Get a job - Na-na-na-na Na-na-na-na-na-na

So I'm reading about all these weird job titles: Apparently, there are jobs out there that you wont find at your local job fair:

Banana Gasser - Well, I think we all know what we THINK this job is all about, but the actual description is breathtakingly boring. I think we'd rather use our imagination and snicker or cringe. Or both.

Wrinkle Chaser - You might know it by its scientific name: Anna Nicole Smith.

Snake Milker - Isn't it funny that I'm looking to hire someone for this myself?

We've all had odd jobs in our lives. My first job was sanding down old Corvettes in a body shop when I was 16. It constituted getting high on paint fumes, sanding holes in my fingers till I hit marrow, and drinking coffee that apparently was made on a dare. It was miserable. You'd be amazed how many ways you could absolutely destroy yourself working in a place like that. It was a psycho-killer's dream. I could see it now: Friday the 13th's Jason driving down the road with his family. The kids with their hockey masks pressed against the window shouting, "Dad! Dad! Can we? Can we?" Then have Jason and his wife exchange meaningfully plastic glances before he pulls over the family minivan and into our shop.

No, wait. I had a job before that, too. It was also an odd job. I don't know exactly what to call it. Janitorial services? Office cleaning? Maintenance? How about "Drive around in a cavernous utility van at 2 am with five scary-looking people who you find out later are all on prison work-release and could snap as one of them buries a pick-axe into my skull."? Yeah, that's more like it. I was being carted around in a van that was disposable enough to burn and bury with me in it, all around the county, with the chorus line of "Genghis Khan - The Musical," and repenting my sins to God. Actually, it wasn't too bad. Aside from the casual drug use and heroic portions of Budweiser being consumed by my co-workers, it was actually decent. I lasted a night. I was even part of the notorious Night Crew Candy Bar Ring. We robbed that supermarket blind. Of course, I was a minor, so my record's clean.

Hold on. I had a job before that, too. I was a paperboy for The Philadelphia Bulletin. Don't go looking for it at ecola.com because the paper went out of business in the early 1980s. Now I know your first instinct would be to blame me for that, and maybe you're justified, but my management skills at 11 consisted only of knowing how many strikes made an out. My buddy, Ray, and I shared the route. More often than not, Ray would take advantage of the opportunity to steal hood ornaments from cars, turn off the power in the apartments, and stick nails against the tires of cars in the neighborhood - all while casually telling me about the movie he watched on HBO the night before. But the papers always made it there on time.

I think I'd like to create my own job titles. Something like "Money Spender," "Strip Club Quality Assurance," or "Playboy-Model-Strength Viagra Tester." No need to worry about benefits. The job itself would be the benefit. Then again, I could be a writer. All I need is the opportunity.

And the talent.