The Worst Jobs Ever.

What’s the one common thread that links all jobs?  Oh yeah, they suck.  But chances are, your job isn’t the worst job out there.  Not even close.  You might have the worst boss, or the worst co-worker, but you sure as hell have nothing to complain about compared to some of the jobs – past and present – that humans have had to endure.  Check out these jobs, most as suggested by worst-jobs.com:

1.  Eunuch.

Ah, sitting at the royal table.  Eating a royal feast.  Guarding royal concubines (maybe even sneaking a peak or six at their nubile dwellings.)  Enjoying the benefits of royalty.  What could possibly be bad about this job?  I mean, you get all the roasted boar you can eat.  You get to chill in some nice fucking silk threads all day.  And you get to see plenty of beautiful, nude women prancing about and giggling.  How could this be a bad job?  Well, turns out the king claims his concubines for his use only.  He doesn’t trust you, with your ways of the royal boner.  So he gives your junk the ol’ chop-chop.  And then feeds it to his dogs.  Any job that requires cockcapitation automatically makes a ‘worst jobs’ list.

2.  Circus Freak.

Your job is to get laughed at and generally degraded.  The public pays to witness the horrible crime against nature that you are.  Midget or crab-boy, and especially conjoined twins.  Every day of your life, people pay to remind you how much your life really fucking sucks.  You grotesque perversion of science, you.

3.  Gallery Slave.

Being any kind of slave is a bad job.  Being a gallery slave is the worst.  At least plantation slaves could mostly work at a reasonable pace, outdoors, singing and communicating with others.  Gallery slaves are confined to the gallery of large ships, whipped repeatedly and forced to row at a frenetic pace in unison.  They can’t talk to each other and a couple of them are probably gonna die on the journey.  As far as being a slave goes, gallery slaves pretty much have it the worst.

4.  Urine Collector.

According to worst-jobs.com, 13th century fashion moguls had a difficult time figuring out how to soften wool.  They figured out how to get it off of sheep (after many unsuccessful attempts, presumably involving hand grenades, barbed wire and laser beams), but they couldn’t figure out the part where it was dry and itchy and generally uncomfortable to drape over human skin afterward.  Ever so eager to cash in on the latest fashion craze, these moguls sought the magic of science (and the Bible probably) to figure out how to soften the wool.  And science came back with such an obvious answer: two-week old piss.  Cue the rise of the urine collector, whose job was to collect two-week old piss and apply it to wool.  The sad part is, he probably just got the job for the store discount anyway.  Drench the wool in piss and buy it back when it’s a little dryer.  There’s no justice in that.

5.  Cat Killer.

Back in the days of the Plague, Europeans – they of little hygiene and female armpit hair – were convinced that all those goddamn cats roaming the city streets were responsible for the epic rash of deaths associated with the Plague.  After all, the cats were bewitched!  So naturally, they spent the money they could have used to advance medicine of the time to encourage children to beat all the cats to death.  With sticks.  Seriously.  I’d imagine it’s akin to having a paper route these days, except back then, instead of delivering papers, you just bashed kitty skulls in.  Minor difference.

6.  Guillotine Collector.

How lazy were executioners back in the day?  Seriously.  All they were paid to do was swing an ax or work a guillotine.  It’s not that hard.  It even has nice medical benefits, oddly enough.  But they couldn’t be troubled to retrieve the heads afterward?  I’m sorry, but that’s bullshit.  The fact that someone else had to clean up after them is a historical travesty.  The smart play by the collectors would have been to unionize, but then they were probably afraid they’d end up on the chopping block themselves, with all their friends refusing to collect their decapitated heads.  And the government – sorry, monarchy – getting in a royal clusterfuck over the whole situation while the head just sat and rotted out in the sun for an entire summer and was reduced to a maggot-infested, hollowed-out shell of skull before…aw, fuck it, just take my word that it was one of the worst jobs.

7.  Barnyard Masturbator.

Yup, it’s a real job.  You jack off animals.  You collect their jizz.  You drink a little when no one’s looking, then you ship it back off for God-knows-what.  There’s really not much more to say about a job that centers around jacking off animals, unless you’re into bestiality.  In which case, you probably enjoy a lot of the other ‘worst jobs’ too.

8.  Porno Theater Janitor.

It’s like being a barnyard masturbator, except instead of inducing, you’re cleaning up.  And instead of being just kind of grossed-out, you’re terrified for your life that you’re going to get AIDS.  This job better have the best damn medical benefits on the planet.  It also better ensure that you get sucked off for free at the third stall to the right in the men’s bathroom every night when your shift ends.  ‘Cuz, damn, there’s just no glory in this.  No glory, and a potentially long, painful death.

9.  Upstart Hooker.

“It’s who you know, and who you blow.” — James Doakes, Dexter.

Being a high-class hooker would be awesome.  You just have regular play-dates, scheduled ahead of times, that result in you faking an orgasm over the course of a couple hours and walking out a couple thousand bucks richer.  It doesn’t get much better than that.  But every hooker has to start somewhere, and that somewhere is often a truck stop or the back-end of a Red Light District.  Chances are you’re probably already “experienced” (meaning your anal ring can expand to the diameter of roughly a fucking cruise missile), but still, your johns will want to do freaky shit.  And you saw Se7en like everyone else, so you know there’s the off chance that once of them will have a sharp-edged dildo.  Even if your dream is to work your way up the ranks to high-end hooker, do you really want to chance being fucked to death in the process?

10.  Nike Employee, Cambodia branch.

Hey, pal.  Happy birthday!  How old are you?  Five.  Wow!  Five years old.  You know what that means…off to work, you little bastard!  And don’t bother coming back until you can afford to buy daddy a new air hockey table.  Yes, I realize you’ll probably be in your twenties by then and have severe pain in most of your joints.  But tough shit.  Daddy needs a new air hockey table, and the stimulus package sure as shit isn’t paying for it, so you better find a way to make it happen.  Or I’m turning you over to Coke, and they just straight up kill anyone who complains about their sweatshops!

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