Today I want to start by touching upon a serious issue.

Traditionally, the EgoDriven Blogger has been an outlet to present comedy-tinged observations, anecdotes, and jokes. I can't speak for our proprietor, Mr.Johnson, but the persona that I present here (in all of its varying forms) is often not my own, but a means of squeezing the most absurdity out of a given scenario. Sometimes there's a wealth of truth and poignancy to my statements, other times there's virtually none. Confusing to the casual reader, I know... but this place is where I go to escape the doldrums of everyday life, and that's what it should be to you too. Entertainment. If you'd like to have a meaningful conversation, please feel free to e-mail me. I'm always interested in hearing other viewpoints.

Now, I know I've joked at length about this demographic, but I'm earnestly tired of the homeless epidemic in America. I'm not tired of the people, but I'm truly exhausted by how little we've done to help them. We'll hand out a treasury's worth of cash away to foreign countries, special interest groups, and people that have made poor life choices. Trillions into unjustified wars. Countless billions to poorly-managed and greedy corporations. Endless mountains of cash to those on welfare, many of whom purposefully work fewer hours just so they can afford Section 8 housing. In these circles, getting fired is often considered a positive thing given the availability of unemployment insurance! Many folks simply don't carry their weight, except by feeding the economy; purchasing bigger televisions, cars, smartphones, and narcotics using government funding.

Who takes care of the homeless? Churches, philanthropists, private charities... among others. Notice how I didn't include the United States Government in the list? I really wish I could. A concession: I don't have the answers. It's part of my belief system that one shouldn't complain about a problem unless they're willing to offer a solution. For example, I'm concerned about climate change... but my carbon footprint is a Size 21. It's not worth it to enter that debate.

However... here's one idea. The United States should give tax breaks to companies that hire homeless workers. Many homeless people are mentally incapacitated in some regard, a key reason for their economic status. I understand that. For those that are healthy and able, there should be jobs available so that they may work their way back into the community. A second chance. Tax breaks are an equitable compensation for corporations willing to take the risk of hiring these individuals.

Everyone's standard of living should improve in the 21st century. Now then...

Thoughts and Observations:

Thought: I've been studying the blues. You know, blues music. I've always had an affinity for the blues and New Orleans jazz, especially in recent years... so I was curious. Turns out, blues originated in the South back in the 1800s. Black plantation workers used music as a way of expressing their dissatisfaction with their lives and their living conditions. It was a protest of slavery, and the way that their "owners" treated them. A great, early example of using art to make a difference!

Ironically, the only time I sing the blues is when black people move into my neighborhood!

Observation: Today at work, per my usual routine, I visited the Men's Room first thing in the morning. Not that it usually smells like roses or anything, but the place was particularly rank. Inside the stall, behind the urine-spattered seat and tucked behind the toilet... I find today's Boston Globe newspaper. God knows I was tempted to read it, but my first thought was that the putrid odor in the air was emanating from that very paper. Y'ever notice that? Whenever you visit somebody's house, or enter any room and something doesn't smell quite right... you assume that it's coming from the person occupying that space. In any event, I'm pretty confident that the Globe was placed there deliberately to present a dilemma to whoever came across it.

Or perhaps I had too much coffee today.

Thought: Women, I have a revelation for you. The only reason a man will ever take you back after formally dumping you is to get his phallus properly drained. After all of the recent strides in female empowerment, do you really think it's the best idea to throw one of these cocksuckers a bone? My advice would be simple, honest, and direct: think of your body like a door. Now, I want you to slam that door on his penis. Slam it, open it, and then slam it again as hard as you possibly can. Turn that cute little knob into a throbbing stump of pain, and show that slob who's boss. Who says violence never solved anything, huh?

Pet Peeve: Tipping. Let's itemize my frustration.

A. Why do I need to tip a stylist that owns their own salon? Doesn't the base rate qualify as a full-fledged payment for services rendered? If not, what did I get for the initial $40? Half a haircut and a smattering of terrible conversation?

B. Explain this: delivery people often receive a paltry tip when compared to their waiter/waitress counterparts. Despite such factors as distance traveled, environmental conditions, mileage, and usually fewer customers per hour. Given the duties of each position, I'd understand a slight discrepancy. It's jarring, though.

C. Your tips are based on the cost of what you ordered. So, if you went to a restaurant where the average entree cost $50, you'd be expected to pay significantly more than if you were dining at Denny's. Even if the quality of services was identical. It doesn't seem right.

D. Do the math and you'll quickly discover that, unless business is dead, wait staff tend to pull in upwards of $30 per hour in tips. Oftentimes much more. So, why is it that I get accosted whenever I skimp in this regard? And by skimp, I mean drop below 20%. Have y'all forgotten the purpose of tips? Maybe the next item can help.

E. If you want to initiate a market correction in the world of gratuity, try this. Start your server off at 10%, and add a percentage point whenever they do something of worth. Refill your water, unprovoked? 1 point. Recite the specials? 1 point. Get your order right the first time? 2 points. Provide the check the same day that you request it? 5 points. If the waiter was worth their salt, they'll likely end up with the standard 15-20% tip. However, if the service was lousy, consider a .15% tip. There's no better way to drive your point home than to move it two spaces to the left.

Report: In the sexual marketplace, I'm what's known as a top-notch service provider. In a survey of 279 women in Q4 2009, my overall approval rating was just under 86%. Taking several factors into consideration, including varied tastes in what qualifies as premium sex, I'm pretty confident in my services and expect an increased dividend yield in the next fiscal year. According to a survey of 165 subscribers in Q1 2010, 78% feel like the word "whore" is terribly overrated. Of those 78%, only 43% have an STD. Of those STDs, only 35% are life-threatening. Analysts say my futures are looking bright.

Good Idea: Planning your child's birth for a leap year. February 29th! Ah, that'll fuck 'em up but good. "When's your birthday, little Jimmy?"

"I don't know."

Factoid: My brother has been pursuing a Master's in Clinical Psychology for several years now, after dabbling in a few other fields as a sophomore. In a very tender moment this past weekend, he divulged that he began this journey because of me. I didn't know that I could be such an inspiration! It really warms the heart.

Thought: My condolences to those we lost in Haiti this year. But! It prompted Radiohead and several other major artists to perform concerts to raise money for the relief effort. Truth be told, it almost makes me wish for another earthquake. Maybe Led Zeppelin will come out next! Hmm... perhaps I could plant a dirty bomb in the Mall of America and get Pink Floyd to reunite. Ah, sometimes you have to make your own fun.

Did You Know? Thomas Edison didn't really invent the light bulb, Alexander Graham Bell didn't really invent the telephone, and Al Gore didn't really invent the internet.

Thought: Y'ever find yourself in a situation where you're directly beside your significant other... perhaps even holding them... and then somebody comes over and begins speaking to one of you? But not both of you. In fact, they're giving off the impression that they don't see one of you at all. No acknowledgment whatsoever. What am I, some sort of unsightly parasite?

Observation: 78-year-old actor Rip Torn recently committed career suicide by getting blind drunk and trying to rob a bank in a bathrobe and slippers. On the bright side, his career was already dead after appearing in Men In Black 2.

Things You Never See: A homeless guy driving a car.

Uh oh! So I was hanging with a friend the other night, and we wanted to drink from my flask of Peppermint Schnapps. But it was stuck! So she came up with the idea of using a lighter to loosen the cap. Good thing I stopped her, hah. I'm not sure what would have happened, but it probably would have involved hot minty shrapnel and a ration of pure liquid suffering.

Thought: Some network sitcoms, from the pilot forward, have heavy laugh-tracks. I pose this question: how can a studio audience be so intimately familiar with a character's eccentricities that they laugh hysterically during the very first moments of a new series? I would imagine that a show's audience, in reality, should really begin to elevate their laughter a few episodes in. You know, when they've actually become familiar with the show's sense of humor! These are the things that pass through my idle mind when I'm not horny enough to masturbate.

Helpful Tip: When I first started my previous job, I would often find my food stolen right out of the refrigerator! Mostly things like sodas, which were already opened. I wondered to myself, why would somebody feel compelled to take somebody's half-consumed beverage? Isn't this just a wee bit irresponsible? So, I began putting a polite little Post-It note on my food that stated "Do not touch. I have been diagnosed with HIV." That curbed the thievery pretty fucking quick.

Observation: Going on haircut alone? Hitler was a pretty cool dude.

A Day In The Life: I was at a lounge recently when a tipsy, middle-aged woman came up to me. She smiled and whispered breathily in my ear that "I'm a beautiful man" and that I "look like Jesus Christ." My response? "Yeah, tobacco-breath... and Jesus was celibate."

Thought: Growing up, I recall my Uncle Steve telling me about his experience as a Boy Scout leader. "Girl Scouts is where I get my cookie, Boy Scouts is where I get my nookie." Hah, he was always such a card.

About Me: I've been thumb-wrestling with my penis lately. Guess who's been winning, homeslice? Me! I've been kicking his ass, in fact. Hey, you know what they say: the bigger they are, the harder they fall.

Good Idea: Wanna buy a bible? No? Ah, shit. I'm batting 0-for-203 now. Bad investment.

So hey, I've decided that I want to be a priest. A priest that fucks a lot of women. I'm aware that there are positions available that would facilitate this desire, such as a reverend or minister... but no! It has to be "priest." I feel that with such a well-defined goal in mind, I should be able to pull it off. Once I'm bored of the concept, perhaps I'll sell it to HBO. Hum... perhaps I could be a priest that only fucks dead women. Ah, I should pitch this one to the SHOWTIME network instead.

Necrophilia, such an intriguing concept. I'm interested, but where are the women dying for this cause? Maybe I should start selling bibles again, and court the fundamentalist Christians. Perhaps we can make their trip to Heaven mutually beneficial! But yeah, necrophilia is tough. Pedophilia is much easier. Cruise them middle schools and name-drop Edward Cullen a few times? You're bound to hit gold, and without getting any blood on your hands! Well, maybe a little.

Driving: I don't give a French-fried fuck if somebody died in a car accident. They were clearly driving too fast and not paying attention to changing road conditions, and thus they deserve exactly what they got. Shards of windshield permanently embedded in what's left of their face, a shattered ribcage, a dwindling array of teeth, a downsized family... it doesn't matter to me. I'm already 10 minutes late for work, so shuffle that debris to the side and let's get rolling.

Thought: I had two sex dreams last night. Most of the time I'm lucky if I have one in a given month, but last night I had two. The first one is pretty cut and dry, I fucked Fiona Apple. A childhood friend embodied by Fiona Apple. Spectacular, yes, but cut and dry. The other dream was a little more mysterious. My imagination conjured up a gal, and we played. I can't really define who she is, though! I think she was randomly generated, like a dungeon in an old video game. Except I've never planted my warm seed in a video game's filthy little asshole.

A Day In The Life: I was sitting at work last month when I received a text message from a good friend. "Wanna sext later?" she asks.

Who asks that? Just like the carnal act itself, shouldn't you skip the bullshit and just do it? Anyway, we do end up sexting here and there throughout the day. I'll be honest, cybering has never done it for me. I have trouble taking it seriously. Anyway, in the evening I go out to dinner. Mexican. I'm waiting for my table, sipping a Margarita at the bar, and I pick up the sexting again. You know, to pass the time. A short while later, as I'm enjoying a delicious Salsa Con Queso... she asks me if I'm masturbating. Apparently she is! I say no, I'm out at a restaurant indulging in fine Mexican cuisine. A few minutes pass. Eventually she texts me back, saying that she just came. I told her that I too had just finished.

My Chicken Enchilada.