An Aspiring Journalist Willing to do Anything

Except try really hard.

In case you don’t know this already, I am in my final year of a journalism degree. It is pretty fucking scary knowing that in a few months I’m going to be forced out into the real world like a constipated turd, except I have no way of knowing if the turd wants to leave the ass (it can’t talk dude, this isn’t a Jonathon Franzen novel). While I hate my University which is full of socialist losers and chronic underachievers, for some reason the idea of ending our semi-educational affair scares the jerky out of me. I can’t think of anyone in their 30s I know with an interesting career and that frightens me because I am not better than anyone I know and I’m not even a tenth as interesting as any of the writers I love.

So now I’m weighing up my options. The first is that I go do a typing class and work as a receptionist somewhere, hoping that some executive with fuck me and promote me. Sleeping your way to the top is heavily underrated.

The second is that I apply for internships at places like Dolly and Woman’s Day. This aspiration requires more than mediocre grades. As you may have noticed talking shit is kind of my only talent, but it pretty much all it gets me are assignment exemptions and convincing people that I didn’t tell their friends that they are so dumb I thought they played Corky in Life Goes On. Most would agree that me giving advice to horny and confused pubescent girls would border on criminal negligence, but being an advice columnist for Dolly or Girlfriend would be a dream come true for me.

Considering the years of alcohol abuse I still remember my teenage years quite vividly. For example never deep throat a guy, no matter how hot he is. When you see him again on Australia day when you are 17 his face will have exploded with pimples. Or don’t let your best friend convince you to let her brother take your virginity, even if she ensures “he’ll be gentle”. While I’m on a role, don’t obsess over skinny dudes with a back pack full of midstrength beer, not only will your tastes soon change but he will also have a kid in apporox. 4 years. You will be teased by the two friends you kept from high school until the kid turn 10.

Another option is getting a part time job that doesn’t stink and do some freelance bull shit until I have enough cred to write for someone. Not likely since as soon as I really have to do something (without supervision) it ceases to become fun and I rebel against it, AKA watch the entire OZ series in the dark until I forget what I’m supposed to do.

An exciting yet scary choice is that I move to London with my fingers perpetually crossed. London is an expensive place to live apparently. I am fucking bullshit with money. In the past 3 years I think I’ve gotten to pay day with at least $10 in my bank account approximately 3 times. I want to give up buying useless crap but the question is can I? Then the question of whether my humor fits in with a UK audience arises. Like all indie wieners I enjoy The Office and I’m Alan Partridge but I doubt that anyone gets my humor, because I’m not really that funny, just sad, vulgar and disgusting. The option of writing seriously is void, I’m way too pretentious to be serious and I’m a bad actor so I can’t pretend.

And that is about it. There is no way The West Australian would have me and even if they would I probably wouldn’t be able to resist the urge to shit on the editor’s chair. I think one of my tutor’s told me that she worked for them and they made her go to the family home of someone who died and ask for a fucking interview a bunch of times. She was all “I know I’m a fucking asshole but my boss says I have to invade your privacy to he can buy a boat”.

I lost track of the purpose of this blog. I know that the chance that someone from an actual magazine reading this is somewhat diminished but if you are out there I am willing to do an investigative article on fad diets free of charge. I know you are probably like “it has been done ladee” but I am willing to take it one step further and try them out for two weeks each. Fuck it, enemas, no carbs, no gluten, give up booze (well, we'll see). I’ll even try out the air diet (as long as I can drink booze) although my brother told me the dude who created it got caught buying like 5 cheesecakes. And a bunch of people died. I’m committed man. I’ve never committed to anything but vices before. This is BIG.