I have a shitty job (literally).

Well that heralded day is here once again. The day when everyone's kids wake them up in the middle of the night asking to open their presents, thereby making the parents tired and bitchy for the rest of the day (at least, that's what I did to mine).

For me being single and living alone, I slept in until the ungodly hour of 9:30am, got up and had a smoke, wished I had beer in the house, then went back to bed for another two hours.

Having stated above that I'm single, one of the tremendous benefits of being in this glorious position on the holidays is that I have the esteemed honour of taking all of the fucking emergency calls whilst everyone else enjoys the company of their kin. This fine afternoon I had the pleasure of cleaning up someone else's fecal matter, on a Sunday; Christmas Sunday no less.

While I'm not a particularly religious person, I think that cleaning up other people's bowel movements on Christmas day is nearly the most heinous kick in the junk possible. Thank the gods that the people were appreciative of my efforts lest I spend the next 25 years in the crossbar hotel for what would have been a very justified murder-death-kill.

There are benefits to my job (other than the immense pleasure of working with Dan), and just as soon as I figure them out, you'll be the first to know.

So as not to give the wrong impression, I am not looking for sympathy. I know where to find it, between shit and syphillis in the dictionary. I just wonder if I was Mussolini in a former life. At least that would justify the karmic "Fuck you" I receive on a regular basis.

And now back to our regularly scheduled programming.