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…was my last day at a horrible job at “The Other Paper” in Columbus, Ohio.

I knew it was time to quit when I began considering purposefully getting into a car accident on my way to work just so I wouldn’t have to go in. That, and I began routinely drinking on the job, hiding a beer or mixed drink in my travel mug, sipping it (and refilling it) throughout the day.

The reasons for it being a shitty job were definitely there. First, the owner was a monster; he once told me that if I didn’t have something to work on that I should fake working on something so he felt better about paying me. Second, my direct boss, who also happened to be the daughter of the aforementioned monster owner, wasn’t qualified to tie her own shoes let alone be placed in charge of anyone. And third, it was thankless. I once asked for a raise only to be told that if I thought I was worth more than what I was getting, I could look elsewhere for employment. “Those who can do better move on,” the owner explained to me. “Those who can’t stay here.”

Way to push for total mediocrity, pal.

In the months leading up to my last day I saved up as much money as I could. By the time I gave my two weeks I had accumulated a little over $1,000. That doesn’t even cover a full month’s worth of rent now, but back then it gave me enough cash to pay all rent, bills and necessary expenses (food and booze, mostly) for three whole months.

“At the very least,” I remember thinking, “I’ll get another summer vacation out of it.”

Outside of my parents, I’ve admittedly always had a bit of a problem with authority. I don’t like being told what to do. I remember my dad yelling at me once because I disregarded a warning from one of my middle school teachers. I don’t remember exactly what the details of the incident were, but I distinctly remember the argument that took place afterward.

Dad: “Why can’t you just listen to your teachers?”

Justin: “Because I don’t want to listen to my teachers!”

Dad: “Justin, everyone has to listen to someone! When you get older and have a job, do you think you’re going to be able to not listen to your boss?”

Justin: “Yes! Because I’m not going to have a boss!”

My dad paused, thought for a moment. Finally…

Dad: “You’re probably right.”

My dad and I had that conversation over twenty years ago; I was twelve years old.

Somehow, miraculously if you ask me, what I once saw as a three-month trial run has now become a ten-years-and-counting lifelong project. Sure, it hasn’t always been easy, but so far things have managed to work out.

I realized back in June that my ten-year anniversary was coming up. “On July 14th,” I thought, “I’m going to write up a post that commemorates the day.”

Well, that was two days ago. I completely forgot. I guess it just proves that while it’s still an accomplishment I’m proud of, the anniversary has just become another day of living. Another day of the self-employed grind. Another day of sending out emails and working on self-promotion. Another day of waiting for a check that hopefully comes sooner than later.

Still, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

On to 2020,


Super-fan Ralph Apel just pointed out that my first post on “The Blarg” was posted exactly two years ago today. That makes today the two-year anniversary of the site!

“The Blarg” was born on May 6th, 2008 when I posted this dumb bit. Now, two years and 900+ posts later, I’m still posting dumb bits! High-five!

Thanks to everyone who has ever visited the site! Well, mostly everyone.

Time flies when you’re being dumb,


One year ago today, Kathy, Mr. Fabulous and I graced you with our presence.

You’re welcome!

Year two starts tomorrow,


Old Poop!