Jerry’s Marginalia — Stop Being Greedy
I have discovered something deeply troubling about myself.
Apparently, I expect things to have endings.
I know.
Disgusting.
Entitled.
Possibly criminal.
I keep wandering through life carrying this completely unreasonable expectation that when something begins, eventually somebody will look me in the eye and tell me what the fuck happened.
“Surely there is a normal, straightforward way this is supposed to work.”
HOHOHOHO.
No.
“Okay. Surely there is a normal, straightforward way this is going to end, right?”
HO.
HO.
HO.
No.
STOP BEING GREEDY.
Apparently, wanting closure is the avocado toast of emotional economics.
Take employment.
I possess what I once considered an extremely sophisticated career strategy:
SHOW UP.
CLOCK IN.
DO THE FUCKING JOB.
TAKE LUNCH.
COME BACK FROM LUNCH.
DO MORE FUCKING JOB.
CLOCK OUT.
RECEIVE MONEY.
I call this:
THE BORING DOCTRINE.
It was specifically engineered to minimize bullshit.
I did not request:
Corporate intrigue.
Political maneuvering.
Character development.
Procedural side quests.
Hallway Cat Simulator 2026.
I wanted to exchange labor for currency and then return to my natural habitat.
Apparently even this was too ambitious.
So I have developed an improved version:
THE AGGRESSIVELY BORING DOCTRINE.
I don't merely want boring.
I want WEAPONIZED MONOTONY.
Give me a warehouse.
Give me a box.
Tell me:
“Mr. Germlin, move this box from Point A to Point B.”
YES.
THANK YOU.
Finally.
A relationship I understand.
Box does not accuse me of anything.
Box does not summon HR.
Box does not suddenly explain that the investigation is still ongoing.
Box does not whisper:
“We'll let you know.”
Box possesses two states:
HERE.
and
THERE.
I move box.
Box becomes there.
Objective complete.
DOPAMINE.
Another box arrives.
HOLY SHIT.
SEQUEL.
I move that motherfucker too.
Eventually lunch occurs.
I eat.
I return.
MORE BOX.
At the end of the shift:
CLOCK OUT.
Then—and stay with me here because this is where my economic theory becomes controversial—
PAY ME.
Apparently I have invented communism.
But employment isn't the only place this happens.
Dating apps have discovered the same technology.
I enter an app called:
LOCAlLUV.
Wonderful.
Perhaps I shall meet someone...
LOCAL.
HOHOHOHO.
NORTH CAROLINA.
...
I live in Texas.
STOP BEING GREEDY.
Fine.
Maybe we can talk.
We talk.
We flirt.
Everything is proceeding normally.
Then:
“Baby, I have a surprise for you.”
Oh?
INTIMATE PHOTO — $4.99
INTIMATE VIDEO — $5.99
Fine.
Maybe once.
I click.
Seventeen seconds later:
...
That's it?
Another arrives.
$5.99.
Another.
$5.99.
Another.
$5.99.
Suddenly I am no longer dating.
I am standing inside a casino where the slot machine has titties.
And somewhere behind the machine:
THE HAND.
GIMME MONEY.
No.
We've discussed this.
SLAP.
Then somebody commits the fatal mistake:
“You're being cheap.”
...
Oh.
OH.
Ma'am.
You have misunderstood the nature of the creature standing before you.
I am not ashamed of being cheap.
I have cultivated cheapness.
I have watered it.
Pruned it.
Protected it from frost.
My cheapness is now a mature agricultural product ready for harvest.
ACT BROKE.
You send six unlocks?
I do not experience six times the temptation.
I experience:
ONE LARGE REASON TO LEAVE.
Because this is the secret nobody seems to understand:
I am perfectly willing to lose the thing.
Job?
I'll find another.
Woman doesn't like my weird?
Deuces.
Paywall?
Keep your titties.
Dating app wants another $5.99?
My penis has survived economic downturns before.
He will persevere.
This is not stubbornness.
This is NEGOTIATING POWER.
You cannot hold something hostage when the other party is willing to wave goodbye to the hostage.
“But don't you WANT it?”
Yes.
“Then PAY.”
No.
“But—”
DEUCES.
And maybe that's what the Boring Doctrine was actually missing.
I thought being boring meant avoiding trouble.
No.
That's Passive Boring.
I require:
AGGRESSIVE BORING.
I want expectations stated.
I want boundaries visible.
I want transactions understandable.
I want beginnings.
I want endings.
I want the fucking middle to vaguely resemble whatever everyone agreed the middle was supposed to be.
And once all of that boring shit is secured?
THEN THE GREMLIN MAY COME OUT.
Because here's the irony:
Give me stability and I become ridiculous.
Give me uncertainty and I become extremely fucking serious.
If I know my paycheck is coming?
GREMLIN.
If I know we're mutually flirting?
GREMLIN.
If I know everybody understands the joke?
GREMLIN.
If I know the weird is welcome?
RELEASE THE FUCKING MONKE.
But if my livelihood is hanging in the air?
If somebody is manipulating the terms?
If the rules suddenly change?
If another fucking hand reaches toward my wallet?
Gremlin disappears.
A small bureaucrat wearing glasses emerges.
He opens a clipboard.
He asks:
“What, precisely, are the terms of this arrangement?”
And nobody likes Clipboard Gremlin.
Not even me.
So please.
I am begging humanity.
Give me boring.
Give me predictable.
Give me straightforward.
Give me a fucking conclusion.
And stop acting like wanting those things constitutes some extravagant luxury.
I don't need the universe to worship me.
I don't need every woman to want me.
I don't need every employer to retain me.
I don't need every website to provide free titties.
Sometimes I just need somebody to say:
YES.
NO.
HERE'S THE PRICE.
HERE'S THE RULE.
HERE'S THE END.
That's it.
That is apparently my outrageous demand.
...
Rustling.
Oh, for fuck's sake.
Jerry emerges from underneath the desk wearing a tiny reflective warehouse vest.
Gremlin:
“What are you doing?”
Jerry:
👁️👁️
Jerry picks up a miniature cardboard box.
Carries it three feet.
Sets it down.
Looks at Gremlin.
...
Gremlin:
“You want to be paid, don't you?”
Jerry:
👁️👁️
Gremlin:
“Fine.”
Purina Peppercorn Steak Snak Pak.
Jerry takes it.
No negotiation.
No subscription.
No processing fee.
No investigation.
No seventeen-second temporary access period.
Labor performed.
Compensation delivered.
Jerry nods.
...
HOLY FUCK.
THE ANKLE-BITER HAS INVENTED THE PERFECT EMPLOYMENT RELATIONSHIP.
— Jerry “The Ankle-Biter” Silverhand
Senior Vice President of Peppercorn & Ankle Acquisition
Mr. Jerry’s Unsolicited Advice:
“If someone cannot explain the deal without changing the deal, keep your Snak Pak.”
...
Jerry looks at the remaining box.
Gremlin looks at Jerry.
Jerry looks at the box.
Gremlin:
“Don't.”
...
YOINK.
“JERRY.”
Distant cronching.
...
FAAAAAAAK.