Once again, our financial problems are giving Tony and me some real cause for concern. Not, you understand, because we can't pay any of our overdue bills, but because it seems like ages since we both ate a decent cheeseburger.
Tony reckons that our favourite fast-food restaurant is penalising people like us, because the cost of our favourite food is too high.
The boy reckons that being unemployed is worse than being branded a paedophile, and that if he was a weaker man, he would have collapsed before now, under the "mental stress" of being singled-out by society as being a fat, lazy bastard, who does nothing all day except drink and smoke.
Quite rightly, Tony gets hurt by such remarks, and says to me everyday that if he could find a job, then he would go to work straight away. Of course, the boy's weight and obscene language aren't really what potential employers are looking for, and the fact that he finds it hard to control his violent temper is another handicap. Then there's his criminal record, his poor time keeping and the fact that he cannot tolerate foreign people.
Fortunately, Tony still manages to see the funnier side of life, and says that prisoners on Death Row always get to choose their last meal, before going to meet their maker. He reckons that the fear of being executed wouldn't bother him, if he thought that his last meal was going to be a couple of sizzling cheeseburgers and large fries.
I told him that I can see his point, but as we're not on Death Row, and neither of us are working, we're still no nearer to solving our problem.