Dear Hiring Manager,
I am applying for the position of Interactive Marketing Specialist for your New York office which I found in my Gmail this morning. My boyfriend has been aggressively hinting that I should find employment immediately and this was one of his newest approaches. I am somewhat experienced, not-so-detail oriented and a too far out-of-the-box thinker with a skill for interviewing and a prescription to Adderoll for my adult onset Attention Deficit Disorder.
For the past two years, I have been lying to employers about my passion for interactive marketing. I employ methods such as extreme head nodding and pain-inducing smiling to indicate I am attentive, listening and interested. I am neither. However, what I don’t lie about is my experience with internet tracking tools such as Google Analytics. While I am very well versed in this tracking software, I often find myself not giving a fuck and subsequently make numerous careless mistakes.
I understand this position entails doing detailed reports that utilize complex formulas such as dollars sold/dollars spent. These reports are crucial to any time-wasting day so I’d like to point out that I am extremely good at failing math and after seven years of math tutoring, the only number I am good with is 5. As in I’m leaving at 5 o’clock everyday, regardless of what I’m working on. As the classic someecard once said, “you can’t fire me if you can’t find me.”
This brings me to point out that I quit smoking cigarettes last year and will no longer be spending 60% of my time outside. Instead I have increased my daily caffeine consumption and will be spending more time in the ladies room. If you insist on looking for me, you can find me in the handicapped bathroom stall. I am claustrophobic.
I enjoy working independently and will complain to anyone who will listen if asked to work in a team setting. My motivation lies in avoiding long term goals (because I won’t be with your company long term) as well as any projects where I have to go the extra mile. I have bad ankles and was reluctant to go the first mile.
To conclude, I feel I am a terrible fit for your company and will do nothing more than waste your time and company resources. I have enclosed a heavily exaggerated copy of my resume for your review. Please note that when I use the word “managed,” what I really meant was that I managed to embellish every task I noted.
I don’t look forward to hearing from you but my boyfriend does.
With Groundhogs day quickly approaching, the folks at PETA are scrambling to save weatherman Punxsutawney Phil (^). Instead of Phil breaking the news of a longer winter, PETA suggests a robot be used. Gemma Vaughn, an Animals in Entertainment Specialist wrote
“Make the compassionate decision to use an animatronic Phil and retire the live groundhogs who are used for Groundhog Day activities to a sanctuary. Tradition is no excuse for cruelty.”
Bill Deeley, president of the Club, thinks this bitch is crazy and had this to say….
“Phil is probably treated better than the average child in Pennsylvania. He’s got air conditioning in the summer, his pen is heated in winter … He has everything but a TV in there. What more do you want?”
I’m all for animal rights but PETA usually goes overboard. So overboard that their message is lost in the crazy. Me thinks everyone there needs a higher dose of the medication called “reality.”
I hate people who say things like “I love to travel.” It’s like saying “I love bread.” Of course you love bread. It’s delicious. And traveling is fun. You get to leave your regular life and go hang out somewhere else. What is not lovable about this? Nothing. Exactly. So next time someone asks you what you enjoy to do, please refrain from saying traveling. Instead say you enjoy breathing. “I enjoy breathing. But only once in a while if the funds permit.”
Marge Simpson is the original hot chick with a douche bag.
See her Playboy issue here here.
I used to be one of those people. You know, the grammar nazi who would correct you if you dared use the wrong there/their/they’re. This was ironic since I was the one that required a cheat sheet when working with Naomi at Clubplanet. She wrote the above down on a Post-It and I referred to it when writing articles. I loved it and used it daily when one day, I spilled my coffee on it. It’s a sad thing to lose your coffee and your grammar education in the same day. I have never fully recovered, which you would know if you read any of this shit. I’m excited for this new post-it. Whoray for good grammar!
Want your own? Hear you go.
I loathe the advertising industry. I heart this video.
It’s been a while since we’ve seen any of Zohra’s people. No, I don’t mean midgets, I mean Punjabi people.
“After twenty years of sex-free marriage, a frigid woman has discovered that her asexual husband is really a woman, and she finally admitted that she is really a man.”
What’s up with people getting married without having sex first? That’s just wrong.
“Marco and Kalala Tergensonen, of Kuopio, Finland, had both been dressing as the opposite sex since their teenage years.
Marco, originally Marcia, 38, had always enjoyed dressing, talking, and acting like a woman.
And Kalala, originally Katu, had always enjoyed cutting his hair and dressing to look like a man.
When the couple fell in love and got married, it just made each of their little games that much more believable.
And, in twenty years, they just never got around to having sex. The subject simply never came up, since neither of them wanted to face the issue.”
It took me a while to see it…
^me, my hair and Vinny.
Lately I’ve been spending a lot of time on my hair. My goal is to achieve the wavy look that is all the rage nowadays. Unfortunately I’m a retard and things take me twice as long to achieve. However, I don’t let my disability stand in the way of my effort and so I have been trying. This past week I succeeded in almost getting it to look the way I want. It took two hours of straightening my curly hair to then curl it with the result being only a slight wave that was almost nothing like the way I wanted it to look. Success.
So then I go to my mom’s house. I am in a good mood. I think she senses it because there is no other reason she would say what she said next.
Mom: What’s wrong with your hair?
I stare at her. She stares at my hair. I’m not sure what she means. I thought it looked good.
Mom: I just don’t get it. Is it curly? Is it straight? What have you done here?
I look at her and decide to let it go. It is Saturday. I’ve had a busy week not doing anything. I don’t need the negativity. I think she senses this because there is no other explanation as to why she would say what she said just one hour later.
Mom: But really, what’s wrong with your hair?
Me: Why are you such a hater?
Mom: No I’m not.
Me: You are. You don’t like anything.
Mom: I do. I like it curled but your hair is confused.
Me: Okay. I see its time for me to leave. Good bye dad. Good bye hater. Always a pleasure!
I left shortly after. As I was making my way down the stairs, the Palmolive dish soap my mom had given me opened. I was holding it between my armpit because I didn’t have enough hands and sure enough to got all over my bag, clothes and hair. It smelled nice so I considered it a leave-in Shampoo.
She won again.
I would like to thank the Nobel Committee for awarding me this wonderful honor. Had I known it was this easy, I would have started to talk about doing things but not actually doing them ages ago.
What I do to get boys to kiss me? I touch their junk. That’s pretty much it.