OH MY FUCK

I just received a formal rejection letter in the mail from a GROCERY STORE I recently applied to work in. Doug Snyder, the General Manager of Central Market, mailed me a very formal rejection on recycled paper with fancy company letterhead. Here is the slogan for Central Market, a grocery store marketed to fancy people: “CELEBRATE FOOD. CELEBRATE LIFE”.

This letter would be the letter I would get from Central Market if I had submitted three pieces of short fiction for their approval, ignoring the fact that Central Market is a grocery store, and not a niche Literary Concern the likes of Mcsweeney’s Quarterly.

But enough of these feelings of acrimony towards the universe. LET US DISCUSS JOHN MCCAIN and HIS acrimony.
What is he doing right now? Andrew and I developed two possible scenarios:

A) He is seated in a lazy-boy chair with a bag of chocolate truffles in one hand and a bed pan in the other; a television in front of him plays DVDs of the television show FRIENDS. For, you see, John McCain spent his entire campaign saying, “MY FRIENDS, MY FRIENDS MY FRIENDS”, only to realize on election night that he had no friends. But Ross and Rachel and Chandler and Joey and Monica and Phoebe will be his friends, just as they’ve been to all of us in our time of need. When we receive rejection letters from dead-end jobs we’ve applied for in times of financial desperation.

B) He fled from the podium just as he finished his concession speech, running as fast as his legs will carry him into the forest. He then tracks a white tailed deer, kills it with his bare hands, rapes it, and eats it raw. Then, sitting with a full belly before its decimated corpse, his face and hands and fancy suit covered in the blood of the animal, John McCain has a good long cry.