Good Enough for Me and Bobby Mcgee

Ah, freedom.

Ain’t nothin’ quite like it.

The sun shines brighter, the birds sing sweeter, and the cat litter smells less putrid.

The physical realm our meat-suits currently inhabit is considered by some to be a school of some sort, or perhaps a playground — a temporary construct for a greater consciousness to learn more about itself, to acquire novel experiences from a limitless variety of unique perspectives, and to foster growth and evolution…

But the playground has its limitations — naturally it has to, to keep the game as authentic as possible — and one of those limitations is the projection of duality.

Duality is ultimately the perceptual ignorance of a greater sliding scale at play, but we’re not getting too deep into that right now. For our purposes today, let’s consider some duality fundamentals most Earthly denizens can easily relate to:

You’ll never appreciate the warmth unless you’ve suffered the cold.

Seems you’re on top now, but there’s always a downside.

Courage has no meaning until you face your fears.

There’s no beginning without an end.

Whether you’re near or far, bitches will be bitches.

 And on and on. You get the idea.

And the more extreme an experience is, the equally heightened the corollary emotional entanglement becomes…

Example: A passionless, mediocre relationship brings neither great joy nor great loss from the moment of its inception, to its ever waning inevitable conclusion.

But a weekend fling of intense, wild passion invariably opens the emotional doors to accompanying heartbreak, jealousy, insecurity, etc.

The farther the pendulum swings to one side, the farther it must naturally compensate in the other direction.

Freedom is the same.

My current state of bliss has been ecstatically heightened through having experienced the most insidious form of slavery and emotional imprisonment imaginable to man…

No, I’m not talking about being held against your will under lock and key. I’m not talking about being trafficked into a life of forced labour and daily beatings.

I speak of something far more heinous…

Working in a kitchen.

Alright, embellishment jokes aside…

Whether you’re a first-time dishwasher, or a 25-year red seal chef, the degree of thanklessness working in this fucking industry is only rivalled by the equivalent stress and grief of an on-call surgeon, but with a paycheque equal to or less than that of a mental deficient who cleans up puke at the petting zoo with sawdust.

Kitchen appreciation is inversely proportional to the energy you bring into the building…

Huh?

Let me explain more concisely — the harder you work/the more you care/the more dedicated you are, the less anyone gives a flying fuck about your efforts to inject any greater degree of excellence to keep yet another shitshow of a business afloat, let alone recognize the daily personal sacrifices you’ve endured to prioritize the wellness of a system that gives zero fucks about the critical element facilitating its survival, aka lowly minimum-wage humans.

That sums it up in a nutshell. And nutshell is fitting, because you truly need to be a complete fucking idiot nutjob to want to make a living in the food service biz, whether you own the motherfucking restaurant or not. Go have a conversation with an established chef, and you’ll find out I’m talking about. It’s very similar to having a chat with a goalie or a drummer. They’re complete, off-their-fucking-rocker, nutjobs.

[Guest Editor’s Note: Your goalie gear and drum kit are still in my basement! Either join a league and band again, or get that shit outta my house!  – Love, Mom]

I guess my final straw working in this industry really boiled down to the last three months of 2025. Three months of unpredictably bizarre, frustrating, and farcical circumstances — enough stupid shit to make even the most level-headed individual want to cozy up with Chef ComputerDunkey on the 3rd floor.

But I ain’t gonna bitch here about 70-hour work weeks, one day off a month, shitty-fucking-useless-lazy-ass-texting-drone-zombie-motherfucking-co-workers who always show up late and do the least amount of work possible to earn a paycheque, or worthless fucking upper management automatons whose heads are shoved so deep up each other’s asses they’re unable to figure out why they have shit for brains.

Nope.

The last 3 months of my life had nothing to do with anyone imposing their will upon mine — I stepped up to the plate when everyone else faltered… I made my decisions, I made my choices — as always — and paved my own road to excellence, following through with everything I said I would accomplish before reaching our yearly 2-week winter shutdown.

I fucking win.

Just one last story to consummate this unholy fucking marriage…

Two days before the shutdown, I gave that corrupt fucking accountant/fake-ass GM one last chance to officially invest in me to move the business forward —  versus choosing to wait for the 5th round of Chef McMentalCase’s doctor’s notes saying “Chef NeverFollowThrough is still medically unable to fulfill his duties, reassessment in 3 weeks.” I gave her a very simple, very polite ultimatum:

You have until Sunday to make a concrete decision. Announce me officially as your new Executive Chef, or I’m done.

But of course Sunday came and it was the same ol’ song and dance. Same ol’ indecisiveness, same ol’ fears about paying out severance to incompetent jerk-wads, same ol’ bullshit about needing to consult the absentee owner to glean a “greater” overview of the situation, same ol’ shit, year after year after year, blah blah blah de fuckety blah.

So, true to my word, I fucking quit.

Best wishes, motherfuckers, I ain’t nobody’s bitch no mo’!

Ah, freedom.

I fucking love it!

To wind this piece down, I wanna share with you a short list of the mega-cool shit I’ve been doing the last 5 days since telling Captain BackStabbyFlipFlop to go fuck herself.

It’s still always a game of perspective, of course, so although some of these things may sound mundane and tedious to you, I’ve found an entirely new level of appreciation for them while they’ve been absent in my life. I almost feel normal again. Enjoy!

[Guest Editor’s Note: Never been normal!  – Love, Mom]

1. Laundry! Holy fuck, I forgot how much I like wearing clean clothes! 5 days later, I’m still at it, now on my 9th messy load! (accidental pun intended)
2. Cleaning! Holy fuck, I forgot how cool it is to walk into my room without tripping over random garbage and empty beer cans. Thus far I’ve collected 165 beer cans surrounding the perimeter of my bed like an aluminum moat, and enough empty bottles of my roommate’s brand that I feel I should prolly buy him a case. (also, fuck you, Johhny! Get a life!)
3. More Laundry! But this time I’m talkin’ ’bout socks. I fucking love clean socks! I like them when they’re soft, and smell nice. Not like the ones I usually find in the morning that are already crusted upright like a shoe…
   
4. Travelling! Finally got a chance to celebrate a belated Xmas with the parents, with zero fucks given to return to Goderich any time soon.
5. Eating! I didn’t realize I dropped close to 15 pounds in 3-months running around like a psycho and never taking the time to properly consume quality food. Never again! I am feasting daily as if an announcement is imminent that meat and eggs and bread are going to declared illegal tomorrow.
6. Working Out! Holy fuck did I miss the gym. Never again gonna sacrifice the things I love for the things I loathe. Duh, that shoulda been a no-brainer.
7. Writing! Daily Breads are back, Rambling blog posts are back, and the new book is back on schedule for summer release. Woo!
8.  Unlimited free time to follow whatever whims that make my heart sing! Wanna hear the perfect example? I just spent 12 hours crafting this smarty-pants-style essay to make it seem I wanted to pontificate in a somewhat serious and philosophical nature about the perceived dualities we experience during our incarnation on this physical realm, but truth of the matter is that all the pompous diatribe leading to this final sentence was a ruse to intellectually disguise the true message behind why I wanted to write this blog. It goes something like this:

“FUCK YOU BENMILLER!”

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!

FUCK YOU YOU BUNCH OF CUNT LOSER MOTHERFUCKERS STUCK IN YOUR SHITTY FUCKING ROUTINES LIVING YOUR SHITTY FUCKING LIVES! FUCK YOU ALL! IF I NEVER SEE A SINGLE ONE OF YOUR MISERABLE FUCKFACES EVER AGAIN IT’LL BE WAAAAYYY TOO FUCKING SOON. ENJOY YOUR MOLD INFESTED, DEATHTRAP, TAX WRITE-OFF, MASSIVELY MISMANAGED SOON-TO-COLLAPSE SHITHOLE. HAPPY NEW YEARS FAGGOTS! SUCK MY FUCKING DICK!

Freedom, baby, freedom.

Feels fucking good.

Love ya, ciao!