I'm reporting on people arguing about garbage. Sigh

What did I do to deserve this, reader? Huh? What did I do to almighty God that was so bad that he decided to drop this pile of misfortune on me? Is it because I don't go to church? That's real mature of you, God. Y'know, if I had a birthday party and invited you, and you didn't show up to tell me how great I am and kiss my ass for a few hours, I wouldn't get all pissy about it. There's plenty of other people to worship you, y'know. You don't have to sit around being obsessed with me all the time.

Now give me a Corvette, a case of Pilsner Urquell, and Elisha Cuthbert.

I SAID NOW, DAMN IT!

Whew. I feel better now. Thanks for letting me vent like that, reader. I'm a little bitter today, because I have reached a new low at The Newspaper^TM - which employs me. Today I'm reporting on a subject so ridiculous that it even embarrasses me.

I didn't mind reporting on boring city council zoning issues, or every new pastor who comes to town, or the smelly people on the bus who scowled at me and called me names when I asked them why they ride the bus. But this is even worse. Today I'm reporting on people arguing about garbage.

Normally, I'd find a story like this comical. But the story is just making me depressed. I mean, when the stories I'm writing for my paid job start sounding like the columns I write for this website, something's gone wrong.

You see, reader, there's Fun Paul and Professional Paul. These two sides of me work great when separated, but they hate each other. When I come home from work, Fun Paul gets mad and wonders where the hell I've been all day. When the articles I write at work are absurd and laughable, Professional Paul gets bitter and wonders why he isn't reporting on something that matters, like the fact that 90% of Americans are extremely unhappy with healthcare, and the politicians are just playing "kiss the asses of the elderly people" so they won't have to do anything to fix the majority of the problem, which is the substandard healthcare of middle-aged and young people.

But instead, I'm writing about people who like to argue about garbage. No, not people who fight over garbage - that would actually be interesting - I'm talking about people who argue about it in a civil manner. I've done enough "look how weird small town people are" stories to choke a porn star, and cramming this particular article down the tramp's throat is proving to be a challenge.

Metaphorically speaking, of course. I don't get paid enough to afford anything besides metaphorical hookers.

As of this moment, I am encouraging my readers to come to The Town Where I Work^TM and do one of the following things so I'll have something interesting to write about:

· Murder someone
· Murder someone with a plastic spork (bonus points)
· Create an outbreak of syphilis among area teens
· Vomit on a baby
· Sit in the library and make farting sounds with your armpit until they kick you out. Do this every day for a week so the staff calls the cops
· Wear a black mask on your face and run around the city screaming, "I'm platitudinous man!" When people ask what "platitudinous" means, laugh heartily and refuse to tell them.
· Do anything besides go to work or walk your dog all day. That's all people do here. Seriously