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PHILOSOPHY - My dad's job hunt

Editor's note: Phil Villarreal's column will not appear today. He says he is scrambling in a mad dash to secure a job before he graduates, but I think he's probably at home slamming margaritas. Regardless, his 8-year-old illegitimate son, Skippy, will "Phil" in for him today. Get it? I replaced the word "fill" with "Phil!"

Oh boy! I get to write another article for the Wildcat. All my friends are so jealous of me. Not only because I get to do my dad's job once in a while, but also because I get to eat ice cream for breakfast.

I like it here at the Wildcat. When I come in, everyone's happy to see me. Dad's editor, Ty, tells me that he likes my writing better than my dad's! And the sports editor, I think his name is Brett Erixen, or something like that, gives me candy. Sometimes, he asks me to climb up on his lap, too, but he kind of scares me, so I never do.

Dad isn't writing this week because he's busy. He says he's tryin' to find a job, and I asked him why.

He tells me that college grad-wits are s'posed to have a job, because they can't get student loans anymore. That and Mom stopped sendin' child support payments from prison. So, Dad's been spending a lot of time in his room with the door closed, lookin' on the Internet.

It's only 13 more years 'til I graduate from college and hafta find a job, too, so I decided one day last week that I'd watch my dad. I hid under the bed one day when he was about to go "job hunting."

From watching my Dad, now I know how to look for a job. Here is what you do:

First, you take a swig of beer. After that, you turn off the lights, lock the door, turn on the radio and turn on the Internet.

Then, you do some typing and make pictures of naked girls come onto the screen. Then you unzip your pants ...

I don't know what you do after that, 'cause that was when Dad saw me hiding under the bed. He threw me out of the room and got real mad.

When he used to get mad at me because I did something bad, he'd make me wash the car or take out the garbage. Now, he just calls me names. Some of them I don't even know what they mean. What's an "overused literary device?"

I don't understand how any of the things I saw Dad doing will help him get a job, but maybe that's just 'cause I'm not a grownup.

On the other hand, my dad still hasn't gotten a job, so maybe what he's doing isn't workin' so well.

All of his friends from his classes already have jobs. They tell me that they'll be "Making 45 'g's" next year. But I don't know what's so great about doin' that. I make 45 "'g's" on a piece of paper when Mrs. Hayes makes us work on penmanship, but I don't brag about it.

So, that's why Dad couldn't write PHILOSOPHY this week. He told me that I could write instead of him, and he told me to write about the differences between third grade and college. I told him that I would.

I lied to him. But he lies to me, sometimes, too. Like the time he told me we were having McDonald's for dinner, and then I had to settle for Ramen noodles again. He forgot he used all his free food Monopoly game stamps on himself.