Five Easy Steps To Working From Home


Multilevel marketing is not a pyramid scheme. It’s simply a product distribution system which uses a tiered incentive model to build on recruitment rather than actual product sales. That recruitment starts at a wide base, where the lowest earners begin. Each tier is narrower as you go up, indicating a smaller concentration of higher paid earners.   To give you a visual, it looks a bit like this;


Wait – that’s a fucking pyramid!

I bring this up because I got this earlier.

message 1

And of course, my response;

message 2

I get a weird amount of these messages. I think because I pushed a human out of my body 15 years ago, I’m considered a prime  victim prospect for schemes like these. But the thing is, I already work from home and I didn’t even need to get sucked into an MLM scheme to do it. You can do it too. The steps are easy!

Step 1 – Select an area of interest that’s conducive to a work from home environment

Not all jobs can be done from home, so of course, you’re going to need to look for jobs that allow you to work with just an internet connection. Luckily, there are a plethora of opportunities out there and competition is very low because no one else wants to work from home. You’re the only one.

Just kidding. There are a limited number of opportunities that generally go to a small pool of candidates who have significant experience in their field. That brings us to step two.

Step 2 – Gain experience

This one is super easy. First, you just need to save up one year’s salary so you can support yourself as you work for a wide range of people who think that what you charge is too much and that you should just be working for exposure. At the same time, you’re going to need to go back to school so you can gain the certifications and education you need to stand out and charge rates on par with market average.

Now, it usually only takes about 10,000 hours of study to become an expert in your field. Sure, that sounds easy, but remember, you’re going to need to support yourself during those 10,000 hours of studying. That means taking on many, many jobs for cut rates as you compete with people from foreign countries who can afford to do it for less – and first world assholes who are doing it for free for the ‘exposure’ (while driving down the price of your work) . All of this is easily accomplished with a year or two of 80 to 120-hour work weeks.

That brings us to step 3.

Step 3 – Embrace crippling loneliness and isolation

While you’re working from home, alone, during these extended hours, it’s likely you won’t have the time, nor the money, to maintain most of your non-business relationships. On top of that, the long, lonely silent days will begin to get to you, until after awhile, you forget how to communicate with people at all.

You’ll begin playing true crime documentaries in the background as you work, just so the voices will create any kind of quasi-human connection. As you learn the details of literally every murder for the last century through osmosis, you will soon become convinced that everyone you have met or will meet in the future is a sex murderer. You will begin drinking to fill the hole inside of you – which brings us to step 4.

Step 4 – Cultivate Important business relationships

About 25% of a business’ net profit comes from 5% of its client base. That 5% represents the clients that you never drunkenly tell to fuck off – due to the aforementioned alcoholism developed in Step 3 – and will represent the majority of your business in the future. You will do anything for these clients and will stay up at night, crippled with anxiety as you realize these clients could have anyone.  Why do they stay with you? Is it pity? Is it laziness?

This will drive you to send an awkwardly worded ‘look, I just want to know where this relationship is going’ email at 4 o’clock in the morning. One of two things will happen. They will either dump you for your annoying insecurity or offer you a full time, telecommute position. That brings us to Step 5.

Step 5 – Profit

So really, all you have to do to work from home is save lots of money, take massive risks, spend hours upon hours upon hours working, give up all holidays, give up your social life, give up your dignity, health and sanity and maybe, just maybe you can work from home too.

Look, all sarcasm aside, what I’m trying to say is anyone who tells you that they have a great work from home, no experience necessary opportunity is a fucking scammer.    Actually getting to a point where you are able to work from home, in stable, gainful employment takes dedication, skill and is not nearly as fun as most people seem to think it is.

MLMs are scams. They are simply pyramid schemes with shitty products thrown in so they can meet some kind of legal loophole that doesn’t make them ‘legally’ scams. This allows the person at the tip of your pyramid to take all your money – completely legally — and write off all responsibility when the scam falls apart. Even now, politicians are funding their reelection campaigns with money directly from these pyramid schemes.

No, I’m not exaggerating. Look it up.

So MLM’s aren’t going anywhere anytime soon and neither are you if you sign on with one of these shady companies. If you really want to work from home, it takes sacrifice. It takes dedication. It takes complete willingness to make your entire life about work.

There is no such thing as a three-hour workweek. There is no such thing as easy money. There are no ‘easy’ steps to working from home. Working from home is hard.

If it was easy, everyone would do it.

If you have to say you are …you aren’t

Back in the day when I worked in insurance investigations, I had this supervisor who gave me some good advice. Specifically, he said the following;

“If they tell you they’re nice, they’re a dick. If they tell you they’re religious, they haven’t seen the inside of a church since the last time their mom made them go. If they tell you they’re honest, they’ve already started lying.”

At the time, I had a good laugh about it. He was a jaded dude who’d been in the insurance industry far too long, so he was used to people sucking. But as time went on, I realized he was right. If you have to tell someone you are something, it’s because you aren’t.

As an example, let’s take a look at the following message.


Yes, a dude who claimed to have an IQ on par with Einstein’s was incapable of spelling ‘biology’—or holding a conversation without resorting to that obnoxious role play thing that 11-year-old weeaboos do.

Also, before you tell me it’s satire – if you have to tell someone it’s satire, it’s not. It’s you saying something stupid, getting called out and then trying to backpedal by calling it satire.

I bring this up because I think we need to start calling people out on their bullshit. I see a lot of these “my IQ is (insert some ridiculous number)” posts online but what I don’t see is people calling them out on it. Just a simple “no, it isn’t” would satisfy me.

Because no, that’s not your IQ. It’s a number that you made up to sound impressive or one given to you by one of those scam online degree sites. Either way, the fact that you drop the whole “my IQ is (insert some ridiculous number)” statement is actually what convinces me you’re an idiot. Smart people don’t have to tell the world how smart they are. They just do smart things like inventing nuclear energy or curing polio.

Same goes for being nice. If you have to tell someone you’re nice, it’s because you’ve never actually done anything nice to convince them you are. Doing the bare minimum to maintain your status in society does not qualify as being nice. For example, no, I would not punch a baby. This is not because I’m a nice person. It’s because it’s what people expect of me to maintain my space in a civilized society. Otherwise, yes, I probably would have punched at least one baby. To that baby — you know what you did.

On the other hand, I once knew a dude who gave up a well-paying career as a police detective so he could move himself and his entire family to the Ukraine to open an orphanage. During the entire process, he never once mentioned how nice he was.

Weird how that works.

Also, while we’re at it, stop trying to give yourselves degrees you haven’t earned. I once had a Walmart cashier tell me “I have a PhD level vocabulary” with a completely straight face.

You know how you know you have a Masters or PhD level knowledge?   You spend $90,000 and 200 classroom hours learning it. If you think that your life experience is transferrable as college credit, then there’s something called DANTES that you can use to get that credit.

Unless you actually have a degree from an accredited university, you don’t have a Masters or PhD level anything. Stop saying you do. It just makes you look stupid and it undermines the hard work of those who have actually spent the time and the money getting those degrees. It’s like me saying I’m a forensic psychologist because I like to watch “Criminal Minds.”

So before you tell someone you’re smart, or religious, or nice, ask yourself this. “Have I actually done anything that proves what I’m about to say?” Most often, the answer is no.

Because if you have to say you are, you aren’t. Those that are, they just do.

What’s “Literary?”

One thing I’ve found that is universally true is this – people lie about the books they read. Ask anyone what they’re reading right now and they won’t tell you the truth. They’ll tell you the thing that makes them sound smart or makes them look good.

Back before Kindle, I was taking an art class. Because it was art, we had a lot of time on our hands, so some of the students would bring in books to read. The girl who sat next to me was reading “Angela’s Ashes” – or so I thought. Because one day, I picked up the book, flipped it open and said, “you know, I heard great things about this book.” Before she snatched it out of my grasp, I saw the title page.

“The Greek’s Pregnant Mistress.”

Yeah, she actually took the cover of “Angela’s Ashes” and pasted it on the front of a Harlequin Romance to disguise it. Not that I can blame her. I eventually read the real version of “Angela’s Ashes” and it really could win an award for “Most Depressing Book Ever.” Can’t blame her for choosing a bodice ripper over that.

Also, what the fuck is a floury potato?

Anywho, this is just one of my weird random shower thoughts, but I think it’s true.  “Good for you” books are like “good for you” food.  Sure, you can tolerate them in a pinch, but you’de rather be reading something enjoyable. Most of us regular readers have our guilty pleasures and we have our ‘go to’ respectable books that we tell people we’re reading whenever someone asks.

That’s why when someone asks me what I’m reading, I claim I’m reading “The Bluest Eye,” by Toni Morrison, when really, I just got finished “Hope: A Memoir of Survival in Cleveland.” You know, that book from the Cleveland kidnapping victims. I must admit, it did give me hope. For once, the creepy dude keeping girls in his basement wasn’t a white guy. He was Hispanic.

Diversity, people. We’re moving forward.

The funny thing is I have read “The Bluest Eye” and really, it’s not too far off from Amanda Berry and Gina DeJesus’ story. Both stories deal with girls trapped in horrible circumstances, ignored by the world and both end with escape. Of course, in “The Bluest Eye”, the escape came from the main character going batshit crazy, but it was still an escape.

But I ask myself, what makes one book literary and the other, not? What makes one book respectable and the other, not? Is it the prose? Because to be entirely honest, I found many a quotable moment in both stories. Was it the theme? Because both have the same theme if you’re willing to read between the lines.

What is literary fiction, exactly? What makes one book respectable and another not? Does the ending have to be sad? Does the story have to be fake? “Angela’s Ashes” won a Pulitzer and it was Frank McCourt’s biography.

Who decides the difference between literary and commercial? Sure, in some cases it’s obvious. Harlequin spews out like 500 “Greek Billionaire” titles a year. I get that. Those people are writing from an outline.

But why isn’t Harry Potter held up as a literary work? Why isn’t Tim Dorsey recognized as a literary figure for his Serge Storm series? Why is Lev Grossman considered a commercial writer while J. R. R. Tolkien is a master storyteller that we learn about in school? What’s the difference?

Mainly, I want to know why we feel the need to lie about what we’re reading. I want to know what literary is and why it gets to be that in the first place.

First World Problems – Hypergamy with Destiny

So in case you’re wondering, the word hypergamy means “the action of marrying a person of a superior caste or class.”  Generally, it’s a word used by pick up artists, men going their own way and a wide range of other bitter a-holes who can’t get laid, to explain why they’re still single and why that’s not their fault. As in all the evil women want to trade up and because of that, no man can ever truly be happy in a relationship. I think a lot of the reason that it’s attributed as primarily a female trait is that girls don’t ask guys to marry them.  We know better.

Anyway, that’s not what this post is about. Instead, it’s about an email I got today from a potential agent. During my hiatus from my blog, I was working on my Masters. My thesis for my Masters was a novel and after the program ended, I figured “what the hell, let’s submit it.”

So I dug up a list of five of the fanciest agents I could find. I received four rejections and one request for a partial. I sent it, checked my email every 15 minutes for about two weeks, then got drunk and forgot about it.

Until this morning, about seven months later, when that last agent contacted me and asked me “are you married to this MC?”  They liked the story, liked the world building, liked just about everything but for the main character. I wrote her as a straight woman in her early forties.

They wanted a black, gay man in his early twenties.

That annoyed me. I mean, the story is first person, present tense. Obviously, I’m writing it from a white, middle-aged chick’s point of view because I am currently, a white middle-aged chick. I know next to nothing about being a black gay man that I haven’t seen on Ru Paul’s Drag Race.

Love that show.

But after my initial annoyance, I got annoyed with myself at being annoyed. Who the hell was I to turn down a chance to get published with a Big 5? Fuck, when I started this blog 5 years ago, I was working in insurance litigation and writing articles about penile enhancement for $5 a pop in my off time.

I had this fantasy where I didn’t have to do insurance anymore. I didn’t have to talk to anyone on the phone or go to an office every day. I just got to write. Granted, in the fantasy, I was a bestselling novelist but still, the end goal was the same. No more phone calls. No more negotiations. No more getting yelled at. Just me, writing.

The dream happened, but not the way I expected it would. My first novel floundered and disappeared. Same with the sequel and a short novella. I kept writing but I switched it up to an easier to compete in category. I went with erotica and the sales came in. I hated it. I made enough money but it wasn’t money I wanted to talk about. I was writing fiction for a market I didn’t care about, creating stories that I didn’t want to continue.

Honestly, once you’ve written one sex scene, you’ve written every sex scene.

I went back to tech writing. At least with that, I can still learn something new every day. It was only the other morning I was thinking “What I wanted to happen, it happened.  I make enough money to survive. I don’t have to go into an office.  I don’t get yelled at on the phone or attend pointless meetings. I get to do what I love. So why aren’t I happy?”

The fact is, I’m not happy because we’re never happy. None of us. Humans are hypergamous by nature. Not women, not me, humans. It’s why we can win the lotto one year and file bankruptcy the next. It’s why someone like Harvey Weinstein can have the world at his feet and ruin it all with a nonsense sex addiction. It’s why athletes run through million dollar signing bonuses that should carry them into their golden years, in like four years.

We’re always looking for the next big thing. Every dream that comes true is laying the groundwork to yet another dream.

When I got that email this morning, I said to myself “this could be my big break”.  The story I wrote, that story made me happy.  The one thing I actually looked forward to writing, it could be my big break.

All I needed to do was change everything about it.

And I realized that even if I did, even if it was my big break, I’d still never be satisfied. The story would get published, disappear from the world after a year and then, I’d be in the same damn position I am now, hating myself for trying to trade up when I was perfectly happy where I was.  I’m already living my dream. I just need to realize that.

So, like any professional, I responded “new phone. Who dis?” and moved the fuck on.


An open letter to my nice guy


I’m so sick of seeing the #niceeguysfinish last posts on Twitter. Yes, I’ve been Twittering. Well, kinda. I drunkenly online bullied some AT&T reps for not getting my service up again fast enough after Irma. But during the time I was Twittering, I came across that nice guys finish last hashtag far too many times.

And I realized ‘hey, that’s probably aimed at me’’ because I haven’t fucked a sad sack halfwit living in his mom’s basement in the past few months.  So, to the dudes I haven’t fucked —

Here’s the thing, sugar tits (I can be rude because I’m not trying to get into anyone’s pants), nice guys do finish last. Because when your title is ‘nice,’ that tells me that’s all you have to offer.

Do you think Porche sells their cars by saying “hey, they’re nice”? Do you think Coach has the audacity to sell a $15,000 purse because Victor Luis is so fucking incredibly nice?

No. They have a little bit more to offer than just being nice. But apparently you being nice, well that makes you special and everyone should love you just because of that.

But here’s the thing. Nice is not a selling point. It’s the bare minimum required for being a civilized human being. Everyone can be nice. Fuck, I’m nice every day and I’m a total asshole! It’s not hard and it doesn’t make you special. It just makes you a regular person.

Until you try to use it as a selling point. Then it makes you yet another asshole trying to cash in on doing the bare minimum.

So to my ‘nice’ dudes –

It’s not that I don’t love you because I’m crazy, (which I am). It’s that the only person who can possibly get me is another human being who is actually crazy. So as much as I love your support, I’m never going to love you because you could never possibly understand what it is to be me. That’s a personal preference that I stick to.

You being nice isn’t going to change that. It’s not going to make us compatible.

But hey, here’s a bunch of ways on how to actually be an appealing person that people want to hang out with from someone who knows nothing about relationships. As you email me every four weeks or so complaining that you can’t get a girlfriend, figured I’d forward them on. Because of as much as you’d like to pretend our relationship was one-sided, it never was. I always gave advice, always offered options.   Always made it very clear I was not one of those options.

So, your annoying emails about how I just need to ‘focus on me’ and ‘reevaluate my priorities’ as you occasionally point out what a nice dude you are have not gone unnoticed. They’ve been intentionally ignored. Let’s admit it. If I wanted to be with you, I’d be with you.

I know me, way better than you do. I’m not nice. Never have been.  I don’t need to use ‘nice’ as a selling point because I’m so much more. Nice is not a quality. It’s a basic requirement for being human.

It’s not my job to fix you. It’s not my job to finish you. It’s not my job to make you feel ok about being you – and I could literally give a fuck how nice you are.

Because right now, you’re kind of being an asshole.

Lessons from Irma



I’m back again, having pulled myself out from under a pile of brush and empty Natty Ice cans, to recover from my most recent brush with death. Not talking about Hurricane Irma.

I’m talking about my bender.

I’m fine. Can’t say the same for my liver. If he could talk, he’d use his new-found voice to call Liver Protective Services and get placed with a foster caretaker who would abuse him slightly less.  But he can’t, so much like the toddler of a Florida meth-head mom, he’s stuck with me until they find some conclusive evidence at the hospital.

This was my first major Florida hurricane. I’ve been through a few small ones before, but nothing too scary. A bit like a Tindr date. A shit ton of build-up, a half-hearted blowjob and it’s over with minimal debris. Then came Irma. I learned a lot from Irma. Mainly, I learned that I can drink 47 beers in one night and not die. But I also learned some less important things to include;

#1 – AT&T sucks — but AT&T apologists suck even more

As my livelihood depends on having internet access, I was kind of worried as to when that access would be restored. Decided to check a forum, where a lot of people were bitching AT&T out. Then I got pissed. It wasn’t the not having service that bothered me.

It was the tight-lipped policy of all company representatives who refused to give a straight answer. Reminded me a bit of when they caught all them Catholic priests diddling kids and the Catholic church responded by saying “we’re still investigating what we think is an isolated incident. We’ll respond as soon as we’re possibly able.”

I fucking hate non-answer answers!

But even worse are the non-company affiliated high horse assholes who have to respond to every fucking comment. “Jeez, you’re living in a disaster zone! Try appreciating nature. Take your kid to a playground instead of worrying about streaming Netflix.”

First, most Florida playgrounds were blown North of the Mason-Dixon line. Next,  a hypocrite telling me to get off the internet while he’s using the internet is just irritating. I don’t owe you an explanation as to why I don’t want to go enjoy post-hurricane nature. It’s none of your business if my only end game is to finally binge-watch Season 7 of the Walking Dead (which it totally is). My beef ain’t with some random internet douchebag.

My beef is with a company that I pay to provide a service not being able to provide said service, while not providing answers on when that service will be restored. That puts the onus on me to decide whether I want to give them the benefit of the doubt and wait, or whether I want to sign on with a company whose cell towers aren’t made of balsawood.

So shut the fuck up and let them answer the questions. No one needs to hear from you. Why don’t you take some time off the internet and go appreciate nature instead? I hear there’s a lovely sewer overflow in Neptune you just have to see.

#2 The aftermath is worse than the storm

The aftermath is always worse than the storm because natural disasters are smart and people are complete idiots. That’s likely why so many tornados strike trailer parks.

Right now, Seminole county is rough. It’s hot, half the population doesn’t have electricity and people are morons who don’t know how to drive without traffic signals. It’s like they forgot everything they ever learned in driver’s ed. Just an FYI, if you’re ever at a Florida intersection and the lights are out due to a storm, there’s a simple way to determine the right of way.

It’s based on whoever is waving the largest gun.

#3 Reporters are idiots

Newscasters apparently have no sense of self-preservation. Through the storm, every channel was the same. Some windswept, soaking wet reporter shouting into a microphone “the police say it’s incredibly dangerous out here and no one should be on the road. That’s why they’ve barricaded it, but we managed to slip the News 17 van in to —” mike cuts out, fade to black.

How much you want to bet those same reporters, who apparently thought they were above the law, will complain about the lack of response time from first responders in some news special a week from now?

The only thing about them that annoyed me more was their aftermath interviews.

Picture it. A trailer park in Altamonte, waist-deep water, a sad man watching as all his possessions float down the street in a stagnant pool and out to the Atlantic. Some chick shoves a camera in his face.

“Sir, I see the aftermath is really bad. Tell me, how do you feel?”

Just once, I want someone to answer “How the fuck do you think I feel, you stupid bitch?”

# 4 Tethering is awesome

For me, one positive to come out of this storm is that I learned about tethering. I used to think my cell phone was only for playing Bubble Witch or texting randos pictures of my tits. Turns out, if you jailbreak it (rooting for Android users) you can turn it into a hot spot where you can use all that delightful unlimited cell phone data on your laptop, smart tv, whatever. It’s free!

I’m pretty sure it’s illegal but I don’t give a fuck. I’m living in a disaster zone, people. This is an emergency. Season 6 ended on a cliffhanger.




Essa’s Guide to Hurricane Preparedness


Since I was a kid, I’ve had this recurring dream. There’s a monster but it isn’t under my bed. Instead, it’s huge and it’s on a rampage. So I hide. Where I hide, that always changes. Under the bed, behind the refrigerator, in the floorboards, regardless of where I manage to cram my fat ass, I always get found. And at the end of that dream, I always die.

From that dream, I’ve learned two things. Number one, that myth where you die in a dream and that makes you die in real life? Total bullshit.   I guess I could have just used logic on that one. After all, if someone dies in a dream and dies in real life because of that dream – doesn’t that mean they died in their sleep? Then how did they tell anyone how they died?

Number two, preparation doesn’t stop a disaster.

So you know what I bought today at the store when everyone else was fighting over water and propane?

Candy and beer.

Yup, I bought those two items because worse comes to worse, I won’t be able to buy them for awhile. They’re luxury items. So I bought them. Everything else, I figured out way before.  So today, this is what I did;

  • I made bread –   Not just regular bread, but banana bread, beer bread, apple bread. Pretty much if I can make bread out of it, I’m turning it into bread.   Bread is portable, nutritious and when made right, can last weeks. In the worst of conditions, one slice of bread can be a meal.
  • I stored water – The stores around me are out of bottled water, have been for days. Honestly, I wouldn’t have bought it in the first place. I’ve filled all my plastic containers, from old juice bottles to old milk gallons, with water. I’ve frozen them. This creates a way to keep my perishable food cold and an eventual source of water. In the event that the storms get severe, I will block up all my drains using plastic bags or stoppers. That allows me to fill my tubs, sinks and toilets with as much water as possible.
  • I bought duct tape – Duct tape is endlessly usable.  You can use it to fix a broken window, develop a filtration system, splint a broken arm and minimize wind pressure with a few garbage bags. Never underestimate the power of duct tape.

My focus has been on surviving in my home when possible and the ability to leave it at the drop of a dime. It’s been on the ability to survive on scraps while fighting off the scavengers. It’s been on surviving another day with one goal in mind.

Get more candy and beer.

As much as I joke, I’m ready. I’m not hiding from the monster. I’m facing it head on. I can’t guarantee I’ll win, but I can guarantee I’ll put up one hell of a fight.

See y’all after Irma. Later gators.