Found on Craigslist - If you have virgin ears or eyes or don't like ranting profanity, skip this post.
There. You've been warned.
Punk rock Martha Stewart baker will tear your kitchen apartReply to:
Date: 2009-02-17, 3:01PM
…figuratively, of course.
Ok I have the fancypants resume. I have the cover letter. I pimp that shit out and make it all special and fancy for each and every job I apply too. I have the little outfit which I iron on the floor of my hovel on top of a cutting board and towel. Not that it matters, because I DON’T GET ANY CALLBACKS FROM YOU PEOPLE.
WHAT THE FUCK.
Listen, I KNOW times are tough but! You post the jobs, I send the resume, and I KNOW I’m hirable. I got hired at four, that’s right, 1234 baking jobs before the economy tanked, and I turned them all down. Cocky? Perhaps. I didn’t know the stupid economy would take a dump right when I was feeling confident about waiting for a job that was juuuuust right. So, now I’m paying the price. Fine. I accept that it was a dick move. And now I’m applying left and right for baking jobs, any baking jobs, shit, food prep jobs, whatever, piece of crap industrial sweatshop baking jobs, and I get nothing. WTF do you people want from me? Here, here’s my fucking resume. Here’s the real shit, not the kiss-ass garbage I spend hours laboring over on my 2nd hand laptop at the free wifi café.
To bake the living shit out of shit.
Take all the bile and outrage in this resume. The food I make is as sweet as these words are bitter. The cupcakes I make are cuter than a puppy’s ass. A whole tray of puppy’s asses. I was genetically engineered by the US government in a covert project called BakerBot4000-R. I don’t know what the 4000-R stands for but it’s as impressive as is sounds. I crank out bread like that crazy ass Mormon family on TLC cranks out babies. One time my boss walked in on me at work and I was sleeping but guess what? He couldn’t say SHIT cause I was baking at the SAME TIME. Anyway I wasn’t really sleeping, I was meditating on the next AWESOME savory scone that could make you forget how to speak your first language. One time I took a tray of scones out of the oven that were so golden and perfect it was like staring at the face of God, and maybe God was involved because the oven wasn’t even PLUGGED IN. Are you one of those bosses who needs to sit on a stool in the kitchen and tell me about your love life til 3 am? I will solve that shit like Dear Abby and Dr. Drew and make you feel good about being such a dumbass. Are you tired of stupid ass stoner bakers who can’t bake without being “baked?” I eat those fools for breakfast. Are you yourself a pothead? Hey, I don’t judge. Would you rather not even know I exist, and just want the baked goods to magically appear without having to deal with anyone’s needy, personal bullshit? Wow, that would sure be refreshing. Don’t question my methods. Just stick a muffin in your mouth and shut up. Also I sweat 100% pure vanilla extract and I poop marzipan which really cuts back on costs.
Come-&-Get-It soup kitchen: At this job I baked bread so fucking perfect that the local hobos would eat it and instantly transform into one of the following: super hot firemen, solutions to global warming, or just piles of diamonds.
I had a dream about crossaints and this somehow resulted in a fold in space-time, resulting in their invention sometime in the middle ages.
Government contract as BakerBot4000-R: I can’t tell you much about this job or I would have to kill you (and I totally could.) I had to leave this job because, I was told, my rate of productivity was making the president “look bad” in comparison. However, it was the Bush administration so I refuse to take responsibility for this. A Pet Rock could make that guy look bad.
God taught me the whole manna thing, but I’ve promised not to abuse my power.
I invented Martha Stewart and when I refused to give up my secret recipe for a cake that causes the consumer to attain a state of perfect bliss, sometimes referred to as nirvana, she went temporarily insane and ended up in jail.
Inspired by Steve Madonna. Luckily for you all, I am married and Steve and I shall never meet. Otherwise we would spawn monster beast children that would tear you all apart and render the employment system (aka “capitalism”) even more obsolete than it already is.
- Location: seattle
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