All jobs suck...some just sound a bit cooler than others.

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Posted Wed, May 20, 2009 by Coyote

Expanding a bit on the whole “Things that sound cool but really aren’t” concept, we got to thinking about the actual people who might USE some of the equipment, and how amazing and exciting their jobs would be.

And then we realized that those jobs would also suck and pitied them from the safety of our own couch as we snarfed down yet another Hot Pocket.

Every kid has dreams of what they are going to be when they grow up, and how wonderful and incredible those jobs are going to be – yet when you introduce the real world….you quickly see that like any other job…

They’d suck.

Police Officer

Why it sounds cool as a kid: Because you ARE the law.

You are a physical representation of justice. You get a badge, a gun, and a license to clean up the mean streets with your vigilante attitude that really masks a heart of gold.

Every Buddy-Cop movie, every sitcom, and every late night drama show involving the boys in blue is no longer fantasy, it is your LIFE. And in that life you dispense justice in the name of upholding the law and bringing order, safety, and yes – even happiness to the world.

Why it really isn’t: What they don’t tell you is that *EVERYBODY* f***ing hates you.

From rappers singing about ways to kill you to old ladies giving you the finger for pulling them over for reckless driving, you are absolutely loathed by the people who point out angrily that they pay your salary. Yet you are paid almost nothing to put your life at risk, lied to by every person you have a conversation with, and are given swine-esque nicknames that go against every reason you put on the shield in the first place.

Everyone thinks they know how to your job better than you, and the only time that they are glad to see you is when something is going incredibly wrong. And THEN they are your best friggin’ friend because it is YOUR job to get shot in the face instead of them.

You lay awake at night dreaming of justice and peace yet you’re buried under piles of paperwork, subpoenas from scumbag lawyers and nightmares involving what that one poo-covered bum did in the back of your squad car.

You are underappreciated, overworked, not supported, and everyone and their brother slows down like they WEREN’T just speeding whenever you drive by.

…but hey.

Free donuts.

Fire Fighter

Why it sounds cool as a kid: You are the hero.

You kick down doors, save burning babies from newborn buildings and huck grannies out of third story windows that may or may not be supported by a ground crew working the trampoline.

You are MISTER EXCITEMENT, and you get an AX and a f***ing DOG.

Why it really isn’t: Fire is hot.

Fire burns.

Fire hurts.

And that dog is a f***ing RETARD.

Dalmatians are notoriously shaky little balls of neurotic twitching, and no matter how cool you look wielding that ax, you still have to walk into a burning building and try to rescue some 600 pound fatass who can’t get out of his specially made chair.

And for what? So some looky-loos in the crowd who probably started the fire ANYWAY can clap excitedly when you come out of the inferno holding their god damn grandmother?

Really? You clap?

I just kicked down a door, ran through a maze of fiery death, broke down a WALL and rescued your grandmother from death by burny-badness and you CLAP? What, did I just play your favorite song on stage, or tell a humorous story about my life? NO. I just dove out of an exploding building with your Nana slung over my shoulder like a bag of really old potatoes.

You throw money. You throw f***ing money RIGHT f***ing now, and if I see any ones, Granny is going BACK in until she’s a golden brown and the toothpick comes out clean.

Cowboy

Why it sounds cool as a kid: Long dusters, 10 gallon hats, and a glint of “don’t F***” with me permanently glimmering in your eye.

You’re a cowboy, and you are about to get a might-bit-rowdy.

Six shooter slung low, you mosey to the bar and stare down the keeper until he slides you over a shot of some brown, stinging liquid. Every man fears you, every kid wants to be you, and the ladies?

The ladies like the spurs.

Why it really isn’t: Because you don’t always die from tobacco.

Sometimes you die of embarrassment.

Once feared, envied and heavily respected, the Cowboy has gone the way of the dinosaur and has become nothing more than a parody of what he once was. His guns were taken by state laws, his leathered face determined to be stage two skin cancer, and his heavy respect replaced by two dudes up in the mountains poking each other like blind men trying to find the sidewalk.

Brokeback Mountain. The Village People. That mostly naked retard with the guitar who runs around New York City playing for spare change. Once being a Cowboy meant you were an outlaw. You were a man who lived by his own rules and died by the gun. You were a BADASS.

Now it means that you like MANASS, and no matter how truly tough you are, you can’t pull off pink leather fringe – unless ya know. Yer INTO “pulling off” pink leather fringe.

Then? You work it girl.

Astronaut

Why it sounds cool as a kid: As space travel was recently covered, we won’t even get INTO the complications of space, or how amazing it would be to boldly go where no man has gone before. Instead we will focus on man himself. (Or herself. Yes yes. Women can be astronauts. I know. Trust me. The thought of gravity defying breasts has not escaped me. Ever.)

Almost every kid wants to be an Astronaut. If not for the fame, excitement, or cool amusement park rides that NASA straps you to in order to train you – then for the cool and refreshing thirst quenching power of TANG.

Because nothing rehydrates like orange grit and that weird sucrose sludge that you get at the bottom of the glass no matter HOW well you stir it.

Astronauts get to bounce on the moon. They get to pilot rockets and shuttle craft, and they get to experience weightlessness and the power of controlled flight through a no-gravity cabin.

That’s as close to being a mutant as we can get, and damn it – that’s pretty cool.

Why it really isn’t: Astronauts wear diapers.

Yeah. They never show you THAT one on exciting blockbuster movies involving bombs and Bruce Willis, do they?

And not just normal diapers – high capacity adult diapers for those EXTRA LONG moon walks. So not only are you bobbing around like a loose statuette in a snow globe, you’re doing it while marinating in your own juices.

How do you change yourself? Think about it.

You HAVE to change your own diapers sooner or later, and when you do – there is a GOOD chance that *something* is going to bust loose. Especially if you had a big tube of baked beans.

You’re weightless pal. There is NO gravity. So that means even a drop of moisture from either of your “emergency hatches” will do that weird “mid air blob” thing and float around like a tiny little ball of ick. And after a couple of weeks in space? With the recycled air and 4 other people getting REALLY comfortable with the changing station?

….yeah.

Not enough snow on Hoth to make me want THAT job.

Unless you get to toss old ladies out of air locks dramatically – then it just might be worth the Poonebula Cluster.

-Coyote

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