Recently I've had my hours cut back at work to such an extent that its getting very difficult to get by. So I'm looking around for new or additional work, polishing up my resume, working on cover letters.
Dancing the Dance of Bullshit, as I like to call it. You know what I'm talking about--saying things like, "I am a results-driven team player who holds himself up to the highest standard..." yadda yadda yadda. Trying to talk in professional/corporate weenie-speak.
And I can't stand talking like that, so stuffy and dishonest and artifical.
So I have to get the following out of my system, the cover letter I WISH I could send these HR bastards.
Dear Sir or Madam:
I am interested in the XX position with your company.
I am currently living in a van down by the river, existing only upon my own body vermin that I share dwellings with. It isn’t pleasant. I don’t much care for it. I need a real job.
Actually, that’s a lie. I don’t want a job per se. Its work, isn’t it? If it was something I wanted to do, like cover several naked and blonde Valkyrie Goddesses with chocolate syrup and lick every glorious inch clean, that would be fun, and not work.
And since our society is so backward in that we only get paid for things that we really don't want to do, (i.e work), I come to you.
I’m sure you didn’t want your job either: let’s be honest with ourselves and say that we’re only in for the money--the root of all evil.
As much as I despise this capitalistic, money-grubbing, career ladder ascending society in which we live in I must confess that when you have to barbeque your own body lice to survive, there’s something to be said for an hourly wage. Drug dealers will not take credit, after all.
And, to make matters more urgent, the doctors say if I sell any more of my precious bodily fluids I might not make it, and so they won’t let me do it any more.
Hire me or I will follow you and hunt you down wherever you go. I will find what you love most in the world and kick it in the crotch. Your mother, your child, your dog, I don’t care. I’m eating goddamn fleas for crying out loud.
And when the grand glorious Revolution comes and the capitalist running dogs are put up against the wall and shot, I will put in a good word for you and thus keep you from being offed with the rest of the pigs. That is, if you give me this job I want. Or just the money. I don’t even need to come to the office, really, and considering the smell in this van you might not want me in the office anyway.
I can provide many glowing references from my current place of underpaid, underappreciated employment (I like to call it Hell), because there’s an office pool as to when I’ll snap and kill someone and I think they’ll say a lot of nice things just to see me go.
And if they don’t say anything nice, please, let me know. Someone might just win that pool after all.