Today’s classified ad comes from Christian outreach organization WEC International, who take the missionary position on all things, including, it seems, HR. You must read to the end to get the full effect.
Magazine Sub-editor or Chief Sub-editor, England – WEC International
Submitted: 25/04/12 ; Closing Date: Open
WEC’s Media & Communications team needs a clever, enthusiastic and hard-working sub-editor to work across a range of projects. Given the changing landscape of publishing, you will think multi-channel: print, web and mobile and be able subedit copy to suit each media.
Duties include: Subbing copy (news, features and marketing leaflets and flyers) arriving from various WEC UK ministries at speed and to tight deadlines, but with accuracy, attention to detail, precision and to a high and consistent standard, while also maintaining the house style and an appropriate tone of voice at all times; Writing eye-catching, snappy and accurate headlines, straps and abstracts/summaries. You will also be required to write the occasional feature.
This position is non-salaried as all WEC personnel look to God to provide their personal needs.
wecinternational.org.uk
They look to God to provide personal needs but apparently not to provide their staffing needs. Is that Satan’s department? From what I have experienced of HR, the answer is YES!
The most revolutionary part of this picture? The absence of pink. I’m not kidding here: go to any children’s wear store and look around: PINKPINKPINKPINKPINK as far as the eye can see, right up to the boy’s department, which has every colour except pink. Why? Seriously, why? Is it in fact essential that total strangers be able to tell our children’s sex from three furlongs away? Or is it, come to think of it, kinda freaky, not to mention tacky?
Yes, it’s a civic holiday in Vangroover (not really, but yeah) and there’s a distinct likelihood that several, if not even plenty of my readers, yes, we can see you out there, you left the webcam on and your eyeballs look like piss holes in the snow, may be somewhat affected by, shall we say, hyperlocal atmospheric conditions.
So, in the spirit of serviceyness, we present a couple of handy-dandy guides that will help you pretend not to be completely fucked up.
First up, Mowing Your Lawn on PCP:
Great! Don’t you feel productive now? But the night is still young, so don’t stop the buzz now! Grab a bottle of some refreshing liquid and follow along with Jenna Marbles as she shows you how to do makeup drunk.
And now Hannah from My Drunk Kitchen shows you How to Make Poutine, which you will want if you got baked, yourself:
She should definitely NOT have licked up the gravy that dissolved the dust from Burning Man and washed it down with a Caesar. She was only drunk before: now she’s a bad case of All Of The Above.
One thing that should not be attempted under the influence: singing in the car. If you’re the driver, you shouldn’t be messed up, and if you’re not the driver, you’re annoying the driver. Besides, no matter how awesome you think you are, you aren’t as awesome as this guy (yes, more Canadian Content; we’re just that much better at being drunk/stoned than you are):
And, no matter how awesome you think you are, even if you are sober and your audience is completely shitfaced, you will never be as good as Nicki Bluhm and The Gramblers, who use their van as a recording booth while tootling around San Francisco belting out cover tunes.
Mylene Farmer could never be called modest, but if YOU looked like that, would YOU be?
Followers of the ol’ raincoastersphere, specifically Manolofood.com, will be aware that I recently did a 48-hour hunger strike, and only cheated once. During this fast, I gained three pounds. I do not recall any victims of waterboarding complaining about weight gain, and most hunger strikers of my acquaintance have been precisely the sort of ectomorphs who should be raising awareness by running across InNeedistan or something instead of indulging in calorie deprivation. When you’re fat, seeing skinny people go on hunger strikes is really under the aegis of the Department of Insult to Injury. As is the gaining of three pounds on a hunger strike.
Okay, okay, when I took off my Thuggie I discovered that I’d actually lost four pounds (and also that Thuggies weigh seven pounds!) but still!
Given that I spent all of last year obsessively tracking my calorie input and output with the LoseIt app and averaged 1100 calories a day and did not lose a single pound, it’s quite clear that if I’m ever to get to my ideal, or even a slightly improved, shape, it’ll take actually breaking a sweat. More than once a month, too.
Speaking if ideal shape…the one in the above photo is pretty much it. Mylene Farmer is older than me, and she still has that figure. This one.
Of course, she has those legs; that helps. Unless my pal Anthony Youn comes up with a clever, painless and cheap leg-lengthening procedure, I will never have legs anywhere near that good, but mine when in shape are not to be sneezed at. Especially if you don’t cover your nose. But hey, I got a start on the look: I bought the lipstick!
The current fashion for bowlegged rickets victims is not one which meets with my approval, in case you were wondering. I’d love to know which photographer we can blame for a generation of starlets who all pose as if they were about to lose bladder control. When in doubt, blame everything on Terry Richardson.
Knock kneed hipster girl
So Mylene’s shape is not achievable for me, which is too bad not only for me but for everyone who has to look at me. My current shape is quite perogy-like, and everybody likes perogies, so that’s something, but it’s not what I want.
This is what I want.
Ginger Spice would be nice
Believe it or not, for me, this is doable. Hell, I already had the hair! This will take, if I keep on schedule (which I will not and let’s be honest about it, you wouldn’t either) about a year. So I’m giving myself two years, because I’m like that with myself and you would be too, if you treasured me the way I do.
And if I looked like that, you would, wouldn’t you?
raincoaster 