March On Amigo

“I hate to advocate drugs, alcohol, violence, or insanity to anyone, but they’ve always worked for me.” – An esteemed journalist and philosopher.

I was in a dark place, ripped apart between my debilitating addiction to Pina Colada milkshakes and the rat race. Greed found me a job I hated, with people I despised, and a town I did not fit in. In Heber City, the Mormon stronghold of Utah, I lived in a cubical of sadness. I was a construction management bitch monkey, paid to double check that the bills remained unpaid and ensure Honey Bucket knew which gate to drop off the shit house. Surrounded by sticky notes and divorced fathers, I was en route for a psychotic break. My evenings were spent at Dairy Keen sucking down milkshakes and sorrow until I drove home, wishing I resembled the deer that littered the ditch of the dark country road I took refuge on. I lived for these milkshakes, but after I had cleaned the bottom perimeter of my glass, I noticed the uncanny resemblance between the empty vessel and my soul. I was ready to close the curtains when I made a discovery that saved my life, cocaine.

For those who do not know, cocaine is free happiness, a tool for every social situation and job. The greats utilized this substance to touch the hearts of millions. Investment bankers of Manhattan’s financial district learned that a dime bag of Columbia marching powder can turn millions of shareholder dollars into billions. For free. After inspiration from Eric Clapton’s song “Cocaine”, curiosity struck the cat. I took a deep dive into the history of the substance, and I discovered why the little white powder terrified the masses. In the 1980’s, Ronald Regan founded the D.A.R.E program, under the banner of the war against drugs, but since this program, the wealth gap has increased. The D.A.R.E. program was a war against poor people. I now knew what differentiated the rich from the tattered blue collars of the American working class.

Upon this discovery, I drove straight to Park City and the OG bathroom of O’Shucks Bar & Grill, where I knew the locals scored big. My first taste of freedom was off the sacred toilet seat, and my life went up. The white power coated the inside of my nostrils and brought forth clarity and understanding to my life. I now know I was created for a higher purpose. I professed this discovery to the first person that would listen to my pure mind, even if the plebeian could never understand. Poor souls will come home to unpaid bills, wishing they knew the secret of saving up for a house and finding money for Christmas presents that showed their children they really loved them.

No more milkshake cravings, and my job became a passion project. Office drama was a fixation. I felt like Joseph Smith himself. I confined my darkest secrets to the office as they listened, eyes wide, holding intently on to each word. I set my aims high; I will own this company and bring new levels of prosperity. We will expand into hats, real estate, and ending human suffrage. But fate twisted when a few of the office fucking plebeians conspired against my success. They manipulated the boss, and I was laid off. I had never been so devastated, but a quick bathroom bump brought the situation into perspective. They do not deserve me here. I am on to greater things without them.