I hope you enjoyed the title. And now for something completely different…

Poverty blows. I don’t have to tell you that, Los Angeles. You either, everywhere else. Ask the token sleeping bum in front of Bliss Café. I would, but I’ve never seen him awake. My hope is that he’s dreaming of a remedy. It’s not news to anyone. Being broke, on any level, sucks tranny balls. From the down and out that resort to trash thievery in the calm of the night to support a Mad Dog 20/20 habit, to those of us that are slaves to our redundant day jobs- lacking financial independence is not where it’s at.

You’re quality of life will always be restricted, as long as you dread the alarm clock going off in the morning (a sound that I find more disturbing than the death rattle of a righteous man; a sound that should be banned from commercials and television all together). Such is the structure of our Nation. The wealthy bask in the beauty of life, most everyone else can eat shit and die; or you can be like the girl in the infamous “two girls, one cup” video and eat shit and live. Sure, she did it for attention and she did it because she was either hugged too little or too often as a child- but her main motive is obvious. She did it for money. Probably not a lot of money, either. Not enough to be known as “toilet breath” for the rest of her numbered days. Yes, numbered. Hepatitis can be contracted through fecal matter; but enough pleasantness.

The meek shall inherit the Earth, but in the mean time, it’s a rich man’s World. The wealthy dictate everything from media content to who the next President is going to be. The poor have to settle for the illusion that their vote counts and their voices are heard. The wealthy should love the poor. The seven year old seamstress working her fingers to the bone- making tacky Wal-Mart clothes for her spoiled, obese American counterparts (my future children won’t have any toys that were made in China, as they will not be allowed to play with tragic irony) in some drab sweat shop for thirteen cents an hour- that tortured soul is making a lot of money for the corporate cock suckers that choose to produce their product in such a morally illegal way.

The conception is that poor folk tend to have the low I.Q. to go along with the light wallet and that the wealthy tend to be more intelligent. There’s a lot of truth to that. On the other hand: Ashton Kutcher and Lil’ Wayne. Need I say more? I gave a friend of mine a ride to the County building so he could apply for assistance, in the form of a food stamp card. He came back to the car with the card and specific instructions not to write his pin number on the card itself. What the fuck is that all about? The guy is broke, not dumb. Does the State really perceive broke people to be that dim? They wouldn’t tell you that at the bank after you were issued a DEBIT card. The EBT card is similar to the DEBIT card. Apparently, the missing D and I stand for Dignity and Independence. I was more offended by their indirect assumption than he was, then I began to observe the herd that was spilling out of the office doors. Half a moment later, I understood why such a ridiculous warning was given, while simultaneously wondering if the corners of the card were filed down to prevent “uh-oh’s”.

Being just broke enough that you have to be crafty just to make it to the next paycheck breeds its own brand of misery. Case in point, shopping at the 99 Cents Only Store. Where everything is just “99point99” cents. I guess their head of marketing had a second hand education. The point, or decimal, goes in front of the four nines. Their way implies that Chinese toothpaste and High School Musical 3-ring binders run just under a C-note. I know most of their customers don’t notice, let alone care, but I do. Have some pride, brush up on your third grade math, and demagnetize your shopping carts while you’re at it. A shopping cart with a 40 yard radius is more frustrating to the homeless than an aluminum can eating hobo dog.

The only thing worse than shopping at these places, is working at these places. Back in my carpentry days, I had to take a temporary job at Rite AIDS when the equity crash began. During lunch time, the break room would smell of ramen noodles and regret. I peeked over the shoulder of the 45 year old ice cream clerk and noticed that he had manipulated his noodle into the shape of a noose. I’m guessing he had it rough. Perhaps, his home was mobile and his phone was not. It’s an unfortunate existence. A subtle death. That’s why it’s crucial to have a dream.

For me, that dream is comedy. Obviously, I would never treat comedy as a get rich scheme. I’m in this game because I have a deep rooted passion to laugh and make others do the same. However, if the day comes where I can use comedy to escape from such a bleak fate as dedicating a majority of my conscience hours to being at a place that I can’t stand in exchange for a barely ample payoff – bring it on. I would love to write and perform comedy for a living. A living, I say. Not the going rate of an open mic performance, which averages in the neighborhood of negative two dollars.

No matter what you aspire to be, the important thing is that you have an aspiration. To be content with the bare minimum life has to offer is to give up all together. I do alright. I get by. I know that’s not enough. I strive for greatness and I expect a long-term payoff for the quality of my work. I try to help those that are less fortunate than myself, all the while using discretion. Like when this guy on the street asked me for a dollar. Normally, I would oblige, but judging by the fridge box this guy was living in, he was doing all right for himself. Stainless steel with an ice maker. Here I am, filling up ice trays like a chump, and he wants my dollar. What a country.

Anyway, I’ve decided to give this comedy thing my all and to treat it like a legitimate career path. With that being said, I hope to see you guys on the circuit again very soon. If all goes well, me and every other deserving comic that aren’t making anything but rooms full of people laugh will get our comeuppance. Oh yes, our uppance shall come. This way, none of us will ever have to step foot in a 99point99 Cents Only Store ever again.