Something I dug up from a while ago:
In my idiostupidification I was convinced that giving up the drink would automatically get me a job. Somebody was certain to come along and say: “Hello there, Mister Reformed Bum, since you have magnanimously forsworn the Lord Bacchus, I have come bearing you the gift of a fine new job, which pays three thousand Euros a month. I shall now take you to your new penthouse, butler included. Please follow me…”
I was rather flummoxed when this did not magically appear. I said to myself: “I am going through all this bother of becoming a non-practicing alcoholic and what do I get for it? Bugger all! This will not do!” My post liquification process was not going according to plan. I sulked for quite a while, let me tell you: “… Bastards, What does a well marinated body have to do to get some recognition these days?”
Later on, my pointless intentions sharpened, I entered a prize that sported a vacancy. However, there was a slight problem: there was a queue the size of a small country ahead of me, all unemployed. When my turn finally came, the Human Redundancy guy asked me why he should hire me and not someone else. I answered, truthfully, that I had given up something, which was very dear to me, namely alcohol, for the express purpose of being reinstated to my former glory. And would he please show me to my new office, my bouncy and willing secretary and hand over the keys to my very own bog.
He told me that their branch in Antarctica was looking for someone with just my qualifications and would I please go annoy them for a spell. The nerve of some people… I have a good mind to go have a stiff drink!