In today’s tough economy, the era of the average kinda-work-a-day goon may seem a bygone thing. The goon feels as though he may be witnessing the extinction of his own storied traditions and indeed his way of life. One need look no further than Greece, where teeming hoards of once peaceable goons have overwhelmed urban centres, furious at the notion they may indeed have to work past the age of 46 before they can tap their pensions, and maybe even pay a few taxes along the way.
As some quotable fellow may have once said (and I’m paraphrasing here): taxes are the price that goons pay to live in a civilized society. For, without a doubt, were it not for civilized society, goons would be a forever-wandering and displaced tribe; a forever-plummeting anchor without a society to hold back.
And just as the sun must rise every morning, so too must the goon continue to fill his goonysack with cheap beer, various saturated fats, fly hats, and ridesharefare to advance the interprovincial network of goonship. When the goon’s credit card is maxed, OSAP spent up at beertaps, and those mysterious government cheques refunding you for taxes you don’t remember paying just won’t cut it, the goon must get creative. The goon must keep the suds and gravy flowing. The goon must get paid.
The goon’s first leap into papertrails and paystubs, however, need not be taken as defeat or discouragement. Entry into the realm of professional employment does not spell the end of one’s goonhood. Au contraire, my friends. Entire tiers of the working world have become niches where goonship can persist and, indeed, thrive. Some jobs not only tolerate goonery, but are in fact active partners in its cultivation. What follows is the Goon Roll, outlining but a few options to keep paperstacks and tomfoolery hand in hand in this slave new world.
Personal injury lawyers. This is for the more audacious and/or soulless goons. Lurking in the shadows at accidents in the workplace, or strapped to the roof of ambulances on dispatch, the personal injury lawyer can bank some serious loot creating fault where there was none, fully gooning both perp and victim out of their ducats and dignity (respectively). I’m going to bring medical malpractice lawyers into the fold here as well, especially because I fully plan on cashing in on Isaac’s estate once he’s established in his practice and the opportunity presents itself. In fact, let’s all sue Isaac.
Roofers. Okay, you may have seen this one coming, but it’s a necessary nod to a few good Ottawa roofin’ lads who brought us the beer sleeve, an innovation that has advanced incalculably the science of public beer-swilling. Roofing is hard work, but the goon can get a lot of his everyday goonery out of the way from up on high: recklessly hucking dangerous objects from heights, swooping around in a harness – great stuff. Perched at the apex of the domicile, in the sun, with a watery domestic in one hand and a pneumatic nailgun in the other, the sense washes over the goon that he truly cannot be fucked with. After twelve hours, twelve beers, and twelve bundles of shingles, the roofer might punch out, but he’s pure goon 24/7. This one’s real steady, but at its rate of remuneration, there may be better ways for the goon to make cake. Unless you’re crooked. In which case, you’re set.
Government. No one ever suspects the butterfly. If the public service was a person, it’d be the slyest goon y’ever knew. While those legions of civil servants take home high end salaries to dress up and play busy, most of them are actually reading the newspaper, writing goonblogs, or playing Facebook Scrabble and counting down the seconds till beer o’clock. This is an ideal way to finance one’s goonish tendencies while keeping up the appearance of being an honest working member of society. Municipal, provincial, federal. Take your pick, it’s all gravy. Especially in the nation’s capital. The gravy here is top notch.
Riggers. Send an ordinary goon off to some barren landscape in rural Alberta or northern Ontario, park him in a dry camp with a thousand other goons, pay him a doctor’s salary to drive trucks and turn cranks for fourteen hours a day for twenty days straight. Then send him back to civilization. Pure, concentrated goon. A goon whose deprivation has given him a penchant for depravity no longer knows boundaries. A goon whose self-righteousness is the only thing to parallel his exhaustion. A goon whose pockets are fat and whose time is limited. ‘Tis no ordinary goon who returns from camp at rotation’s end. ‘Tis a beast of a goon who breathes liquor, exhales hundreds, and eats goons smaller than he. Things can get ugly, but that sticky bitumen ain’t gonna heave itself from the ground, and the dams ain’t gonna build themselves. This goon’s gonna bring the power to the people. And lucky you if he’s buyin’ drinks tonight.