Ways to make money

1. Get a job.
2. Get a spouse with a job and mooch off of her/him until she/he divorces you. Then sue for half.
3. Win "Ugliest Person Alive" Pageant.
4. Mug schoolchildren for their UNICEF boxes.
5. Sell friends into slavery.
6. Invent free range veal.
7. Panhandle on street corner.
8. Panhandle in Alaskan stream.
9. Marry a filthy rich widow/widower; wait for her/his impending death.
10. Get elected to public office.
11. In the event #10 proves undoable, win lawsuit against government for unlawful hiring practices.
12. Join the mob.
13. Build world's largest porn theatre.
14. Become a porn star.
15. Start up a new 'family values' organization to fight pornography; tell everyone it's "non-profit."
16. Invent a self-sufficient stapler.
17. Sue large vitamin supplement company for mental anguish.
18. Open nude diner.
19. Sell handguns to angst-ridden teenagers.
20. Turn gun-toting, angst-ridden teenagers into the police; collect applicable rewards.

In days gone by IX

In days gone by, artists revelled in the introduction of contrary ideas, imaginative new visual forms and championing the appreciation of beauty. They painted, sculpted, sketched and designed, constantly challenging the pre-conceived notions of the day. They ignored sleep and sustenance, giving birth to the term "starving artist" while surviving on the simple satisfaction of a bronze bust or a lakeside watercolour. They drank heavily, experimented with mind-altering substances and lived constantly in a whirlwind of self-destruction and unrestrained joie de vie. They lived with the courage of their convictions, all passion and fiery determination, lopping off body parts in bids to woo unrequited loves, before ending their days in local madhouses and paupers graves. Today, an artist will charge you $500 for a banana peel nailed to a discarded condom rack.

In days gone by VIII

In days gone by, reporters asked tough questions, smoked cigarettes and tucked press passes into the brims of their fedoras. They wore suspenders and slept-in suits, pounded the pavement night and day and seeked the truth and 'the scoop' with equal abandon. They plucked away at manual typewriters, bottles of scotch tucked neatly in the bottom of their desk drawers, and they fought for their stories, arguing with grumpy, raspy-voiced editors until the excitement of 'Stop the presses!' cut through the din of a smoky newsroom. Reporters were a trusted cornerstone of society and embodied the spirit of unbiased information gathering and dispersal. Today, they moonlight as funeral home copy writers so they can get a deal on burial plots and all-weather floral arrangements.