I'm Singin' The Job Search Blues

I can't seem to find a job. No one wants me, except my cats and dogs. And I'm their unpaid slave. Okay, they do pay me with love, furballs, dead rodents, and poop, but for some reason the mortgage company just won't take that as payment. I'm not a useless human being. I have many talents, life and career experience, intelligence, and a great body (well, the last one is a lie), so why won't anyone hire me? Is it because I love dark chocolate, the Canadian sitcom "Corner Gas," scary novels written by Dean Koontz, and ficus trees in pots? Is it because I like to stay up late, get up late, and live my life as an eclectic wanderer in between? Is it because I'm not 25 years old anymore? I was once, y'know. Most people born into this world are 25 years old once, and after we're all 25, then we're 35, 45, 55, etc. The only people who don't grow into oldsville are the people who die young. So, is that the real reason - no one wants me because I'm on my way to oldsville? Well, then, I guess I'll just have to forge my own way up the mountain. I've never really followed the almighty American career path anyway. So there......