David, Candice, whatever
This Abject World
I have no objective. What’s the point when cold death is the final destination for us all? Can you explain that to me? I know I’m supposed to put something here, though, so here goes: Your objective is to hire me into a challenging position in a computer-applications-based field within which you feel I can “make a difference” and “contribute” in a team environment.
Bachelor of “Science” in Computer Applications, University of Washington
B.S., all right. It tickles me greatly that vapid, hornswoggled employers place so much emphasis on scholastic aptitude and higher education, as if knowing the Pythagorean theorem could shield me from the stygian pointlessness of mortality or the lurid abyss of imminent nonexistence. Of course, I use the word “tickles” figuratively, since I feel absolutely nothing.
Skills are valueless and only serve temporarily to bolster the trembling egos of the sheeple of this wretched world. I eschew all so-called personal development, instead dying under the premise that, when I’m a biodegrading mess of worm feed hopelessly buried beneath a fathom of dark earth, being able to type 70 words a minute really won’t do me a modicum of what you so ignorantly refer to as “good.”
Microsoft Excel, PowerPoint, Access; UNIX; Lotus 1, 2, 3.
Lead Sales Representative, Howard Brothers Trucking Co. (June 2003 to present)
As the leading sales representative at Howard Brothers, I implemented a new invoicing database lauded by my maudlin, foolhardy management team as “wonderfully efficient and surprisingly self-explanatory.” Why any of this mattered, I don’t know or care.
As far as being a “leader” goes, I wasn’t leading anyone or anything. Death is the great leveler, leading us all. Or not. Again, who cares, really?
Sales Clerk, Hot Topic (January 2001 to June 2003)
Employee of the month 29 consecutive times.
It pains me (again, being loose with the language here) to think that one could be so ridiculous as to maintain any sort of attachment to this-worldly tangibles, concepts, or other such contemptible ephemera. I’ll admit I play tennis, although I don’t keep score and insist that when my deluded partner does he use the terms “zero” or “nothingness” instead of “love,” a superfluous notion.
I also read a bit of Baudelaire, for what it’s worth, which is nothing.
Mankind, in its self-congratulatory revelry, will finally come to realize that all forms of kudos simply blind us from the solitary incontrovertible truth: life is a hollow shell of nil.
Once, during my younger days, in an ultimately nugatory proclamation (is there any other kind?) of my desensitized attitude toward accolades and gifts, I coined the phrase “He who dies with the most toys … still dies.” A bumper-sticker company then offered me a large sum of money for the rights to this phrase. I told them to keep it and give it to someone or something that mattered, which I guess was my way of making a joke (back before I realized how asinine and fruitless such a thing was).
This section seems a bit silly. But not like ha-ha silly. I mean ineffectual, obviously.