Work is the curse of the drinking classes.

 

Work is the curse of the drinking classes.
--
Quoted by Frank Harris in Oscar Wilde: His Life and Confessions (1916).

 

Oscar Wilde

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So I was drinking tequila, and I was drinking grappa, which is Italian for gasoline, and I was drinking Jägermeister, which I believe is the liquid equivalent of Wonder Woman's golden lasso, because it will make you tell anybody the truth for no reason whatsoever. "You have really bad skin. Thanks for the drink."

 

Margaret Cho

 

Another characteristic of the idler's work is that it looks suspiciously like play. This, again, makes the non-idler feel uncomfortable. Victims of the Protestant work ethic would like all work to be unpleasant. They feel that work is a curse, that we must suffer on this earth to earn our place in the next. The idler, on the other hand, sees no reason not to use his brain to organise a life for himself where his play is his work, and so attempt to create his own little paradise in the here and now.

 

Tom Hodgkinson

 

I finally stopped drinking when I hit seventeen years old. Yes, imagine the f**kup I must have been. Stopped drinking because it isn't really good for your health.…and I fell into a bonfire! Yeah, you're done drinking then. You don't need AA. Falling into a bonfire is a one-step program.

 

Christopher Titus

 

I'm drinking Jack and I started blackin out. You ever black out? Or as I call it, time travel? You ever do that? Oh yeah! You know how it is -- you're drinking, you black out. You wake up, you're in another bar. You're drinking, you black out. You wake up, you're playing that knife game with a half-Indian somewhere in North Dakota, "Yeah! Yeah! Winner fixes the tranny! Yeah". You're drinking, you black out. You wake up, you're in White Castle -- working there 3 years, STILL not assistant manager. Your buddies tell you to quit, but you can't 'cause you're banging the slow girl on the fry-o-later. They say she's a little retarded, but those titties ain't retarded!

 

Dave Attell

 

Men would bless you or curse you;
The curse, a protest against failure,
The blessing, a hymn of the hunter
Who comes back from the hills
With provision for his mate.

 

Khalil Gibran