This letter is to offer my services as a public relations consultant. I would work for far less pay than the PR firm you have been employing so far and, if you don’t mind me saying, offer superior results.
Tomorrow, this is all you need to say:
“Hey everybody. I just wanted to you to know that I’ve had a great couple months here. The nursing staff have been so attentive and great. I’ll be golfing again soon. Rest assured, I’ll destroy the competition. That’s it. Thanks again to the nursing staff…”
You know better than anyone follow-through isn’ t my strong suit. I don’t own a single strong suit. However, I own many mediocre trousers.
They say cockroaches can live with out heads. I’ve never decapitated one. I can’t say.
Sometimes it feels like talking to a room of dancing bears.
Vote many times!
Anybody with a computer needs to click on the Tyler switch. There is a letter-writing campaign as well.
There’s a good story rattling up in my brains.
This just in:
3-Day Novel Contest Finalists
I sound like a dumbass and I’m pretty embarrassed about the whole thing, well just the parts that make me sound like a pussy-hungry pervert. But then again, what writer isn’t sex-hungry?:
A recent graduate of Grant MacEwan’s journalism program, Tyler Morency’s start in writing came out of simple practicality: “I started writing when I was a young lad with a sickly childhood and realized sports was not going to be the way I could get laid.”
A veteran 3-Day Novel Contest finalist, Tyler offers the following description of his experience: “Hellacious, terrifying, shameful, disappointing and thrilling; anyone who says otherwise hasn’t attempted the 3-Day Novel Contest before.”
A freelance journalist, Tyler’s accustomed to tight deadlines. “I’m interested to see how the other writers hold up under the intense pressure of the camera people, the rubberneckers, and the looming deadline monster,” says Tyler. “At the beginning you’re filled with an optimism you could actually see this through…By day three you’re very tired and your story doesn’t make any sense and your dialogue is shite. It’s very easy to become critical of yourself and your ability as a wordsmith.”
Pig Men. The army is making them destroy the world. The amry is full of pig men. I’m talking about the New World Army here. They make the Pig Men fly in airplanes and drop bombs on the land they fly over. The non-Pig Men burn. The non-Pig Men had nothing to do with anything.
This world is horrible all the time.
This letter is long overdue. When you came on to the monetary scene everybody said you looked like Monopoly money. Or worse, “Like European Money.”
I think your security features are spiffy and post modern. They simultaneously keep counterfeiting impossible while impressing the public. For example, if you hold up you up to a light, you can totally see a ghostly Queen Elizabeth. Fucking far out!
Plus, you are crisp when you come from the bank machine. Keep on keeping on.
Fergis T. McGillicuddy
The town isn’t important. The factory is what made the town important, so we will start there. The factory manufactured small tripods for expensive cameras. The factory became highly regarded in the field. Reputation is everything in the tripod market. The last thing a photographer needs while aiming at the perfect picture is the tripod crapping out. Ansel Adams once slit the throat of a gypsy who sold him a faulty tripod. The thing with the tripod factory that made them so reliable, so robust, was that the tripods were fashioned from the bones of the town’s residents. The factory closed once the town ran out of product.