Since I am a fairly directionless person these days, I was thinking about all of the things I could do with my life in the coming months or years. And that caused me to think about jobs that I would like to have.

Dream jobs for me?

Professional day-dreamer.

Monday Morning Quarterback.

Hollywood Genius.

Football Offensive Coordinator.

Sarcasm Specialist.

All of those would be fantastic if the salary was right. Like eleven figures. That would suffice. I’ve got a family to feed and eleven figures in my salary would seem to get the job done.

Of course, I’m not entirely sure that all of those are actually paying positions. In fact, I’m fairly confident that only two of those actually warrant a paycheck. Which kind of bites for somebody like me.

But then I thought…what would be totally suckplentiful jobs? What would be jobs so horrific that you would rather gnaw on your own legs then do these? What would be jobs that were so awful that watching ‘The View’ would be enjoyable by comparison?

And then I made a list of things I would never do. Even though at this point, I may actually take some of these. If the price is right.

Find humor in these, recognize the sarcasm oozing out or just be offended. All in the name of moderately attempted humor.

Fish Egg Squeezer.
Because somebody has to be that guy that squeezes caviar out of those fish. Or perhaps there is a more conventional way to do it but I can only imagine that it would be far more entertaining to grab them by the head and just squeeze towards the tail and see what comes out. Oh, and what kind of noises that process would make.

Elephant Proctologist.
Because even elephants have to worry about prostate cancer. And that would be one big prostate. And since elephants are rumored to never forget, they’d be pretty unhappy every time they see you coming with that big rubber glove and vat of lubricant. Plus, I don’t want to know how far into an elephant you would need to go with an arm. Maybe you are curious, but I am not.

Spam Taste Tester.
Since Spam is really just a gelatinous block of meat-like substance in the first place is doesn’t put forth the most appetizing appearance. Now imagine being the guy that has to sample some of the early test runs on this product. And then imagine wondering what exactly went into the product. Now imagine what will happen to your gastric apparatus after testing some of the early incarnations of it. I’m guessing a color like yellbroange comes to mind for you.

Hamster Wrangler.
I just think there must be some place on the planet where there are herds of hamsters running free in pastures. Cavorting like little balls of furry happiness. And somebody must be the guy or gal to keep them in check. I just have this picture in my mind that trying to keep all of those little fuzzy beasts wrangled up must be like trying to keep your hands on a greased up bag of pudding.

Disney Mascot.
Just because it would suck. You’d be hot, sweaty, covered in toddler juices, be constrained by very strict codes of hygiene and appearance, and probably be paid less than people that get paid to break rocks with other rocks. But at least you would be in the Magic Kingdom. So you’d have that going for you.

Adult Diaper Tester.
Somebody has to do it. You know it. I know it. Dan Quayle knows it. You can’t put a product on the market without first somebody sitting in their own fluids. Delicious images, I know.

Erectile Dysfunction Test Subject.
Just put on your ‘Imagination Hat’ for a moment. Now picture this…somebody had to be the first person to find out that having an erection for more than four hours required immediate medical attention. Just let that horror soak into your brain for a moment as you picture a bunch of doctors sitting around staring at a guy that has been pitching a tent for hours on end and wondering what the hell they should do. If any images of sheep come into your mind as a solution for this problem, you need to seek therapy.

Stripper Pole Cleaner.
Somebody has to do it. And be sure to wear full body protection. Just cover yourself in a giant layer of plastic wrap. Leave no skin uncovered. I’ll let you form your own images on this one. As vivid of a picture as I could paint for you, I don’t want those things in my head at the moment. Or ever. But feel free to imagine away.

Paris Hilton’s BFF.
I just had to throw this job out there. Because I’m sure you get paid just to hang around her for all of the negatives that the job would entail. Being paid would seem like the only way this would actually be a social situation that you would consciously put yourself in. Your chance of catching something from just being around her would be astronomical. You’d get the opportunity to prance about red carpet while somebody tries to capture a shot on your crotch while trying to get out of a car. And you’d always be associated with trying to become the next fame hound of the world and be mocked by millions of people all over the world. What is not to like about this? Well, pretty much everything.

So there you have it. Just the best I could do on a Wednesday morning. Feel free to add anything you wish in the comments. I’m spent.

This is Pete…

Over and out.