Fun With Job Applications!

Having to fill out job applications is like having to work but not getting paid for it. I think it’s really a test to see if you want it bad enough. Maybe it’s the company’s way of saying “Ok, if we can get him to do this for free, we should have an easy time taking advantage of him further down the road.”

But there are ways to make it better AND increase your chances of getting hired! Most people who fill them out (ie. your competition) are going to do it totally boring and normal. And nobody wants a boring co-worker, so go nuts!   It’ll say to your future boss: “Hey, I’m a shoot-from the hip go-getter with a devil-may-care attitude and a serious love of hyphenated sayings!”

For instance, write in these classics:

               Have you ever been convicted of a felony?   Yes__  No  X

“I leave no witnesses.”

               Gender: Male __  Female __

“More like BRUCE Gender. I mean Jenner.”

                Related Work Experience:

“Communications Director; Al Qaeda”

                Roles and Responsibilities:

“Produced training videos of masked men swinging on playground equipment, managed Twitter account, etc.”

Seriously, have you noticed that? Why are they always on monkey bars on those clips they show on the news? What the hell do they think the Jihad is going to be like? Recess??

Legal Disclaimer: the above does not constitute “advice” and by reading this you absolve the author (Me. Hi.) of any resulting litigation or denied employment. However, it does count as a “job search related activity” for your unemployment, you leech upon society you.

Over Our Heads; or Improv Night At The Cosmos Club

I wonder if God is bummed out. I mean, nobody gets his best jokes. We all know the duckbill platypus is an odd beast. It’s a play on the whole evolution thing, it’s a mash-up, I get it. But how about the fact that men and women’s sexual peaks are about a decade out of alignment. He may have given a wink and elbow nudge when he made that up, but come on man. That’s just inconvenient for everybody.

Let’s look at some physics. The imbalance of matter vs. antimatter in the universe isn’t exactly the stuff of comedy. People are trying to study that shit. I mean seriously study it.

Also, don’t worry if you’re drinking something while reading about the wave/particle duality of light and how it can behave like both, you’re not gonna shoot milk out of your nose. It might be a cosmic knee slapper to the creator, but to us it’s merely a head scratcher.

The Bermuda Triangle? More hazardous than hilarious. Don’t get me started on that thing.

So maybe we should all pretend to laugh along with what we don’t understand in the universe. It could be your ticket into the great comedy club of the afterlife. And let’s hope there isn’t a 2 drink minimum.

Smacking the Bishop

Vinnie hung his head.  The ideas would not come, as they had not for quite some time.  His masturbation blog, Thus Spanked Tharathustra, had been a neglected, malnourished child lately.  “Three entries in two months…” he lamented, “could I have run out of ideas?”  Stylistically, he relished going into exquisite details of each technique, each new apparatus being reviewed, and each sensation it yielded.  But now he felt lucky to slap together a paragraph.

He had been through many phases in documenting self-stimulated nirvana, and none of them had brought him to “The God Zone” which Vinnie promised his readers was most certainly out there – and attainable.

He tried all shapes and manners of toys including cock rings and anal beads (which he grew in the habit of extracting rather quickly, as if struggling to start a reluctant snow-blower), prostate milking, ballsack tugging, an obtuse method of his own invention called “The Egyptian Gasmask,” various lotions, natural and synthetic furs.  But all came up short and he was beginning to lose faith.  His body didn’t feel like a temple.  More like a used car dealership.Vinnie stared at the tablet screen absently; the flickering image of the five naked dudes huddled over a kneeling, 18 year old, Japanese girl barely registering.  His trance was broken by a soft knock at the door.  “Uh, yes?” he asked.  The gentle voice one the other side reminded him: “Pardon me Father Vincent, but Mass begins in five minutes.”