And now, some words of advice from Dr. Phil. Hey, how's that working for you? No matter how flat you make a pancake, there's always two sides. And no matter how much syrup you pour on them pancakes, you're still going to have to deal with the butter, maybe even a side of bacon and some orange juice before you find out what's for lunch. You know, if brains were lard, none of you could grease a skillet. Now, if liver was lard, or maybe your spleen or pancreas, then yeah, you could probably grease you a small skillet. But would you taste good? That's what I want to know. I didn't just ride in on a load of turnips. This ain't my first rodeo. I've done this more times than you've had hot dinners. Don't piss on my leg and tell me it's raining. Don't teach your grandma to suck eggs. I didn't just get off the banana boat. I'm not as green as I am cabbage looking. I've had more than one go at the scones and this ain't my first coronation. I squeezed a few tea bags in my time, let me tell you. And I didn't come here to fuck spiders. You know, guilt is like a rocking chair. It's something to do, but you don't go anywhere. Anger. Well, anger is like a hide a bed. You want to pull it out and sleep on it, but you're too mad, you know, so you just break it up into little pieces. And then you got to get you a new hide a bed and starts all over. No dog ever peed on a moving car. Well, except this dog, Rufus. I had this one time. That was his favorite thing next to sleeping. Trying to pee on moving cars. Well, one time he finally did it. He peed all over a moving car. Unfortunately, it was the dog catcher's truck. So he stopped, grabbed up old Rufus and, well, that was the last time any of us saw poor Rufus. We have us a cat now. His name's Dave. My daddy used to tell me, boy, don't ever miss a good chance to shut up. And you know what I told my dad? Well, don't you? Well, why don't you shut up, you nasty little bitch. I'm a famous TV doctor now. And what are you, huh? Just a simple old dumb catfish farmer with a filthy mind and a dirty house. You know how your dog will look down when he knows he has done something wrong? A snake will look you right in the eyes. Now, a chicken A chicken will kind of turn its head from side to side, maybe wiggle a little. Pigs, they will just flat out ignore you. And don't get me started on kangaroos. They are some of the most untrustworthy members of the Aminal kingdom ever. You know, you can glue feathers on a dog, but it still doesn't make him a chicken. But it's close enough. We tried that with our dog Rufus when we wanted a chicken, but the city said we couldn't have any on account of the zone. It was all wrong. You'd be surprised how dang long it takes to glue feathers on a dog. Even a small dog like Rufus. We kept hoping he'd lay some eggs for us afterwards, but he wouldn't even cluck or say cock a doodle do or nothing. You know, holding on to anger is like drinking poison and expecting the other poor person to die. But releasing anger, well that's like dumping poison down the other person's throat and making them drink it. It's very satisfying. But you better get your alibi straight when the cops come by. Me, I was at Tony's bar is the one I use when I'm caught short. Works every time. Now if I was on the air, it was just kind of a plain vanilla personality that took the safe road and the safeway, trying to please all the people all the time. I'd be gone in two weeks. Well that's why I've manufactured this homespun, no nonsense, completely fake, pseudo professional bullshit. Which isn't fooling anybody, am I right? Well except maybe that boob headed idiot deliver.

Out of the frying pan in the fire. Yep. So I've done exactly two orders if you count them originating from one place in the course of. Well let's see. What time is it now? It's 11:45. Signed on at 9:30. So you do the math. Right, two hours plus. Or was it 8:30? No, I think it was 9:30. So in two hours I've done technically two orders. Although one order was for three dollars. Cuz that's how they do it. That's what I think of that. Makes me want to vomit. And then of course I get handed the well here's an order for 375. Don't you want to do that one? Oh, here's an order for 475. So generous. Nobody can do that level of order for the amount you're offering and even pretend to call it making any kind of a living. I don't care if you're a whatever Just doing it for the fucking laughs. This place fucking sucks. Being in this place. Not the physical place, the place where they have now oversaturated themselves because that's what this company's policy is. Or they don't fucking know any better. And now we're all fucking guppies trying to eat the fucking crumbs that are left so they can offer us all.

I know.

Why don't you pay us to do it? Because it's such a privilege to deliver this fucking shit. Fuck you, Rubrash. Fucking divorce. Actually, that's an insult divorce. My bad. You guys are. I don't know what to fucking insult you with because you're just fucking gross. This gig economy is fucking gross. It's gross. It's more exploitative than in the fucking jungle getting eaten by rats. Because it gets locked into the factory. That's the only thing that's missing. The rats are eating us digitally now.

Really?

You pulled me out of nice fucking day for this? And I'll tell you something else. I don't need this job. I don't need you people. I don't need this anymore. I had a client pay me $300 today to do what I love doing, which is an herbal consultation. And they needed the medicine I had for them, which happened to be an amazing product made out of a fresh cannabis plant that I grew over a season ago. That's still good because I know how to preserve shit, because I was trained to do that and I've been an herbalist since I was 18. So why am I doing this? I don't know. But it's definitely forcing me to make some hard and fast decisions. So deliverance may be strangled in the cradle, which would actually be just fine for me. By me. I really won't miss this job. Not in the slightest. Not in the least. Not in the teeny, tiny, weeny whiniest bit. Because despite how much I sound like I'm protesting to the contrary, I'm not a big fan of complaining or bitching and whining and moaning. It doesn't, you know, victimhood. Yeah, I've worn it the majority of my life. But I want to move from survivor to thriver. And this job does nothing but take what little self esteem I've managed to coddle together in my 50 years going around the planet and smash it with a fat, fat fist. So. So that's what I'm experiencing today. The boom and the bus. Right? Today was this lovely sunny day. Kitties got to stay outside for almost four hours. And soak up some vitamin D through their hair follicles or however they do it. I don't know, maybe they'd get it by manufacturing. I'm not a kitty physiology expert. They definitely got some vitamin sunshine. And like I said, I had this wonderful regular client come in and we did almost 2 hour consult. Talked about all sorts of stuff, really tried to get at the root of it. She left feeling incredibly enthusiastic, empowered and with a fresh perspective on her issue. And I just felt like in the zone for the rest of the day. I mean it made me so, so ecstatically happy. So clearly these are the paths I can choose. Continue to go down the road, rash, road of whittle, cut, chop, bite, chew, fricassee, stew and end up wanting to murderize somebody. Because the only escape from this kind of work is death. Or do what I love to do, which is to connect people with plants, which is pretty much what I'm born to do since my last name, which you'll never know, happens to be in the plant variety. Even my first name, middle name, not so much. But that's okay. So can hardly wait what's going to come next because I can't add more hours onto my road rash because I did the tantalizing. Oh look, you can work until 3, but guess what? All these other people signed up even before you had a chance to. Why? I don't know, maybe because they believe in that top bullshit whatever the fuck ploy it is to pretend to the people that they're not independent contractors. Except they are. Except they're not. Except whatever we need to do to exploit you, we'll call you whatever you are. How about slave driving slaves? That's what we are. We're your fucking slaves. Slaves and you know it. And you need to fucking cop to it. And your company doesn't even fucking make money. That's how fucking gross this thing is. It's just fucking gross. I'd rather be a stripper. I've already got man boobs as they are known in the business. Moobs. So Chippendales, watch out, here I come. Boom shakalaka. So addendum to this is related to the actual order one of them. So I got to what I thought was the right drop off location and surprise, surprise, surprise, it was gomer pile once again, gumming up the works. Because lonely cornhole, there were two addresses and guess what? The customer was not at the address. I went to shock a lock a docker and of course they were like, I don't know how this happened. Yeah, you do. You were too fucking dumb when you placed the order to know where the fuck you were. And then you went somewhere else. It's not magic. It's called carelessness. And it cost me time, money, aggravation, and what little hair I have left to pull out on my already balding scalp. So thank you, college student, for making an F grade on your order.

Fail.

Should have poached your food for that, but I didn't. Your nice boyfriend that you sent out to get your food, I hope he gets some of it, because he really deserves it. Because he was very polite and I managed to also be professionally polite while inside I was a seething volcano of lava wanting to pour all over your. I don't know, some town analogy. What's the one? Vesuvius all over your Pompeii? I don't know. Anyway, just added aggravation. Comes the territory.

Rant, rant, rant, rant, rant, rant.

Raaaa. Part three and less than one minute to timeout, where I will have done done one order in almost two and a half hours. And the clock's ticking. Not getting any orders. There's no sound coming my way. None of that ding, ding, ding, Pavlovian saliva bell. Let's see what happens, boys and girls. Well, let's go to the road rash app where it says extend and they do the pause thing so you can't toggle back and forth. Oh, look, I get to extend. Do I extend? Fail. Why the fuck offer it to me then, you fucking piece of shit motherfucker Makes no fucking sense, you dumbass. Every slot from three back to fucking 12, it's all gonna say no. Can't do it. Nope, can't do it. Fail. Fail. Fail. You fucking assholes. Fucking dumb motherfuckers. Why don't you go fucking. Ah. His job is like. It's like. It's worse than Lucy and the football. I don't even feel like Charlie Brown. I don't even feel like the football. I feel like the dirt that's been covered with shit underneath the football because there was a dog turd that was left there. That's what it feels like. That's how much fun. That's how much I enjoy doing this work.

It's.

It's so much fun. Oh, look, I get to select the time again. Why are you even doing this to me? It's just. It's so, ah. This whole business, it's just so. Like, how dumb can you be? Because it's like, trust Violation. That's what this really is. You know, maybe I am too fucking weird invested, but that's what it feels like. It doesn't feel good. It feels like the house is stacked against you, and you're trying to gamble with your last bit of life savings so your farm doesn't get taken away, and you and Ma and Pa Kettle have to move to the wasteland of California. If you ain't got that do re. Me? Yeah, you and Woody. This app kills fascists. God, I wish. And it's 1201. Do you know where your money is not coming from?

Road rash.

And done. And part four. Okay, so I timed out, which is what happens. That means my. My rash ended, thank goodness. So I can stop scratching myself and they show how much I make. Thank you very much. And then I went into scheduling to see if sometimes it pops up. And sure enough, I could actually sign up from 12:30, another half hour from now to 3am So I did. Okay. Weird that I couldn't have done that while I was in it, but I'm sure I'm too dumb to know why that is happening. Because it's a brilliant maneuver on. On whoever created this app's part, I'm sure. Totally sure. Because it's always me. It's never them. Always me. And then when I go back into the screen where I find out what's going on with just the general vicinity, there's what is a map of the area I'm in here in the northwest boundaries, and it's in red, which means there's activity. And then it says, now, why couldn't I do that earlier if it was so busy? Did it just come busy right when I got bumped off? No, I don't think so. So it's like one hand doesn't even talk to the foot, let alone the other hand. Like, there's no this. This thing is just so schizophrenic. And you tell me how it makes sense. So here's what I did. Okay. I don't know. Here's what happened. Right. Follow me. My shift ended at midnight. I went to the schedule. I found out I could sign up from 12:30 to 3 for tonight. Did that. Got out of that part of the app. Went back to the opening landing page, found out there was activity and that I could now ride away instead of waiting a half hour. And when I went to do that, I had to cancel my. Which you have to be careful because I've canceled before only to find out that once I get back to the Original location where I was going to sign up. Poof, that's gone. So that I'm fucked for the rest of the night. Yes, that happens. Didn't happen this time. I went back in, signed up. What time did I sign up for? 12 to 3am you tell me why that makes sense. Because I don't see how it makes sense. Three different ways to fucking get to the same place. Why didn't you just let me sign up when I was already there? Why did you have to do all this? What the fuck? Logarithm. Logarithmic sense gets made by making me jump through so many fucking hoops. I'd rather dive off a skyscraper and end up in a fucking flattened can. Like, why we eat coyote. Just. It's so aggravating. It's so frustrating that I just. I don't know. You know? I feel like years are being taken off of my life doing this job. Years, okay, Months, days. I don't know. I don't know. I just don't know. I don't know. Because none of it makes sense. And they never tell you why. And it's all subterranean and subterfuge. So as humans, we like to make up stories. And my story is these people are fucking violators. They suck. I just imagine there's some group of people wringing their hands over all the fucking gold that they're making from us, wondering how much more they can extract from their investors, even though they've never made them a fucking dime. But they're going to at some point. It's a confidence game. It's a shell game. We're all going to get rich. We're all going to get rich.

Just invest a little bit more.

And then when the curtain gets exposed, it's not Ozin's there, it's just a empty black hole just sucking in everything that comes its way. That's what it's like. So, yeah, do you want to partake in this? Please, be my guest. Sign up. Road rash. Just. Just get everybody to do this so we can all drive around in a circle and think we're doing something productive when we're not. Because when it is productive, yeah, it's fine. You know, it's like the little girl. When she was really nice, she was nice. When she was bad, she was really bad. I don't know. I'm a Thursday's child. Thursday's child is full of whoa. Whoa. Whoa doesn't stop. Not whoa is me, because I don't care anymore. The caring has been beaten out of me.

It's been beaten out of me with a fucking rubber hose.

And now I'll sit for the next two hours and maybe get an order, if I'm lucky to go to the wrong address, with the wrong food, with the wrong location, with the wrong attitude.

With the wrong car.

And feel so right. Okay. Going to go wash my brain out with some soap. Nighty night. Okay. I just have to head A Part 5. So I spent the last 15 minutes looking into signing up for. Well, what am I going to call this one? Goober Cheats. And the website that they have is so bifurcated that where it says click to sign on. Can't do it. And scrolling through the pages, they're blinking out, blinking on. Don't think it has to do with my phone. Don't think it has to do with my connection. There's something about their website and that right there. The fact that it's basically next in pawn. Well, it's not next. It is. It's impossible. I. I can't sign up. I can't. My. Yes. Maybe it's Safari or I should do Chrome, or, I don't know, stick my finger up my ass, spin around and see what happens. Wear a tinfoil hat. It's a message. It's a sign. I need to get out before it's too late. Save yourself. I don't know. I really. I avoided even taking Uber cars. Uber cars. Because their CEO is such a douchebag. So maybe this. This is my karma, not wanting to sign up for it. Here comes somebody. One of those wheelie things. There they go. Electric skateboards. Because we're all Michael J. Fox now. That's the world we live in. Technology. It's a beautiful thing. Yeah, until it isn't. And just in case you're listening. Yeah, no orders. And so it's now 12:30. So I've been out in three hours, doing two orders, technically in order, and a third of an owner, at least a half an owner, based on what I'm paying. That also was fucked up because the person is too incompetent, even though they're a sub millennial. Hello, technology genius. To figure out that they had two addresses. I just don't care. You know, That's. That's what always feels good. People don't care. Or that's the message you get, right? Because you're already privileged for that look for it. So it's confirmation bias. Okay, I am heading back to my fart sack to fart at will and at peace. And maybe to have some pretzels and cheese because I earned it today, people. Yeah, my podcast went down. Not this one, another one that I do. Yes, and I can't tell you because you'll figure out who I am because that one's public. So anyway, happy days. I may be back or I may not. So just to sum up, I have now finished my rashing for the night. It's just after 2am, started at 9:30, so that's approximately four and a half hours. I did a total of four, maybe five orders. So basically about an order an hour. Not quite that really because for two different orders I did double pickups. So I don't really consider those full order the second one because I get paid a fraction of what I would have if I'd taken it by itself. Typically I made a little over $28 gross. Probably drove out about a gallons worth of gas, maybe less wear and tear on the car. 25 bucks if we're being generous. So that's basically a little over basically about five bucks an hour, more or less. Woohoo. And that's, you know, I'm an independent contractor business person, so I got to pay taxes on that. So yeah, we're looking at Maybe I made 20 bucks for four hours of work. Almost five. Not sustainable. Not in the least. So. But as usual, most of the customers were cool. Not the dingy one that couldn't get our addresses straight. But everybody else was fine. And the people at the restaurants, super great. Had good conversations, joked around with the people. And they know me because it's a small town, so you know, I like that. Everything else, not so much. All right Betty. Bye time. Night night.

And now final thoughts from Dr. Phil. You can choose to be right or you can choose to be happy. You can choose being an astronaut or you can choose be a janitor. You can choose to be afraid of strange man with clown faces or you can leave and join the circus performing as a bearded lady. Or maybe a monka trainer until you finally had enough of the carnival life and you quit and become an accountant. You know, I found that trying to coach your wife is like trying to baptize a cat. Trying to question your wife is like trying to get your cat to talk. And cats don't talk. They say meow or sometimes they purr. Are women like cats or is that just a dumb kind of comparison? Only hick from Oklahoma with a fake doctor degree would come up with.

You.

Don'T need you a pack of wild horses to learn how to make a sandwich. But Then again, if you want to make a delicious horse meat sandwich, you do need at least one horse. Or you can just buy a taco. A Taco Bell, your choice. You don't need a rope to pinch a stranger's butt. Last time I tried pinching a stranger's butt, they took my license away and tied me up with rope though, so I can't recommend it. Every one of us have things that we believe about ourselves. When nobody else is looking, nobody else is listening, nobody else is monitoring what we're doing. We believe things about ourself. Take me, for example. I believe I'm a professional advice giver whose net worth is close to $200 million when a route. I'm just an overpaid hack who prostitutes himself for show and who has trouble telling the difference between his ass and a hole in the ground. You've got to decide. Look, this is who I am. This is my best way to present myself. And I'm going to ride that horse to the finish line. Not everybody will like it, but that's okay. But what happens if before you get to the finish line, you start getting hungry? Well, then you might have to go and eat that horse. Which means you probably won't ever make it the finish line. Which means you'll get labeled quitter. Which will be true. But police won't be hungry. It's better to be healthy alone than sick with someone else. But if you do find yourself stuck in a relationship with a real loser, you can't leave. Making them truly suffer can definitely make up for a lot of those healthy times you'll be missing out on. Let me tell you, take it from a guy. If you're in love with somebody, you will swim the stream, you will climb the mountain, you will slay the dragon. You're going to get her somehow, someway. And if you do all that and she still says, get the fuck away from me, you creepy, wet, dorky hiking boots wearing dragon killer, well, you should probably respect that. Or you might get accused of being a stalker. Then there might be a restraining order, which could really mess up your TV show reputation. Not to mention your endorsement contracts. If it ever gets out, I'll tell you, if you're in the front row of the parade and you stop walking, pretty soon you're back in the tuba section. And if you want to lead the parade, you got to keep moving. Of course, maybe you just want to.

Stand off to the side and twirl.

Your baton while wearing those itchy wool uniforms or those ugly damn hats. That don't fit no matter how hard you try. And you only join marching band in the first place to get away from your horrible home life. And because you think Billy Joe plays clarinet is cute, but he's in love with Sarah, that stuck up bitch from math class who you hope gets acne all over her face and gets kidnapped by a serial killer. You know life is a full contact sport and there's a score up on the board. Oh, looks like for you the score is big fat zero. Congratulations, loser. Welcome to Team Deliver It.

Hey there. Thank you for listening to the Deliverance Podcast. If you appreciate what you just heard, I hope you'll consider supporting my podcast with a financial contribution. It's easy to do and can be in any amount from a dollar to $50 and you can subscribe or just tip the show one time. Whatever works for you. To leave your donation, just follow the link here on my podcast page to my pinecast podcast account or find me on the Internet at the Deliverance Podcast on pinecast.

Com.

Thanks so much again and happy trails.