When I went from being Head Chef in fine dining, at $34,000 a year, to being a General Manager at Taco Bell, for $36,000, but because of some law that was passed and went into effect in 2019, I got another $3000 per year raise, giving me a salary of $39,000 a year two months after I took the job.

I guess when I threw my back out a year later at 36, 20 years after I took my first Line Cook job, and started working for myself, growing flower, fostering dogs, and building computers would be my highest pay raise, since I either went from $39,000 a year, or really $0 a year, to making almost $100,000 my first year, and now I’m considering “retiring” at 43 years old because I have consistently made about $1,500,000 after taxes for the last couple years. I only need about $10,000,000 to retire and buy a house in the town I want to live in, that I currently live in.

I also self describe as “the luckiest bastard to ever live,” so I’m well aware that most people couldn’t do even half of what I have stumbled through. I’m being completely serious there. Any of the two plane crashes, or many of the 36 car wrecks I’ve been in should have killed me. That doesn’t include the mountain climbing accident that had me falling a full 125 feet onto a dry creekbed made of limestone. It also doesn’t include the many instances of me making, and testing, my own explosives. I shouldn’t have lived past puberty. I was playing around with things that no one should play around with, and somehow I’ve made it to 43, while actively antagonizing the US cops every chance I get. I “literally” told a cop at the age of 5, “I know where my mother is, she knows where I am. You can fuck off, thanks.” That didn’t go over well.