The Cynical Career Counsellor Explains Your Future As

A Farmer
What? Oh, yeah, my 2 o'clock. Sorry--I threw my back out last night and this medication I'm taking has messed me up--makes me all paranoid and... well, nevermind--let's get on with it. So, what's your big dream? A farmer? You kidding me? This isn't 1922, you know... All right, here's what I see:

You get a loan from a bank somehow--maybe your parents can cosign, I don't know, but eventually you find a farm you like and the price seems pretty good. You don't understand why the farmer keeps giggling and clicking his heels together as you sign the purchase agreement--or why there's all these other "for sale" signs on all the other farms.

Soon you're settled into your farmhouse. It's got character--which means the wiring is bad, and there's rats--everywhere. The barn needs a new roof, and ten thousand dollars later, you're getting a little stretched for cash. No worries--that crop will take care...wait a minute--crap, they don't have hailstones that big in the city--these things are like golf balls.

So your first year is a writeoff. You somehow get the bank to loan you more, and you decide to change crops--there's good money in Canola, you hear. Problem is, there's this big company named Monsanto, and they're kind of like the genetically-modified mafia, and anyone who wants to get the good seed has to go kiss their ring, and pay big bucks. So you do, and you make a small but encouraging profit. But then the big company says you have to pay a lot more for your seed the next year. You decide not to, and plant non-GM canola. Problem is, some of the old plants' seeds got mixed in, plus some of your neighbor's stuff blew onto your land and started growing.

Monsanto science goons in black cars and suits come and check--they threaten you with all kinds of evil repercussions for using their product illegally. Soon, you're noticing strange clicks on your phone lines. Your electricity goes off for no reason, and there are these strange crop circles. Soon one of your cattle tests positive for Mad Cow disease, and then there's a quarantine. Late at night, strange lights flash quickly over your fields, and the sheep start exhibiting signs of radiation sickness. Your cell phone and other electronics start picking up strange, garbled language--like nothing from this world.

You start having strange dreams--grey alien heads with huge eyes, leaning over you while you're strapped to a table. You go for a routine checkup to get some sleeping pills, and the doctor runs some tests and x-rays--really he's a vet; no doctor will work in this god-forsaken little hole of a farm town--and he informs you of the alarming fact that you no longer have an appendix or gall bladder, and you appear to have a cow's heart beating in your chest.

Meanwhile, Monsanto's lawyers have succeeded in getting a court order to seize everything on your farm, and by the end of your third year they've auctioned off your property, and you are in a mental institution for as long as it takes for you to realize that you shouldn't talk about your dreams....

Look kid, I gotta go home. I'm kinda freaked out right now. Can we finish this tomorrow? I need to go put some bigger locks on my doors...