Janebook wonders what qualifies in our interesting neighborhood:
But the fifth or sixth instance you hear some guy talk about moving weed like he’s performing life-saving organ transplants with surgical instruments he hand-whittled out of Mendocino redwoods …I can’t. I just can’t. I also find it adorable how they always faux-wistfully wish they had “a regular job.”
As someone with a menial “regular job,” I’m just gonna come right out and say I’d way fucking rather make five times as much doing something illegal — and I totally have options for doing that, but 9 out of 10 of them I’m sure involve donning patent leather and stepping on some dude’s nutsack, which I definitely don’t have the stomach for.
Would you have the stomach for it? Or are you wholly content with your “regular job”?