((1/23/05) - "Hello this is Jon."
"Uh, yeah. Can we book a racquetball court for today."
"Let me look at the schedule sir. What time did you want it?"
"Sir, we have 2:30 and 3:30 available."
"See we book it by the hour on the half-hours."
"Yeah, I know. But I really wanted 3 o'clock. Couldn't you just, you know, give us the court at 3?"
"No. Those are the rules."
"Yeah, but could you like, you know, bend the rules. Today's Sunday. Everybody's at Safeway or whatever."
"No the sheet's already made out like that, you know. I mean, I couldn't fit the name on the sheet then."
I really had my Sunday planned and now this. I was gonna lay on the couch until 3am drinking wine until I passed out next to the space heater watching Aqua Teen Hunger Force because it's been a week and I don't want to sleep with M-Gun again (not that we're fags or anything, but you know, he's got the only bed next to the other space heater and we only cuddle a little), then I'd probably wake up around 11am and run to the bathroom and while busy in there check if I can still see my breath inside the house and if it was the case then I'd go back to the living room and eat Kim Chi on a hamburger bun while finishing the two-disc Hunger Force set which'd last me till about 1pm, then I'd call and harass the guy at the YMCA for 3pm, check the bullshit employment agency my mom insists I go to, and then put up a rant about the gentleman at ***** ******* magazine who finally sent me an email after I'd harassed his ass several times to say, "what's up?!" about the internship only to get a fucking rejection email with a grammatical error in the first sentence.
Yep. Yep. I'm not qualified to work for free, but you send out rejection letters with grammatical errors in the first sentence. Nice fucking magazine staff leaders there, huh? You fuckers must really set a precedent. Or is that some brilliant test to check if the potential indentured servants catch it, correct it and return it?
Just in case:
Hello Travis, I would to start off by saying thank you for your interest in ***** *******. Unfortunately, all of the positions for Editorial Internships have already been filled for the spring semester.
However, I encourage you to apply for a summer internship at ***** *******. Feel free to let me know if you have any further questions about anything.
WELL, LET ME CORRECT IT:
Dear Mister Godzillacock, I would LIKE to start off by saying I was about to throw your résumé in the garbage along with all the others that arrive, but by chance I noticed the name: T$ Cashflokillabitch.
I promptly framed it, hung it on the wall of our office, built a shrine around it, forced all the fine bettys to strip to their skivvies and worship it by making out with each other as I doused my eyes with bleach for I wish to see nothing again. As witness to your righteous résumé is certainly the most fantastic vista that will ever befall my eyes, with exception to your awesome porkwadly presence of which, of course, I am not worthy.
Unfortunately, I cannot offer you a position as Editorial Intern here at ***** ******* so I wish to offer you my job instead with a starting salary of $10,000 per week, company monster truck, the deed to a South Pacific Island and my fine-ass sister Janna who speaks no English. I will resign by consuming my cyanide capsule upon your entrance to our office.
Welcome to ***** *******. We look forward to your leadership. Most humbly,
See, now that was my plan. Or actually, I was just planning on getting the above corrected letter today from that guy and then stripping naked and standing in front of the mirror in the hallway and suddenly not have to worry about the fact that I live in a slum-ass shithole where I have to share a bed with M-Gun because our lives suck because I would suddenly be so fucking hot I'd heat central Texas.
But alas, it is now 2pm, no time to check the stupid employment agency and I must make my way. To the court of A-Bomb's ass-kicking devastation where I shall assume a similar degree of badassness. Godzillacock now approach YMCA!