The Things I Get Myself In To (WARNING: ALMOST NAUGHTY CONTENT)

I am the man. Make what you will of the beaver.

So, like most of my friends, I am frantically trying to find a job in the midst of a recession, armed with naught but an English degree (god willing) and a helluva lot of hope. To that end, I replied to a copywriting job I found on Craig's List. The job mentioned that the candidate had to be comfortable with adult content. Which made me a little bit skeptical, but I am comfortable, so I did anyway. I don't care what people do in their bedrooms. Or the dark recesses of the Internet, for that matter.

As soon as I sent off the e-mail plus attached resumé, I regretted it. They would laugh at me! I had accidentally sent it from the e-mail address that sounds like a sex term anyway! What the hell would I have to do, anyway? Find more and more synonyms for "penis" until every word in the English dictionary begins to look like a dirty joke? "Stupid sexy Websters," I thought, "no." And I hid from the computer screen for the rest of the night, lest they magically be able to see from it. And judge me. This morning, I got an e-mail from them saying they were intrigued by my background, but that they wanted to run a little test first. I had to read someone else's review of an adult website, one for connoisseurs of "hairy" women, and then rewrite it, using the same facts but with my own wording.

I felt another period of philosophical questioning coming on, as I scrolled through the galleries of ladies in their untrimmed glory. Did I want to be doing this for the rest of my life? Not that there's too much wrong with that, but I fell my Mom's judgment coming on. But then I thought of the following sentence:

"The only thing you might have to worry about... is getting lost in the bushes."

And, reader, I sent it in. Because that right there's a load-bearing sentence.