Crowded Exile: Monk-y Business

I've oft considered consecrating my life to the work of a monk, as a means of escapism. After all, I'm certainly qualified for the job - I fear bright colors, loathe people in general, smell like lettuce stew, and am vaguely aware of what a Jesus is. Oh, and I can operate Microsoft Word. Hope y'all like my resumé*, Order of the Franciscan Jibblers!

Yes indeed, I think I'd do well as a monk. Transcribing documents painstakingly and inefficiently pretty much sums up what I've been doing since I entered the American education system. And Vespers sermons aren't really enticing unless you have a good two or three years under your belt as a low-stakes, all-or-something bureaucrat. Believe me, I've heard.

Above all, it would give me a chance to wear one of those kick-ass robes. Sordid, billowy, and crumb-strewn, these vestments would look rather dapper on this here son-of-the-soybean. I mean, my clothes pretty much are already like that, and almost all of them already have that grand brown tinge, due to my fondness of hiding in mole burrows!

I've been tossing around the idea for a monk name for myself. Everyone's gotta have one; it's the sacrosanct marker of every successful graduate of monk school. Mine would be Brother Metrigon. It's got that vintage 1160s-era feel to it.

Any ol' brotherhood will do. Even the Order of the Suspendered Codswallop will do, though I hear their fondue isn't exactly up-to-snuff. When you think about it, a monastery is like a fraternity, except that it actually contributes something to society, and advances the cause of academia instead of drowning it in a bathtub of Marlon Brando.

I'm still waiting for a response to my 3rd request to the Swiss Brotherhood of Stein-Makers. Until then, I'll have to continue transcribing 2nd century Greek recipes in my own Crowded Exile.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*

From the stained desk of

JOSEPH PULITZER JIBBLETON, III, ESQ

LORD OF ALL BEFORE THINE COUCH, EVEN THOSE NASTY POTATO CHIPS

THAT FRANK HASN’T EVEN TOUCHED SINCE LAST WEEK.

123 Fake St. - Tabriz, Iran

A Resumé

Of Jibblical Proportions

EDUCATION:

What?

VAGRANT GRUNTING:

Liberty University ---------------------------------------------Lynchburg, VA

Bachelor of Monogamy, Spice Cataloguing Dept., Jun. 1980

LEGAL EXPERIENCE:

Nikshaw County Petty Claims Court --------------------------Simpleton, KY

Lead Witness for the Defense, Prosecution, and the Heart.

Time Employed: 1970-85 (that trial was fuckin’ loooong)

Hobo Court of Appeals, 5^th Circuit ---------------------------Rigobert City, Hohoq

Rocket-Related Trial Lawyer

Time Employed: May, 1923-October, 1925

Ted’s Apartment ----------------------------------------------Hoboken, NJ

Chief Prosecutor of Fart Jokes

Time Employed: Last Friday to this Wednesday

BUSINESS EXPERIENCE:

Jibbles n’ Shit Weblog ----------------------------------------Washington, DC

Publisher

Time Employed: [CLASSIFIED]

Jibbles WebMedia --------------------------------------------My Mom’s Basement

CEO, COO, Janitor

Time Employed: Wouldn’t you like to know?

HUNTING EXPERIENCE:

This one time, I found a twig under the back seat of my Golden-Brown Chevy Durango X20, with 4-wheel suspension. It was on the way to one of my seasonal bro-bonding gatherings at the forest clearing upstate. We was gonna hunt some chipmunks, but they got skeered and rundoff. So I waited until all my bros was sufficiently inebriated, and then stuck the twig into my jimberjam, pretending it to be some kind of superskunk. They soiled themselves to my lasting amusement. Then I just had to go ahead and tell them my brilliance. One of ‘em asked if he had heard me say ‘weeaboo’. The others chorused in an’ assured ‘im that yes, indeed, I had said just that. My ass still smarts from the beating that ensued.

SKILLS AND CERTIFICATION:

• Fluent in English, Spanish, Mexican, Pig Latin, Corduroy
• I can do this thing with my left jowel. It’s probably best if you never know exactly what, unless it becomes absolutely necessary. If you really want to know, come to dumpster behind Radio Shack after 5:38 pm. Bring carpet cleanser, lubricant, and a whole slew of corn meal.
• Certified by the State of Vermont as an ordained hippie.
• I can also read minds. Yeah, don’t worry. I won’t tell the public about your son.