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(I've got to admit I'm feeling better.)

Even though I’m a failed novelist, I still try to write seven to eight thousand words a month so that my limited skills don’t grow blunt. Lately, however, I’ve been suffering from this peculiar state of extreme physical exhaustion. For instance, I often sleep up to fifteen hours a day during my days off. I’m so tired that I don’t even jerkoff anymore. In fact, I can’t remember the last time I watched porn. That’s how bad it’s getting.

Anyway, I talked to my mom on Saturday evening.

She said, “You look terrible.”

“I feel terrible.”

“What’s the problem? Are you depressed?”

I shook my head. “I don’t think so. I’m simply washed out all the time.”

“Well, no fucking shit.”

“How do you mean?”

She sighed heavily. “You let that little slut Pork-Chop Jane shit all over you, and now you’re doing the job of two people. At your age!”

“What can I do?”

“Quit the fucking gig, or talk to the manager.”

“Well, I haven’t seen the manager in days, and when we do cross paths, he’s usually too busy to have a conversation.”

Mom took a long swallow from her can of Coke. “Here’s my strategy. Concentrate on your own responsibilities, and don’t lift a finger to assist that rotten whore.”

“But you don’t get the full picture. The little slut lets garbage pile up on her tables, and she rarely does a single dish. You should see the state of the restaurant. It’s almost a health hazard.”

“That’s not your fucking problem. You do your job, and she does hers.”

“What’s the manager going to say?”

“Fuck the manager, and fuck the horse he rode in on.”

So I decided to follow Mom’s advice. When I got to the restaurant, I separated all the dirty plates and bowls into two separate piles—Jane’s and mine. And then I let the filth accumulate in the little whore’s station without lifting a hand.

Let me tell you something, my friends. It wasn’t easy. One side of the establishment was so filthy that it could have gagged a maggot. Yet I never lifted a finger to help. This allowed me to concentrate on the side work. My side work, not hers. And I knocked it out in no time flat. So I sat on my flabby ass for twenty minutes and wolfed down bacon and hash browns. The experience was fantastic.

Meanwhile, Jane was out by the dumpsters smoking dope with her friends. And the shit just kept piling up and up and up. The place even began to smell. But perhaps that was my imagination. I’ve never enjoyed being in a dirty environment. It’s always scunnered me. Messy is fine. But unsanitary is a different matter.

The little slut eventually returned to the store and looked in the dish pit.

She said, “You better get to work.”

There was fury in my eyes. “Girl, I’ve been counting every plate and bowl since I’ve been here. And these belong to you.”

She shrugged her shoulders. “OK, I’ll do them. No big fucking deal.”

I popped more bacon in my mouth. “Good girl.”

She gave me a dirty look. But that didn’t stop her from finishing her duties. All of them. She made the tea. She cleaned the bathroom. She dropped the sink. She cleared the dish pit.

And let me tell you something, my friends. Usually, I feel like I’ve been crucified when the sun pops up. But today was different. I actually had a little energy left in my body. It was glorious.