Wow. Eight whole weeks. Eight volumes! Consecutively! I don’t even know who I am anymore. And speaking of weeks, this one has been…well. It’s really been something. Kind of like an ugly baby, really. ”Oh, look! It’s…a baby!” That is what kind of week I’ve had. My week is an ugly baby. I’m hoping it’s just a phase.
But for realz, thank you for coming back every week and commenting. I LOVE YOU. You’re a…you! I feel so close to you, like a middle-school friendship. I just want to pop in and say, “Hey, whatcha doin’?” and you’d be all, “Oh, I dunno, nothing” and that would be that but we’d be better for it. You know?
I became intimately familiar this week with the other side of the job-seeking process, that of the Resume Reviewer and Hiring Person and if you follow me on twitter you’re probably sick of me talking about it. All I can say is that I have no faith in our future as a nation and, if these resumes were a random sampling of our people, I don’t know how we remember to tie our shoes. Terrible, I know, but if you would have seen these, your compassion would have been drained by Tuesday just as mine was.
Here’s the thing. Just aim for plain-ish. Focus on the things that matter, like spelling and ordering your bullets so your most important responsibilities (which you have, of course, MASTERED LIKE A BOSS) first.
Do NOT use “Ransom” font. I don’t know, Ransom Person. Were you trying to stand out because you did. I’ve turned your resume into the authorities to check the missing persons database. Do not format your resume such that it looks like a wedding invitation—complete with different colored script absolutely no one can read—or a wanted poster. Your name in 48-point Arial…it sort of punched me in the face. I feel terrible for being so judgmental, but I had to be. I did, however, learn a lot.
A LOT. And I’m somewhat frightened.
This week is brought to you by irony, potatoes, bananas, truly terrible grammar, morans, a baking baby, a shark attack in the balls, genital fires, SKI BOOTS, pubes, Precious, land fucking, flower fucking, suddenness, your awesomeness, and a MOTHERFUCKING SCISSOR KICK TO THE NUTS.
But first…motherfucking goats.
Motherfucking goats will never get old.
I’ve made fun of poor grammar before, probably more than I should, but I was on fire this week. It’s a pet peeve of mine and, like all pet peeves, they’re not really important to anyone else unless coincidentally. Terrible grammar just irritates me. An incorrect possessive is like a child poking at me, taunting, “I’m not touching you, I’m not touching you, I’m not touching you.”
But if I’m being completely objective and honest, maybe I’m just being a dick. But, no. I’m not, really, am I? I don’t think someone a jerk because one may be peeved by crying babies, talking adults, certain people saying words—any words—or repetitive noises. So, maybe I’m being too hard on myself, calling myself a dick.
Nope, still a dick.
But still, if you’re applying for a job, “utilize” a novel concept that can only help you: Spellcheck and proofread. Why? Because if you “maintained files and charts” at your last job but I read that you “marinated files and charts” I’m going to LAFF AND LAFF and then tweet about it because, really? IT WAS THE FIRST BULLET IN THE FIRST ITEM UNDER “WORK EXPERIENCE.”
Also? I work in a field that has absolutely nothing to do with savory meats.
Maybe I’ll marinate some files to-morrow. Or do I mean maintain? WE’LL NEVER KNOW BECAUSE NO ONE WILL BE CALLING.
I think the best part of the whole process was being completely OWNED by irony by one simple sentence on one of the resumes: “Have necessary acquaintance in communication skills and interpersonal skills both in verbally and written.”
Wow. That’s Irony and FAIL and You’re Doing It Wrong and MOAR all rolled into one.
Speaking of irony:
(It would be rude to say, “Get a job, MORAN!”)
Sometimes the irony, it burns in a maybe-bad way.
And sometimes it burns in a very good way, such that it makes a person want to bite their bottom lip nerdily and appreciate a good serving from life.
And sometimes irony is sad.
Unless nefarious things were going on inside the camper. Then it would be considered fun irony.
* * *
Speaking of kids, let’s laugh at them because fuck them:
Even a whole TOWN doesn’t like kids and I know this because I don’t think that punting babies will ever be cool.
I’m kidding with the hate, of course. Kids are…something. They are really something.
I don’t think this person is kidding, though. It’s an uncomfortably elaborate jesting, if it were meant to be a joke.
There is only one appropriate reaction, and it is dog.
Baby not fit for consumption. Cake not fit for LIFE.
I joke about hating kids because I’ve always, even when a toddler, been an old man screaming “Get off my lawn!” Even when I was a kid I was old. They said, “Oh, you’re an old soul” and I said, “Fuck you, you’re just old.”
Of course I didn’t. But even if your childhood wasn’t fucked up, it was. How do I know? Because Walt Disney is a sadistic dick.
Oh, it gets worse.
I will never eat cartoon sausage again.
But, like I said last week about kids. They always win.
But you know who isn’t getting shit?
SHE KNOWS WHY.
* * *
What do you get when you mix bananas with the internet?
This. Less than thousands of bananas.
DEMOCRATS. *shaking fist* [Note: I couldn't find one for the other side, so don't go talking politics because NO.]
But wait…Hold up. This might be the suddenest.
SUDDENLY…SCISSOR KICK TO THE NUTS.
Like a boss.
* * *
Hey, it’s Things That Look Like Things!
This is too perfect I can’t even. I wish I looked like something.
Probably not a potato, though, now that I’m thinking about it.
* * *
Sometimes something is right in front of your face and so absolutely terrible and/or vile you cannot NOT see it, but you’re thinkin’ bout stuff and only see what you want to see. The other stuff doesn’t register. You know? HOW DOES ONE MISS THE WORST ATROCITY EVERYONE ELSE CAN SEE?
It’s another WTF meme, one of my new favorites. I like the subtleties. And if you don’t appreciate the meme, I’m not sure if we can be friends. Which would be a shame, because we could talk about grammar and other fun things.
OH MY GOD.
Ski boots. What is WRONG with him.
Call 911! That man can NOT be well, not with that t-shirt. That is an emergency.
* * *
Let’s fuck stuff.
Buoys will be buoys.
But you know what? Flowers, that’s what. MOTHERFUCKING FLOWERS NEED TO GET SERVED.
* * *
Suddenly, pubic hair? That’s an odd “Suddenly” meme contribution. But there’s something off…what…I can’t…
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrgh!!!! I’m scratching myself like Tyrone Biggums. Bugs! Spiders! I feel them.
Does look like pubes though, doesn’t it.
And suddenly, Precious?
Heh. Someone’s thinking, “SOON.”
Oh, God. NOT AGAIN.
This always happens to me, too! I’m just trying to get a motherfucking scone when, BAM. This happens. Whatever this is. (What is happening here?)
* * *
And then there’s the multiple memes with animals or weird-looking things with similar backgrounds. I didn’t research what or why it is, but it’s a meme and I LULZd when I saw this, so I’m including it because I get to say so, whee!
* * *
Well, it’s Friday. Yay? Hope y’all enjoyed this week and will be back for Volume 9 next week! I promise, it will be epic. And I don’t get notified of comments, but I do try to come back and respond, so keep leaving them because they make my entire life worth living. You do that. You. Yes, you.
And you don’t even have to use appropriate grammar all the time, either.
That is love, from me to you.
See you next week! Hint: I am going to take you on a tour of Hell. Meaning, it’ll be dedicated to images you shouldn’t laugh at and don’t want anyone to see you laughing at, but you’re laughing. And crying on many different levels: hilarity and despair. Just like Dante described!
Remember, you can tweet me if you have images you’d like added to the collection! Or just say, “STACY, YOU’RE AWESOME.” I’m serious. DO IT. AND GET IN MY VAN BECAUSE I HAVE A KNIFE AND SOME FLOWERS.