have pursued many strange and increasingly bizarre job opportunities. There was the time the Russian Mafia wanted to hire me to write high school essays to be sold online; it took quite a bit of doing, including the doing of threatening an EI officer with arrest, which is, frankly, something I do not generally restrain myself from when it is good and warranted, and, indeed, enjoy, to get the dadgum gummint to admit that I couldn’t be thrown off EI for refusing to accept an illegal job with the kneecappers from Moscow. There was Occupational Pursuit, the magazine for job hunters, which commissioned several months’s columns in advance of publication and then went belly-up before opening its doors. There was the Spiderwick resume, of which I am still justly proud and convinced that thing wouldn’t be DOA if they’d hired me. There was the pitch for an online Daily Prophet, complete with really-quite-amusing-and-pitch-perfect-if-I-do-say-so-myself columns from Snape and Hagrid which I note I have failed to post on this blog, an omission which shall soon be rectified for lo, they are very funny.

There was this.

But, at last, there was The Manolo. And he said unto me, go forth and post! Save the little chillens from the scourge of Crocs! And he saideth also unto moi, ayyyy, I tire of sifting through Britney’s crotch shots and we all know what your standards are like, so would you manifest thy superfantasticness and take this spiritual burden off my hands? and so it came to pass.

But it was not enough.

Soon, very soon, I shall be babysitting a blogging lab on behalf of the Fearless City project, although what I shall do if it happens to fall on the 21st of February I do not know, for verily it is completely unthinkable that I shall miss a tiki party, particularly one with a buffet. But it’s money, blog money, which is better than blood money if a few orders of magnitude less lucrative.

But, alas, today my very favoritest kind of client, the kind who is nice and friendly and dutiful and who thinks I am a genius and who always pays in cash, immediately, bailed fifteen minutes before the meeting. So there goes the budget for this week.

So, today I find a dream job posted. Really, truly: a dream job. God knows, I’m agnostic when it comes to riches, so they don’t factor into the equation here. But it’s an incredibly high-profile, paid, full-time blogging gig at a place where I’m already somewhat known (Denton was my first follower, although whether that’s good or bad is anyone’s guess) where I know about the management and staff, and it is a site that I adore. That’s the good news.

The bad news is, anyone taking this position is essentially stepping over the still-twitching corpse of Mark Lisanti, perhaps the best writer in the blogosphere. Maybe it was murder; maybe it was suicide. Maybe he’s following his dream and the Sanjaya tour bus to strip malls across the continent. Who knows?


But the net effect is, rather than slavering over my keyboard as I frantically surf through the blogs for writing samples of the very cleverest link roundup in the history of gossip blogs as I have done for so many other Gawker Media openings, I find myself wishing for a monstrously large bottle of Jack Daniels to drink down and then crawl inside and sob.

So, fuck that with a chainsaw.

I’m going for this job instead.

Job specs: work vampire hours, take no shit, bust balls, wear fabulous clothes, attack people inferior to me, then tie them up and ignore them and get paid $185 per hour plus tips. And since it looks like one of their staff will be away on hiatus for 5-15, it’s got a solid future.

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Lolrus sushi: all ur wasabi r b-long 2 us



As our devoted stalkers are aware, some time ago the ol’ raincoaster, through no fault of her own, joined the ranks of the gainfully employed. It was a Teeny disruption, which, like so many an apparently-minor event, began a slide down a slippery slope; she may even end up respectable one day!

In the course of such employment, she not infrequently stumbles across posts of genuine interest, sprinkled between the millions generic “Britney Does Something Scandalous/Angelina Walks On Water, Gives It To Dehydrated Africans” headlines.

This post by the Mr. Henry on the Manolofood blog is just such an one.

Walrus. Fucking. Turducken. Sushi.

Aged walrus fucking turducken sushi.

Pass teh bucket!

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