I made a list of things I want to do with my life:

1. Not wear shoes.
2. Only eat nachos and ice cream.

Please email me if you have any business opportunities that meet these career goals. 

It was employee appreciation day today. I got appreciated with some hand-made sandwiches.

Dear Job People,

I am one of the five greatest cover letter writers of my generation as evidenced by a tweet I made that said, “I am one of the five greatest cover letter writers of my generation.” Also, I am working on a book called, “How to get a job when you are incapable of talking like a normal person even though you are organized and your grandfathers gave you a strong work ethic.” There has been some talk about making this forthcoming title into a movie that will focus on my ability to triumph over everyone who said, “Bad economies don’t give jobs to people like you,” and, “You’ll never eat again if you keep writing these insane cover letters,” and, “America no longer believes in taking chances on people who are twenty-eight and who might be autistic.” In the trailer for this movie based on a book that hasn’t been written yet, the character playing me will be sitting with his back to the camera as a narrator says, “His whole life he’s only been interested in one thing. All he’s ever talked about, all he’s ever been capable of thinking about is writing cover letters.” It will then cut to my character sitting at a desk, at the edge of the world, intensely writing a cover letter to the President of the United States as a bunch of submarines climb out of the ocean and try to blow up an army of spaceships that have recently arrived from another planet. My father’s voice will grow from these ocean explosions and say, “Your cover letters aren’t capable of saving the world.” My character will only be able to shrug as he looks the father actor in the face and says, “Maybe, but writing cover letters is all I know how to do.” Then someone will try to punch me in the face, but I’ll write a cover letter on their palm before they are able to connect with my face.

The end.

eggshellparaderadio:

Mark Baumer

bear morning

We wanted a polar bear, but all our polar bears were somewhere far away. We were no longer sure if our polar bears loved us. Love from a distance made our bellies grow. One of the small children in the neighborhood said he was a polar bear, but he didn’t have any…

I have an interview here about a story called “I am the mcdonalds of american writing.” The story was printed as a two-inch minibook. I have two extra copies. Email me and I will send you one sometime in the next three years.

Dear Job People,

I would like you to feed me a job because I am hungry for a sense of being productive. Sometimes I get carried away and eat all my roommates food because he does not like eating his own food. I am not exactly sure what your company does. I like all the twinkles on your website. I have looked at every twinkle. I would like to add to your twinkles. For the last twenty-eight years I have been creating nothing but twinkles. Please pay me to be your twinkler. If you do not have a need for a twinkle machine then maybe you have a need for someone to water your lawn. If you don’t have a lawn then maybe you would like to buy a pallet of sod from me and my friends. We install office sod in urban locations. No one has quite done what we have done because we haven’t even done it yet. You should be our first customer. If I had my own business it would be called “the laundry mat,” but there would be only one washing machine. Between the hours of six a.m. and ten a.m. we would sell smoothies that were blended in a converted industrial dryer that would be capable of mixing large quantities of health beverages. From ten a.m to eleven a.m. the business would focus on haircuts. From eleven a.m. to two p.m. I would make eleven dozen pizzas and sell them to the lunch crowd. From two p.m. to midnight the business would be converted into a television studio to broadcast a live talk show called “the laundry man.” All urban lawns and sod work would be done on the weekends. I hope you are interested in my business proposal. Either invest in me or give me a job at your company.

The end.

Mark

Dear Yachting Magazine,

I wrote a book called “Yachts.” It is a coming-of-age treatise on the glut of wealth that underprivileged children in America set out to find between the ages of six and whatever age they reach at the time of their father’s death. I think my research for this book makes me more than qualified to be your Editor-in-Chief. The book is still looking for a publisher. In the meantime I am working at a factory where I build inhalers. I am also in the process of learning how to make the leap from my parents’ working class background to something with more comfort and luxury. I am confident that Yachting Magazine is the best place for me to reach my full potential.

The end.

Love and skittles,

Mark Baumer

As a citizen of the United States I do not feel threatened by Iran or by nuclear weapons in general. I think the United States Corporation of War should leave Iran and their nuclear weapons alone. It seems okay that Iran is developing nuclear weapons. Do not believe your television’s mouth when its spit bubbles call Iran a major threat to American national security. I feel like Kanye and Ron Paul should make an anti-war rap song. Sometimes the two of them feel like the same person. Or maybe Nicolas Cage could light his own head on fire, get in a car, and yell until entire world’s population of nuclear uranium is depleted.

Today, I officially became a first class internet failure. The kickstarter I started didn’t even reach four percent of its goal. I  am going to start another kickstarter soon and ask for 9.5 million dollars to print four million copies of my first book.

My brain is starting to hurt at the idea that in less than thirty-eight hours I will not possess $50,000. I was really excited to write forty-nine books on some old crusty napkins and then use the rest of the money to buy a limousine. 

I met my new roommates on craigslist. One of them smokes thirty-five cigarettes a day. Another is blind and never leaves his room. The third takes a bath every night and gave me fifteen plastic hangers. I live in a ten-foot square cube. Last night, I asked them for $50,000 and they gave me a piece of wood they acquired through the “free” section on craigslist.

edit: One of my roommates just gave me a computer chair because he felt sorry for not being able to give me $50,000.

Last week, I was homeless for five days. I slept on a couch at a multicultural center, on the floor of a college classroom, in an abandoned studio, on the floor of banquet hall, and on a chair inside a large office building that was open twenty-four hours. If I had $50,000 I would continue being homeless and just write books.

My life has become sort of hopeless. I work in a medical facility making brain inhalers. Monday through Saturday I wake up at 5:30am and work until 5:30pm. Today, I pulled a lever over three-thousand times. I made six inhalers. My boss’s boss has a mustache. All my coworkers eat cold chicken nuggets for breakfast. I have given up on the american dream. Someone told me recently that long work days lead to depression. I have not seen the sun in a week. The american dream is a pony that grew up to be soggy tattoo sewn on the chest of a bloated assistant manager at Wendys. If you know one-hundred people with $500 then please tell them to cough on me.

I am not as good at social media as I thought I was. I am also really bad at job interviews. The only thing I am going at in the entire world is writing fifty books in a year.