He starts talking, more and more. He goes:
Throw up a three-beam. Three point maximum. In British
Columbia, there's money and then there's weed, it's the same
fucking thing. Keep it on the low-low, hump the corner and
push nickel bags, don't get cocky.
"Y'know what's really great? This deck and those hamburgers
you just made on the barbeque," I go.
Basically, you're not in this to get rich. It's your beer
money. You want to think long term - slow, long, steady. You
find disposable income, that's the beauty. It's untaxable.
The only thing I'd be sketched about, is that you've got
your friends, and then you've got your hook-up friends. The
marks who hang out with you for ten minutes, or ten hours,
and hit you for free treats. Money is the fundamental resource,
and if it's on the friendship tip, watch the pennies.
"What kind of hamburgers where those, anyway?"
I don't think you're hearing me. There's the manufacturing
end, right? Then there's the business end, then the financial.
Your finances are the foundation, and if you're cranking out
a few k every month, tread lightly.
Why do I talk about my labour? It's about money. How much
is this worth? How much am I earning talking to you right
now? Whether you're hammering nails on contract labour, I
like it if you're doing it, but I'm all about the money -
suck dick for crack, or be a beautiful movie starlet (I only
man-whore on the weekends), all the bottom lines are the same.
Cash. Get it.
"There's something to be said for enjoying life,"
I begin. "Like those hamburgers."
I'm just doing something creative that makes something
beautiful. If I had nothing to do, then kill me. Keeping yourself
busy - that's what work is all about - something funky, do
it up. Get out there. Get paid. Mad respect. Big ups. Big
"TELL ME WHERE YOU BOUGHT THE FUCKING HAMBURGERS ALREADY."
Fuck this shit. Party next Saturday, anyway. It's going
to be brilliant. Oh, and I got the hamburgers at Costco, FYI.
Josh Byer is thinking
about a career as a ministerial assistant.