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Wake up, Darron, you sound like a dimwit.

Yay, you finally got your high school diploma, too bad nobody cares.

It’s like bragging about buying socks or your new podcast.

Does baby want a pat on the back for finally doing what you should have done years ago instead of smoking grass and swallowing tranquilizers at the abandoned railroad station with all the other dopes and losers?

Guess what? Men don’t get credit for doing what they’re supposed to do, we drink.

And we certainly don’t ask strangers for career advice.

Let me get this straight – you want me to tell you whether you should dedicate your life to desecrating human flesh with permanent ink or selling cute outfits at the mall?

Holy hell, how ‘bout option C, you get a job at the Dumb Shit Factory as the resident expert.

You’re right about one thing, Darron – you and your “life road” are totally forked.

Here’s one way to put that new high school diploma to good use, ya dip:

Get it enlarged and professionally framed and then shove it straight up your ass.

Maybe the pain it causes will wake you up to the fact that this country’s middle class is gone, son, shipped overseas along with all those corporate profits they’re always hiding.

Tattoo pusher or clothing pimp? You’re fucked either way.

How ‘bout you do the same thing my old man told me to do when I wanted career advice after high school.

“Join the Army, they don’t mind idiots.”

You should find that encouraging, Darron.

You want to grow up fast and get some real life experience, dimwit?

Get shipped off to Korea and get shot at by little peckers you can’t see so that billionaires back home can sell their rocket launchers to the government.

Then enjoy your permanent limp.

Hell, why not avoid the middle man and go straight to chugging whiskey and chain-smoking Camels for breakfast until your wife says, “To hell with you, I’m in love with the mail clerk at my office.”

Point is, either way you’re gonna end up drunk and eventually dead, so why not make a living doing something you can brag about that gets you laid once in a while.

I’ll leave the details to you.

Now get the hell off my porch, dumbnuts,

Pops