Archive for the ‘Unquiet Unemployment’ Category

Fun techonobo tip!

May 1, 2010

Potato pearls, those instant mashed potatoes you can buy bulk at your local grocery store [1] /say/ they require steeping and stirring in hot water to work.

Bullshit. You can enjoy these potatoes cold, they simply require a bit more stirrage than if you were to introduce water to them straight from the boil. A little salt and pepper in packet form as lifted from any number of fast food or convenience stops and you’ve a no-fuss, low-mess, easy breakfast for these hot, lazy late spring days here in Las Vegas, waiting, waiting, waiting for someone, anyone to call you back from a job application.

[1]these spuds as pictured are actually individually-portioned pouches taken from my backpaking/survival stash.


And the Jobhunt goes on

April 24, 2010

It’s ridiculously difficult to find a job in this city.

Seriously, as an outsider, as a guy who doesn’t have cushy union contacts or a dad that works for the Department of Transportation or whatever, I find that it’s next to impossible to find a job. Hell I’ve had about two dozen interviews in the last month and exactly zero callbacks. I can’t even get a fucking job at Jack in the Box, that’s how amazingly asinine this town is when it comes to tryin’ to find a job.

Even though I’m desperate and hemorrhaging cash at a rate previously unseen by a non-member of the ’80s glam rock supergroup Motley Crue, I’m still trying to stay optimistic and upbeat on the search for employ.

Which basically puts me a step above last week, where I was willing to walk into an establishment, commit homicide then inform the hiring manager that a position just opened on up.

But I digress.

Below is a letter I sent in response to a Craigslist post. Golly do I ever hope I get this dang job, it would be so super-sweet.

Hi, I saw your post on the Craigslist ( ) and gave it a good thorough ponder and have decided to contact you with my intention on securing the job.

About me:
I’m a hard-drinking, hard-fighting, hard-swearing unemployed and bitter young writer with a cold, calculating cynicism in his heart reserved typically for fellas at three times his age, I’m looking for a band of lovable little ragamuffin moppets to make me realize that I’m not a cold, unfeeling, angry-at-the-word hardass and really under this cooly-calculating skin of stone beats the loving and sweet heart of a delicate artist and gentleman, just waiting to beat as freely as Biz Markie in a no-holds-barred freestyle street-beat competition. And it’s these kids, these kids who are yearning to be reached as much as I who are the ones who can chisel through the psychological armor I’ve erected and get at my soft, cuddly, throbbing and kind of a little moist side.

As your live-in nanny (I prefer the term Xybutler Omega Class Triple-Ought Series X), I will indoctrinate your children in the finer arts and disciplines required of a Modern American, such as Classic Literature, Geography, Art Appreciation, Grammar, Diction as well as to strip, clean and maintain an M16 rifle and – most importantly – qualify “Expert.” If these children, these lovable little scamps that you call your own cannot qualify as an Expert Marksman, then I feel that I would have failed my task and then will proceed to engage in an act of ritual suicide so as to appease the wrath of not only my ancestors, but yours as well for dishonoring their memory.

This is my solemn vow.

You can reach me any time at:
my dang phone number
or by email at:
my dang email address

I look forward to becoming a new and beloved entry to your family.

I hope it goes well. I’d sure love to teach some kids up about Mark Twain and terminal performance of the M855 out of a 20″ 1:9 A4. Things all growin’ healthy American kids ought know.