You see, whilst reading the riveting “Cost of Substance Abuse in Canada 2002” (soon to be made into a movie), I was finally exposed to the truth. Filthy smoker that I am, I have learned that I am costing you, my fellow citizens, billions upon billions of dollars, which is about as much as I owe VISA.  

In my defence, I have always thought that the extra $8 in taxes that I pay daily would cover the expense of my eventual demise. Little did I know, that even if I make the ultimate sacrifice and fall off my perch at an all too early age, I will have robbed from you. You see, according to the CCSA, any economic contribution that I would have made to Canadian society, were I not dead, is counted as a loss of productivity and counts as one of the costs of my vice.

And here, I thought for all these years, that I would save you money by not collecting my pension, going to a nursing home, getting my hips replaced, or popping my free pills in-between my bi-weekly visits to the doctor. I was wrong, for it appears that society will greatly miss my productive side. I am not sure if my heart will be able to take all that pressure when I am 89, even if I decide to quit my filthy habit.

But there is more. Much more. You see, my unproductiveness is not limited to my addiction. It is far worse than that. My crimes are too great to list them all here. What follows is a limited confession.

To start off, I have read. I wish I could tell you that the works in questions were limited to treaties on macro-economics, but they weren’t. For thousands upon thousands of hours I have read fiction, a most unproductive of genres if there ever was one.  It is in libraries and book stores that I found most of this filth. These dens of unproductively , these peddlers of  time wasting blather must be torn down! The sooner, the better. I can see that now.

It gets worse: on a few occasions in my life, I am ashamed to admit, I have fallen in love. The objects of my desire infested my mind day and night. Even as I sat at work, these vixens would force me into daydreams that robbed you, my fellow Canadians, of countless ours of my productive time. You and  I shall never get them back.  May a pill will be available to future generations that will put an end to this unproductive madness.

Still, my crimes don’t end there. You see, I have played games. I have amused myself at your expense by running on soccer fields, shuffling cards, and even playing Tetris. How many hours have I stolen from you? My shame does not allow me to write down the number. Ban them all, I beg you, before it is too late.

Then there was the time that I fathered a child. Let me assure you, that had I known about the countless hours of productivity that this little vampire would suck out of the system, I would have never even attempted the feat.  All those hours wasted on playgrounds haunt me to this day. I could have been working harder and longer, but I didn’t. And you, my fellow citizens had to pay for it all. Mea Culpa.

My worst crime, I have left to last. About ten years ago, I heard about something called the Internet. All my friends told me that I just had to try it, and soon I caved under the pressure. In no time I was surfing like a pro, inhaling articles on cosmology, foreign affairs, German football teams, and American Idol, to name but a few. I watched fat kids dancing with light sabres and naked nurses nursing. I wikied and blogged and coded and flogged stuff on eBay.

As if that was not unproductive enough, I then started to publish my own drivel, which by any standard can never be labelled as being of help to Canadian society at large.  As you read this very line, I have made you a part of my conspiracy of unproductiveness. Not only am I wasting my own time (which is really yours), but now I am also wasted yours (which is really mine). Will this madness ever stop?  I wish I could take some time to think about it, but there is real work that needs to be done.

 
Frank Streicher is a unproductive columnist and an even more unproductive web designer. You can reach him during work hours at This email address is being protected from spam bots, you need Javascript enabled to view it if he is not chatting to his coworkers about yesterday's soccer game.