Dear Sir or Madam:
I am interested in becoming a writer for Tiger Magazine. As such, I would be most grateful if you would allow me this opportunity to demonstrate my strong, nuanced grasp of humor, which would surely be a valuable asset to the writing staff.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuckity-fuck, fucktacular, ball-busting, deliciously sublime, painfully exquisite, fucking fucktastic FUCK.
If I may venture to say so, the previous sentence alone would be more than sufficient to establish my credentials with other notable publications such as the Harvard Lampoon or the Yale Record, but, just to prove myself beyond a shadow of a doubt, I shall continue.
Dildos. I like dildos. They make me feel warm and sunny inside. I have so many, I like to jump off a diving board and swim around in my pool of dildos every day. In fact, the only thing better than a dildo, is a dildo shaped like a dildo.
If any publication in the country failed to recognize the sheer genius and masterful wit I just contained in so small a space, then I humbly submit that they would not recognize humor if it fucked them like their favorite dildo. After all, it is perfectly obvious to any sophisticated person that the greatest humor of the ages involves fucking (not just having sex, mind you, it must be FUCKING), and that if one engages the proper topics, such as the aforementioned fucking, or even dildos, the humor inherent in such things is so intuitive and universally understood that anything in addition is merely superfluous.
In closing, I hope that I have impressed upon you my cultivated sense of drollery and jocosity. I do not exaggerate when I say that if I am admitted as a writer, such brilliance as springs forth from my pen will leave all who encounter it paralyzed in tears.
I am most humbly yours,
-James Clark ‘14
