I Quit My Day Job To Travel The World

It fucking sucks, please help me.

Just a few years ago, I was like you. Stuck in a dead-end fifty hour a week, £60K a year job, doing the 9-5 – running the rat race.

Sure, I was doing ok. Sure, I enjoyed the odd night out drinking the beer and smoking the weed with my pals down the park before heading back to my trendy bachelor pad. Life was pretty good – but I wasn’t living my dream.

Ever since I was a young boy, I’d always dreamt of travelling the world and learning about different cultures and landscapes through my own eyes. I wanted to really experience the world. So, on the morning of my 67th birthday, I strode confidently into the office, told my boss to go fuck himself, spray-painted a giant penis onto the ceiling of the office, and dove headfirst into my new lifestyle.

It absolutely fucking sucks. Sweet Jesus Christ did I screw up.

First of all, do you know how expensive all of this shit is? I fucking didn’t. I assumed I could just get on a random plane and just go places. But the complete lack of fiscal responsibility that has been a constant feature in my life so far has really come to a head.

As I write this now I’m stuck in a tiny internet café in Cambodia with not a penny to my name and a pretty chronic case of the runs. I’ve begged my old boss to take me back (I cried on the phone to him) but he just laughed and said that slamming his face in the cake at my retirement party was the final straw.

Oh yeah, and that’s another thing. I’m so fucking sick and tired of all this ‘ethnic food’. I know everyone talks about ‘widening your cultural horizons’, but literally the only thing I’ve managed to widen so far is my rectum. I shit where I sit and it feels like I’m sitting in a vat of battery acid. Please help me.

And while we’re talking about illness and general malady – who would have figured that a constant stream of encounters with underage sex workers was going to be bad for my health? My penis literally looks like it could fall off any second. I showed it to the doctor at a sexual health clinic and she cried. I can’t believe this never occurred to me before.

I could go on. But what I’m trying to say is that if there’s anyone out there who could help me out I’d really appreciate it, because my old boss won’t hire me again and I need cash and medicine ASAP or I’m going to die.

Nomadic Splat

This article was published in CG Issue 59.