Dream Job

If I don't become a history professor, or a foreign policy analyst, or an actor, or a bum, I think my dream job would be "biological bad ass," and by that I mean a discoverer of new species. Check out this article:
http://www.cnn.com/2009/WORLD/asiapcf/09/07/giant.rat.papua/index.html

How cool is that! There is still stuff out there that nobody has ever seen. My god, if I could travel the world, ducking into dank dark caves, cataloguing inconceivable crevices, and discovering creatures never before discovered-- I'd probably be a huge hit with the ladies.

Sexy Momma: "Oh hi, this is my boyfriend Tom. He's works in public relations for a magazine. Isn't that interesting?"

Enter Matthew R. Reed, sporting sun baked skin, a rumpled khaki safari shirt and olive trousers with worn knees. He removes his tarnished fedora with his right hand and calmly wipes perspiration from his brow with his forearm.

Matt: "Public relations? That is very interesting. I discover shit."

Sexy Momma: "You haven't explored every crevice."

That would be my go-to pickup line.


But in reality, I don't think I have the chops for the job. I mean, imagine shuffling through some mosquito infested bog, picking leeches off your inner thigh, only to have that huge fucking rat run across your feet. Oh lord, I would scream bloody murder and probably let out a little fart (I was excited, sue me), and most likely kill the creature by mistake. That wouldn't go over so well with the boss.
"Well, Reed over here finally saw this rodent we've been tracking for six months, but when it ran through his legs he got scared and beat the crap out of it with a shovel."

A boy can dream.