your name is sex in my rolodex

Now that I'm not writing my column in The Brag, I have more time to talk about the important aspects of life on welfare. To make this entry even more cutting edge, I have modified a column I did several weeks ago to fit in more with parochial interests. So awesome!

Some of you might imagine that I live a life of glamour and riches. Like so many medieval horses, to thee I say a mighty “Nay!”

With all the punitive measures associated with being on the dole, anyone would think that Centrelink or the Job Network were necessary to force me to actively seek work. Fuck you government bureaucracy! I’m super enthusiastic about the whole wage-labour-death thing. Just to prove it, here is my job application to a major broadsheet newspaper for the position of "op-ed writer."

Dear Sir or, less likely, Madam,
My name is Leigh and I would like to apply for the position of “op-ed” writer. I am not completely certain what “op-ed” means, but if it is anything to do with opium and/or opinions I certainly feel I would be apposite for this position. As you might have guessed, I already own my own thesaurus and I am familiar with its operation and purpose. Therefore I have at least 40% of the qualifications you likely require.

There are qualities I possess that I feel would be an asset to your esteemed paper and should make up the other 60% of my qualification quotient.

One quality I posses is brashness or, as my generation likes to call it, an “in your faceness.” I’m like a cross between Andrew Bolt and Bart Simpson. Like Bart Simpson I have irreverence for convention and an ability to make Rupert Murdoch a lot of money. Like Andrew Bolt, I’m willing to limit my expression within predifined terms while pretending that my opinions push the envelope. For example, I am prepared to support any war so long as I don’t actually have to do anything, that’s how in your face I am.

My social position would make me a unique voice in the world of commercial “journalism.” You see, like around 20% of the population, I am dependent on welfare. The perspective of an actual dole bludger to matters of social import could act as a foil to the middle-class moralism your paper vomits onto my eyes. I have taken the liberty of proposing some articles in this vein:

“Lying on Dole Forms for Fun.”
“FuBu Vs WuTang: Fashion War On Our Streets.”
“The Case for Banning Morning.”
“Why One Form a Fortnight is Too Many.”

In addition to these proposals, I have formed opinions on just about everything. Specifically:
- Vanilla tastes nice.
- Poetry is stupid, but that’s okay.
- The Asian Tsunami was bad even though nature is good.
- Peter Russel Clarke or Denise Drysdale should be made Australian of the Year.

I’m sure I have whet your appetite with my cutting edge ideas. If you would like to hear more, we can discuss it at a pub over a chicken parma.

Yours Humbly,

Leigh.