Cooper Green
Ms. Cooperina Green
From: cooperinagreen@canada.ca
Sent: Thursday, August 1, 2004 7:18 AM
To: Chas.Adams@adamspeanutbutter.com
Subject: My life is ruined
Mr. Charles Adams, President
Adams Peanut Butter
Dear Mr. Adams
On the recommendation of a trusted friend, I recently purchased a jar of your peanut butter from my local Safeway store. I was told that it was made of natural ingredients, and that it contained no preservatives. The listing of nutritional content on the label appears to bear this out.
This was quite an important decision for me, Mr. Adams, because I am not a wealthy person. I’m quite poor, in fact, having been unable to secure steady employment for the past three years. At the same time, however, I am interested in obtaining only the most healthful food products for my family and myself, and your brand of peanut butter costs considerably more than the Safeway house brand that I usually purchase. I am accustomed to paying $3.27 for a large jar of peanut butter, and yours is priced at $4.88.
In light of my financial position, I struggled for several days with the decision to commit to such a significant monetary outlay. In fact, I had gone so far as to advise my small, and severely disabled son Timmy (he has thing on his toe that is absolutely horrible, trust me) of my decision to invest in the house brand, when his pleas of “no, Mommy, no. Don’t hate me like this, Mommy” caused me to reconsider. I bought the Adams brand peanut butter, and advised Timmy that his Cheerios serving would be slightly smaller each morning, until we had recovered the extra $1.61 it took to secure this purchase.
This letter, Mr. Adams, is to advise you of my extreme disappointment with my purchase. The taste is bland, the texture is grainy, and there is an oily presence that cannot be healthful. My Timmy will no longer eat his sandwiches. Instead, he cries “Mommy, why do you hate me?” Recently, as his useless toe drags behind him, it appears to be leaving marks on the carpet.
In light of your failure to meet my expectations, Mr. Adams, and because I now have an unusable jar of peanut butter, not to mention that I have been thrown into unrecoverable debt, it is my feeling that some compensation from your company is owed to me and my family. I feel that a full pallette of 1,440 large jars of Adams Peanut Butter delivered COD to my household may be adequate to assuage the pain my Timmy and I have suffered.
In fact, here's an idea. Send me the cash equivalent of $7,027.20 (1,440 x $4.88), and I will purchase them myself. Then you save the shipping charges. Please confirm your compliance by return e-mail.
Yours truly,
Cooperina Green
posted by: coopergreen at July 31, 2004 22:33 |
link | comments (2) |
Roy Horn
From: royhorn@lvmirage.com
Sent: Thursday, July 30, 2004 8:13 AM
To: hrtexas@seaworld.com
Subject: Tiger + Fish = Tigerfish. Get it?
SeaWorld Of Texas
10500 SeaWorld Drive
San Antonio, Texas 78251
Hello, whale people
Could it be worse? I mean, could it be any worse? Here you are, just trying to entertain the public with a big fish, and what does he do? Why, he turns on his trainer, the big poo! It's simply not fair. I was absolutely horrified when the same thing happened to me, except I had my head eaten off by a beautiful rare white tiger named Montecore.
Whoopsy, I'm getting ahead of myself. My name is Roy Horn, and my partner Siegfried and I (Siegfried And Roy!!) have performed before adoring crowds in Las Vegas for absolute decades. Well. One day a tiger tore my head off. Did you hear about it on the television? I was so angry.
But it's okay, it looks like I'm going to get better. The doctors think my head might grow back before the convention season really kicks in, and I just can't tell you how anxious I am to get out of this suit and back into my spangly tights.
Sorry ... ahead of myself again. That poor man who got eaten by the fish is probably feeling terribly sad right now, and maybe even thinking about changing jobs after his awful, awful time. But you know what the say about clouds, right? Right? Remember? Silver lining, that's right!! This might be a chance for me to return to my first love, show business! The cool water will do wonders for my healing wounds, and I would simply love to enter that special, spiritual place with a big shiny fish in his natural state, sort of.
Oh, this is exciting. I can hardly wait to get started! Call me pleasepleasepleaseplease!
Excitedly,
Roy Horn
posted by: coopergreen at July 30, 2004 22:12 |
link | comments (1) |
posted by: coopergreen at July 29, 2004 22:06 |
link | comments (4) |
Cooper Green
From: coopergreen@canada.ca
Sent: Thursday, July 29, 2004 7:44 AM
To: Kofi.Annan@un.org
Subject: Time for a change
Kofi Annan
Secretary General,
United Nations
Dear Mr. Annan,
Congratulations on everything. You seem like a nice man, and you look very elegant in your expensive clothes. I'm sure you have done your very best in trying to run the world these past seven years, but perhaps it's time to face facts. You are in your second term as the head cheese at the U.N., and yet people all over the world seem to be dropping dead faster than ever. In fact, a skillful entrepreneur could quite likely make a killing (excuse the pun) by opening up a shrapnel franchise in any one of the world's hot spots. Palestine and Baghdad come to mind, but you can always find some hothead in one of those horrible sandy places who's willing to blow up himself and his neighbours.
Perhaps it's time you stepped down and gave someone else a chance. And here's a thought I just had this very second: what about giving the job to a Canadian? Canadians are well known for their peacekeeping activities around the world, and frankly not one of us would hurt a flea. There is only one gun in the country, and it's kept under lock and key in the Parliament Buildings pantry in Ottawa. Only the Chief Cook has the combination, and right now he's on summer holidays in Latvia!
Another opportunity just occurred to me (and you'll appreciate this, being a person of colour): let's make sure the successful candidate is a minority person in every sense. A woman. An older woman, probably a lesbian. Or maybe he/she simply a very convincing transsexual? Either way, we're still dabbling in minorities. That’s the key. And she's horribly disfigured from a wartime event that is too horrible to discuss. Now there's a true candidate for the U.N's next Secretary General, don’t you agree?
Now that the ground rules have been firmly established, I'd like to declare my candidacy. I am fortunately between engagements at the moment. I know this will involve a move to the U.N. Headquarters in New York, but I’m ready to go! I have discussed this thoroughly with my Significant Other, Pat (he/she is on the bottom; I’m the Alpha), and he/she’s all for it!
Let’s do it, Kofi. Tell them you want to open a wildebeest ranch in Ghana, trade in your flashy suit for a loin cloth, and let’s give the underprivileged a chance. Call me!
Yours,
Cooper Green
posted by: coopergreen at July 28, 2004 22:26 |
link | comments (4) |
The Honourable Paul Martin
Prime Minister, Canada
Rideau Hall
Ottawa, ON
28 July, 2004
To Whom It May Concern:
My dear friend Cooper Green has indicated to me that he intends to seek a senior position in the service of our Government. It is my happy duty to give this talented, handsome, and impeccably honest man my complete endorsement in whatever field he chooses, and selfishly wish that I had had an available cabinet position to offer him.
Nevertheless, Mr. Green is eager and able to serve the needs of our nation in any capacity, and I cannot think of a more worthy candidate. His impressive résumé tells you all you need to know of his business credentials, but few people also know that he is a talented saxophonist, equestrian, gynecologist, juggler and psychic. He was the first Canadian to scale Mounts Everest, Fuji and Kilimanjaro in the same week. He invented the travel coffee mug, and routinely completes the New York Times crossword puzzle without using the Down clues. I am particularly grateful to Mr. Green for impregnating my wife twice (on my behalf), raising our children to adulthood, educating them to Post-Graduate degree status, and teaching them the lyrics to "Blinded By The Light". As my Personal Assistant some years ago "Coop" (as our family calls him lovingly) successfully located the fuse box in my 1983 Buick Electra, and delighted us all by recreating every character in "Cats" and performing the entire musical in our living room, complete with costume changes and musical accompaniment.
If you wish to discuss Coop's remarkable abilities with me further, do not hesitate to contact me on my personal cell phone at 1-900-555-6754.
Yours truly,
The Honourable Paul Martin
Prime Minister, Canada
posted by: coopergreen at July 28, 2004 08:19 |
link | comments (3) |
You can't trust anyone these days, it seems. Here's the reference letter that my current employers Feckle, Feckle, Splunt & Dross sent to BC Building Corp and BC Ferries. My good friend Wanda (Duggy's temp) smuggled a copy to me.
And I thought Duggy was my friend.
____________________________________
To Whom it May Concern:
Mr. Cooper Green is a hiring decision that loiters in our consciousness daily. We will not forget his career path, because it is marked by coffee stains that extend from the staff lunchroom to his cubicle, and from his cubicle to the men's room. He prefers cream in his coffee, it seems, and perhaps either tungsten or potash. The lab tests are inconclusive.
If you treasure a workstation cubicle that captures The Best Ten Years Of Dilbert, then look no further. If you desire a desktop monitor that exposes Queen Latifah in twelve provocative poses, then he is your man. Do you want your Scotch tape consumption to increase threefold at Christmastime? Try Cooper Green. Are you hungry for medical expense forms that include claims for rabies booster shots and kennel cough inoculations? Coop's your guy. Travel expense forms with speeding tickets attached? He da man. Long distance calls to a racetrack in Nigeria? Cooper Green.
If you must hire him, give Mr. Green a workspace that is frequently cleaned. Watching a hairy man go bald is not a happy experience in any case, but Mr. Green is losing hair faster than the maintenance people can sweep it up. Most of it appears to be from his back. Mr. Green should be vacuumed regularly.
His honesty might occasionally be called into question, and I suspect that is why Mr. Green is currently seeking employment elsewhere. FECK’s crack Security personnel found seven staplers and a paper shredder lodged in Mr. Green’s anal region, apparently on their way to Mr. Green’s home office from the stationery supply room of FECK.
I am pleased to give Mr. Cooper Green the highest possible endorsement, in order to rid ourselves of him. Please take him off our hands.
Yours,
Petro “Duggy” Splunt, MBA
Feckle, Feckle, Splunt & Dross Advertising
____________________________________
Looks like I'll have to write my own in the future.
posted by: coopergreen at July 26, 2004 23:02 |
link | comments (4) |
"Book Signings, Interviews With Talk-Show Hosts Who Have Never Read Your Work, And Bedding Groupies: The Prices Of Fame"
You might think that a three-part topic such as this might be too much for one post. It's not:
1. The talk show host has not read your work.
2. You are a writer. Musicians have groupies; writers have skin problems.
That leaves book signings, and what a fascinating topic it is! A writer's path to fame can be traced precisely by the spontaneity of his or her scrawl on the inside first page of the overpriced book you just purchased. Newly published writers are just tickled silly to be asked to attend a book signing in the first place, and can be counted upon to use only the safest, most flattering greeting, accompanied by a personalized salutation that lets you know they are not the pompous, stuffed shirts that more famous writers have become. A few examples:
• "Best wishes, Trixie, thanks for the pint." - (signed) Dominic
• "I do, do hope you simply love my book, Enid." - (signed) Andrea
• "Excellent pen, Mrs. Radish, much better than my own." - (signed) Heather
• "Your adam's apple responds wonderfully when you laugh, Herbert." - (signed) James
But as his books begin to sell in caselot numbers that contain commas, the surging wordsmith cannot resist the heady flush of infallibility that engulfs him during a book signing to which he agreed before this level of fame had been realized. He is rash, personal, insulting and profane, all in the belief that the book he just signed will someday show up on e-bay, and command absurd purchase prices that only reinforce the brilliance of the words that he has used to grace the half-title page. You may recognize some names here:
• "My mother died while reading a book. She was raped, sodomized, and burned alive while my sisters were murdered before her eyes. I hope things go better for you. - (signed) Amy Tan
• "Now it's my money, you fucking heathen." - (signed) Martin Amis
• "Cross-catharpings fore, but not aft. That's the secret, my scurrilous friend. Now bring her round, and belay the plather." - (signed) Patrick O'Brian
• "Dis here book an' a jug o' screech, and ye're goin' cover to cover in the drunk tank, me son." - (signed) Wayne Johnston
• " ... " - (signed) Ernest Hemingway
• "Things could be much, much better. Try not to think about it." - (signed) Ric Moody
• "Careful on the way out, the place is littered with dog shit. But then, that's Cleveland." - (signed) Bill Bryson
Tomorrow's lecture will be postponed until I am able to see my way clear of the anticipated landslide of job offers.
posted by: coopergreen at July 25, 2004 22:53 |
link | comments (1) |
“Writers Write. Writers Do Not Research. Nameless Underpaid Sweat Hogs Research”.
This one is easy. Here's Patrick O'Brian, trying to impress us with his boating knowledge in "Master And Commander":
" 'Helm's a-lee', [Captain Jack Aubrey] remarked - the cry usually echoed from one horizon to the other. Then 'Off tacks and sheets'. He heard the bare feet hurrying and the staysail sheets rasping over the stays: he waited, waited, until the wind was one point on her weather bow, and then a little louder, 'Mainsail haul!' She was in stays: and now she was paying off fast. The wind was well round on his other cheek. 'Let go and haul,' he said, and the half-seen waisters hauled on the starboard braces like veteran forecastlemen. The weather bowlines tightened: the Sophie gathered way."
Okay, hands up: how many of you understood a single word he said? Who got all goosepimply when the half-seen waisters hauled on the starboard braces? Anybody out there know a veteran forecastleman who might think his job is in jeopardy? When is the last time you offed your tacks?
It's a good thing for this Patrick O'Brian show-off that they made a movie out of this dog, or he'd still be in the Big Sailboats section of the library, researching his next blockbuster and wondering where tomorrow's lunch money was coming from. Here's what he should have written:
" 'Bring her around', Captain Jack Aubrey commanded in his masterful voice, the tight-fitting navy uniform accentuating his manhood. 'We've got to get this thing turned around so that Sophie can gather her way. Let's go!', he shouted. For Captain Jack, turning ships arounds was better than a roll in the hay. He was the Master. Master, and Commander. The ships figurehead thrust her sea-splattered breasts proudly to the fore, glistening in the sunlight as the sailboat turned."
There now. Was that so hard? When you are a wealthy published writer, and you can afford to hire some pimply delusional student to do some meaningless research for you, then by all means litter your unforgettable prose with talk of weather bows and other cheeks. But until then you are a writer. Write. Get the fucking boat turned around, and get on with it.
Tomorrow: "Book Signings, Interviews With Talk-Show Hosts Who Have Never Read Your Work, And Bedding Groupies: The Prices Of Fame".
posted by: coopergreen at July 24, 2004 22:23 |
link | comments (7) |
“How To Write Without Appearing To Be The Bloated Tit That You Are”.
You’re not, really. A bloated tit. Probably. However, if you expect to make writing your lifetime profession, you will have to get used to the notion that others believe you are. It is a well-known fact that writers become writers because they are incapable of communicating with other people verbally, since other people don’t want to associate with people whom they consider to be bloated tits, and thus the so-called bloated tits must resort to the keyboard to exercise their basic communication skills. It doesn’t mean you’re a bloated tit, it just means you’re a pariah. Not so bad after all, eh?
The secret to flourishing as a writer in spite of this notion that people have of you is to fight back. As you write, imagine that you are communicating verbally. Insert retorts and barbs into your writing, phrases such as “Oh yeah?”, or “Spoon a goose, jerk”, or “bite me, toadface”, but above all fuck you don’t make the mistake of forgetting to erase them before stick it up your ass you publish the final version. You don’t want to ride my big fish lips, quiff pilot embarrass yourself needlessly.
Tomorrow: “Writers Write. Writers Do Not Research. Nameless Underpaid Sweat Hogs Research”.
posted by: coopergreen at July 23, 2004 22:15 |
link | comments (4) |
Now that the word is out that I am available for employment in an influential, high-paying position, I expect that I will be receiving a flood of opening offers in the next few days. Until then, however, I can make myself useful here.
Most of the people who visit this site have weblogs of their own, and many are aspiring writers. It is to those people that I address my comments. The name ‘Cooper Green’ is a nom de plume, of course. I am a writer of some note under a variety of other names, which I cannot disclose to you here lest I be besieged by the hordes of illiterate rabble that call the internet home. Suffice it to say, however, that Robert Ludlum never actually ‘passed away’ in 2001. He simply wished to alter his artistic direction, and feigning death was an efficacious way to step away from the limelight.
My accomplishments are certainly not confined to the mystery genre, however, and had it not been for the unscrupulous nature of certain published “authors”, my name would appear on some literature that has taken its place among the best that the English language has to offer. As an example: many years ago, my very first novel was ready for publication. It was a huge manuscript (over 800 pages), and the publisher insisted on assigning an editor to shorten it. To make a long story short, my novel was titled “Dust-up And Peace”. The editor they assigned? None other than Leo Fucking Tolstoy, that scabrous little Commie thief. Tolstoy (the prick) added some needless violence, changed the title, and went to the bank with my rightful royalties. Little shitbag pock-marked monkeyass Russian dickwad, I’ll kill him if I see him.
I hesitate to admit it, but many years later a bearded, egotistical, bug-infested, mentally unbalanced asshole named Ernest Hemingway did much the same thing, ultimately depriving me of my second opportunity for worldwide recognition and the financial rewards that went with it. Had he not, you might today be curling up in your easy chair with a bestselling, 93rd printing of “The Middle-Aged Man And The Lake”.
However, that’s all ancient history. I have moved on, and today I wish only to offer asipring writers the wisdom of my years. We’ll start tomorrow with one of the more important lessons to be learned when considering a lifetime of writing: “How To Write Without Appearing To Be The Bloated Tit That You Are”. I’ll see you here in the morning.
posted by: coopergreen at July 22, 2004 22:02 |
link | comments (3) |
Cooper Green
From: coopergreen@canada.ca
Sent: Thursday, July 22, 2004 8:04 AM
To: Footlights Dance & Stagewear
Subject: Your Immediate Attention
Hello, Thespian friends
I urgently require your help. I need to look very much like a North American First Nations aboriginal person (sorry for the long moniker, but it won't do to call them Indians any more), and I need to be convincing at very close quarters. In other words, no fence stain slapped on with a roller. I need a delicate covering cream that allows my true facial contours and texture to show through without making me look like a screaming gay Mohican. And, of course, all the genuine trappings such as beads, trinkets, appropriate braids and feathers. I think I'm actually a Cree, so something that a buffalo hunter might wear would be perfect.
In fact, I would be grateful if you could provide me with a price list for the following items:
• Redskin facial cream (as discussed);
• Amulet on a leather thong. Something decorative that reveals courage, made from a savage animal's breastbone perhaps. A few fox vertebrae rattling around on the thongs would be a nice touch;
• Binding ribbons for my pigtails. Really, I'm beginning to sound like Annie Oakley here, but I believe you get my drift. Birchbark strips dipped in ochre, that sort of thing;
• War paint. And here, I don't want to come off as a bloodthirsty, scalping savage. Let's have the type of thing that would be worn by a family man who defends his teepee when he has to, the kind of guy who would push a cavalryman off his horse with a firm blow, but wouldn't then open his chest with a tomahawk and begin devouring his still-beating heart. I'm picturing cooler colours, something in the azure-to-indigo range.
I'll be wearing an Armani suit, so deerskin leggings and frilled jacket sleeves are (thankfully) not an issue. But put your mind to it, and see what you can come up with. Any other accoutrements that make me appear noble, yet perfectly capable of understanding the ramifications of a treacherous treaty signing? I need those. Anything with bloodstains or reconizable body parts? Sorry, too "warpath" for my needs.
I need them yesterday, of course, please and thank you. I would prefer to be billed, at which time I will send you the appropriate amount of "wampum" :-)
Yours,
Cooper "Flies With The Raven" Green
posted by: coopergreen at July 21, 2004 23:24 |
link | comments (4) |
The Honourable Paul Martin
Prime Minister, Canada
Rideau Hall
Ottawa, ON
21 July, 2004
Dear Mr. Prime Minister
First, let me congratulate you on your party’s stunning election results last month. It’s not every day a sitting Prime Minister can call an election when he doesn’t have to, that ultimately converts a majority parliament into a minority, and declare it a victory. Well done!
With a caucus that’s very nearly half the size it was a month ago, I know you’ll be having some fitful nights trying to select a cabinet. Did you know that Cabinet Ministers don’t have to be elected in order to serve? It’s true! I’m almost certain of that, and that’s why I am writing you now. As shocking as it may seem for an individual of my competence and esteem, I suspect that I am being bypassed for a high-level planning job with the Provincial Government. With my time constraints apparently being substantially relaxed, I am able therefore to serve my country in any way you see fit.
I had in mind a Ministerial cabinet post. I am currently an aboriginal First Nations individual whose ancestors came to this great land mass of Kanata via the Bering Strait when it was a mere ice bridge from the desolation that is present-day Mongolia (or whatever is on that side). I wear my hair in the traditional manner, sort of a dredlock arrangement with two feathers askance, just as the popular media might portray a typical North American native. Followers tell me that I am extremely handsome, yet fun and robust, and many remark that they are grateful that I don’t look at all like Tom Cruise. I wear tastefully expensive clothes that make me appear fit and debonair, yet relaxed and fun-loving. I am a marketable, yet unspoiled, aboriginal commodity.
Now that you have canned David Anderson from the Environment portfolio … congratulations, by the way … that leaves the way clear for a Minister who truly understands the spiritual nature of our land. The time has come for Canada to have its first First Nations Cabinet Minister. It is time to announce the appointment of Environment Minister Flies With The Raven (my true aboriginal name; I wouldn’t make that up).
I leave for Ottawa tomorrow. Should I simply submit my airline receipt for reimbursement once I arrive, or do you have a special code that I can pass surreptitiously to the booking clerk and avoid all that paperwork? Please advise.
Kla-How-Ya Tillicum
Cooper Green
posted by: coopergreen at July 20, 2004 23:52 |
link | comments (7) |
Cooper Green
From: coopergreen@canada.ca
Sent: Monday, July 19, 2004 7:17 AM
To: Gary.Leitch@bcferries.com
Subject: Career Opportunity – Terminal Manager
Attachments: resume2.pdf
Administration Manager
BC Ferry Services
Dear Captain Leitch,
You have advertised for a Terminal Manager in Horseshoe Bay, and I applaud you for your sensitivity to the human condition. Clearly, you are a kind and caring individual. I must confess at the outset that I am not terminal, but a recent struggle with undercooked shellfish at Benchpress Johnny’s Bistro has left me feeling quite willing to die, if you can embrace that notion, and common sense will tell you that I might actually be of more use to BC Ferries if I am not actually, per se, terminal.
Is that clear enough? Please excuse my English. As you can see from my résumé photograph I am a Canadian of the aboriginal ilk, and my native tongue has not yet completely embraced all the nuances of our colonisers’ patois as it were. Despite the painful deaths of most of my ancestors at the hands of the European invaders, I am nevertheless quite at peace with the notion of ours being a defeated people, and simply wish to move on. Management of one of the ferry terminals that are located upon our peoples’ sacred burial grounds is consistent with my career objectives, and I hope that you might be willing to embrace the concept of a Not Feeling Particularly Well Manager, sort of a training position for Terminal Manager.
I am extremely handsome, yet fun and robust. I look nothing at all like Tom Cruise, who I believe portrayed a Native American in the films, although I may be thinking of Dustin Hoffman. I can sit for hours without sustenance, and am willing to appear shirtless and lightly painted, if the situation requires it. Please respond at your earliest convenience.
Kla-how-ya,
Cooper Green
posted by: coopergreen at July 19, 2004 23:18 |
link | comments (3) |
Cooper Green
From: coopergreen@canada.ca
Sent: Monday, July 18, 2004 7:23 AM
To: hr@bcbc.bc.ca
Subject: Anybody home?
Human Resources
BC Buildings Corporation
Hello again,
This is a friendly reminder that I have been waiting patiently for BC Buildings Corporation to determine how my future is to unfold. I don’t wish to apply undue haste to your decision, but my Pam is troubled by some shoddy bridgework that calls for the attention of a qualified denturist, and I wish to make sure that your company’s benefits package is instated before we proceed. If today is Decision Day, then I will gladly forego my guest appearance at the Sons Of Norway Bingo and Potluck Social this evening so that I can be in immediate receipt of your e-mail.
While I would expect a professional company such as yours to be scrupulously forthright in your dealings with prospective employees, I will nevertheless be pursuing other employment opportunities as they arise. Of particular interest to me at the moment is a delicious opportunity at the BC Ferries Corporation on Fort Street in Victoria, not two blocks from your very own head offices. You might ponder the discomfort that my constant presence near your front door might engender, should I not receive a generous offer from you very soon, as I dislodge wayward pebbles from the treads of my Birkenstocks just outside your front door, many of which are almost certain to come into contact with the acres of glass that shroud your building.
Here’s to a long and successful working relationship. I eagerly await your call within the next few hours.
Sincerely,
Cooper Green
posted by: coopergreen at July 18, 2004 22:54 |
link | comments (2) |
I should have read the Facilities Planner career ad more closely. In the last paragraph, they virtually give away their hiring secrets: "We encourage applications from qualified women, men, visible minorities, aboriginal peoples, and persons with disabilities". I am one of those ('men', you idiot), but clearly this job will be snapped up by a gay blind Peruvian before I get even a sniff at the short list. Too late for this time, but it reminds me to turn up the heat a little. I won't be letting them off the hook that easily.
It also tells me that my next job application will carry a different photo on my résumé. Goodbye Tom Cruise, and hello Flies With The Raven.
posted by: coopergreen at July 18, 2004 02:17 |
link | comments (3) |
Twenty-four hours, and still no response. I'm a little disappointed, actually. What's keeping them?
I'll give them the weekend, and then it's time for a warning letter.
posted by: coopergreen at July 16, 2004 23:20 |
link | comments (1) |
Cooper Green
From: coopergreen@canada.ca
Sent: Friday, July 16, 2004 6:50 AM
To: hr@bcbc.bc.ca
Subject: Career Opportunity – Facilities Planner
Attachments: resume1.pdf
Human Resources
BC Buildings Corporation
Hello, Human Resources
I have just been skimming the latest career ads in the local paper, and I am pleased to find that you are in need of a Facilities Planner. Well, you're in luck. I'm an old hand at this. My S.O. and I just re-did the facilities in our place last Autumn, and I have to tell you that things turned out beautifully. It's just a small, L-shaped room next to the stairs, but with limited space it takes a pretty skilful hand to get things in just the right spot. After all, you don't want to be pinching a loaf while a loved one is not two feet away, lathering up God-knows-what in the shower stall. Cleverly placed mirrors add dimension without compromising one's privacy, and a host of pastel towel loops in Spring colours give the entire project a touch of casual elegance.
It's this sort of attention to detail and to people's sensitivities that put me miles ahead of the pack in qualifying as your new Planner. You can also see from my photo (attached) that I am a bit poofy, a quality that is too seldom taken into consideration when employers are looking for an artsy type to fill a vacancy. Give me the job, and you'll have a row of cubicles in the Legislature in no time. Many of the things that are passed during a regular sitting could not possibly be bills, and would more properly be dealt with in facilities that flush. In any case, I'm sure our parliamentary movers and shakers would occasionally welcome a chance to move and shake in private.
My résumé is attached. Please forward your job offer directly to my e-mail address, as I expect to be jetting from one exotic locale to another over the next while, and want to ensure that I do not miss your six-figure opening salvo. Thank you for your consideration.
Yours faithfully,
Cooper Green
posted by: coopergreen at July 15, 2004 22:16 |
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I found a Career Opportunity (no more of that demeaning “job” crap for me) in the local paper that caught my eye. The Government is looking for a Facilities Planner, and as my wife frequently points out, I’m in the facilities all the time. Plus, it’s a government job. I’ll be paid too much, and I’ll never be fired. Perfect. Now that I’m about to rub elbows with people who can actually tie a tie, I will no longer be “filling out job applications” (sitting in the cafeteria with a clipboard holding a 17-times Xeroxed form that has more room for a criminal record than it has for references). Instead, I will now be “sending in my résumé” (sounding a bit poof French, but showing I’m clever enough to print an entire document about me that has no dotted lines to fill in).
No problem. My version of Word has several templates for résumés that have all the right headings, and you just fill in the blanks for education, employment history, that sort of thing. But the true bonus is the fact that they have already added some sample information for the really challenged people who can’t otherwise see exactly the sort of thing that is needed. Truth be told, I’d be proud to have lived this fictional life. They have me graduating Summa Cum Laude from university, for Pete’s sake. I couldn’t make up anything better than that, so Summa Cum Laude it is. Really, all I need to do is change the name and e-mail address to my own, then add a picture and I’m good to go.
The picture is important. I need to convey kind of a competent yet vulnerable intelligence, with sort of a faggy, handsome decorator-type appearance that you would expect a planner to have. This is obviously a custom job, but is it a problem? I don’t think so. Photoshop is cheaper than plastic surgery. I’m thinking a designer suit on someone in his 20’s, nice neutral non-boardroom colours, club tie, subtle blue shirt, and because it’s artsy, a mid-40’s face that looks like fun and trouble at the same time.
Tom Cruise.
So … Polo ad + Tom Cruise = Cooper Green. Would you hire this man to redesign your facilities? Damn right you would. You’d offer to fluff the drapes with him over a bottle of wine, then spend the night with your head snuggled in his buttcrack. And your name is Marvin.
I am thisclose to becoming Cooper Green: High Paid Government Guy. I’m sending in my resume tomorrow.
posted by: coopergreen at July 15, 2004 20:50 |
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For years, I have been earning a pittance writing advertising copy for newspapers and radio stations. I can’t begin to tell you how difficult it is to come up with a concept that makes a pimple cream sound exciting, but still, I plug away. If you lived anywhere in
My creation, I’m proud to say. I miss Woodward’s. They were great clients, and gave me the latitude to do what I did best: write ads that got people into their stores. Maybe not quite enough of them, as it turns out, but I can hardly be expected to shoulder all the blame for their inability to compete with the other big retailers out there. Today, it’s all Jackshit Motors, with their low low interest rates and generous trade-in allowances, not to mention their scrupulously honest salespeople who are there to make sure I drive away in the perfect vehicle that’s going to make me and my big-titted nymphomaniac passenger moist with motoring glee. Think I can’t spot honesty? I’m a Lying Bastard, remember? All the honesty at Jackshit Motors would fit in my navel, and still leave room for their friendly, experienced sales professionals. And the generous payment plan, and plenty of free parking. Open every day till nine. Just off Highway One near the Willowbrook exit. Look for the inflated gorilla on the roof.
Here’s my thought. I’m ashamed I didn’t think of it sooner: I’m a liar, right? It’s what I do. I’ve been getting paid to do it professionally for years, and we’ve already seen how much more interesting I am when I touch up my posts with enhanced factoids, shall we say. Well, if people are willing to pay me for my ability to airbrush the truth, and my social life not only feels better but actually looks better on paper as a result, then why the hell am I being so honest when it comes to looking for work? I have my high school graduation, plus two very mediocre years at university that would have become a Bachelor of Arts if I had given a shit. So. When an future employer asks me about my educational accomplishments, what do I always say? “I have my high school graduation, plus two very mediocre years at university that would have become a Bachelor of Arts if I had given a shit.” Brilliant, you fat tit. Why not just stand in a pool of water and stick your finger in a light socket?
Not any more. I can break this tedious cycle, and I can do it using the unique qualities, real or imagined, that I’ve had all along. If it’s invention they want, then it’s invention they get. Starting tomorrow, my job applications are going to look a lot different than they used to.
posted by: coopergreen at July 13, 2004 22:59 |
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I was editing my posts today, and broke them completely. Somehow, I erased my entire blog, comments and all. Fortunately I had backups, but the comments are gone forever. What a buffoon.
Sincere thanks to those who took the time, I hope to hear from you again.
posted by: coopergreen at July 13, 2004 21:22 |
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I used to work in Chilcotin country, that huge, rough wild place in the middle of British Columbia. Hardly anyone lives up there, probably more moose than people. But there are a number of real characters up there, and one of them I knew was a British guy, a schoolteacher, who came to BC for adventure. He became as wild as the country. By the time I got to know him, he was pretty much a mountain man. I don’t even know his real name. He called himself Cheese Ass; I have never wanted to know why. Cheese Ass used to write me several times a year, but his e-mails stopped about eight months ago. He was going through a divorce. His wife was named Pony, and I think the combination of Cheese Ass and moose was making Pony crazy. Finally, I heard from Cheese Ass again just yesterday. Here’s part of what he had to say:
_______________________________________
I guess I was pretty excited about the whole thing, Coop. This was the first time Pony had been inside my ice fishing shack, and I wanted everything to go without a hitch. “So, Pony,” I said to her, “how’s this for a nice cozy place, eh? It’s small but it’s big, if you know what I mean. And look here. Just one week, and my fishin’ hole’s frozen over again. Still, what a great way to spend Canada Day, eh?” And it was, y’know, Coop. You’ve been here, you know how great it is.
Anyway, I placed the tip of the ice auger over the sealed opening, and began to turn. “I’ve got the biggest bit on the river, y’know’” I says to her. Maybe you don’t know, Coop, I got rid of that 30-cm bit that I used to have, after I lost that big Dolly Varden last summer. Now, I can drill a big 50-cm hole with the new one. She’s a fuckin’ monster, Coop. Like I says to Pony, “I don’t want to hook a fish that’s too big to land, that’s for sure.”
“Well, let’s not dilly-dally, my Pony,” I said to her, after the hole was open. Cold river water was splashin’ up through the opening. Looked like one of those Jacuzzi tubs in the hotel. “Pitter patter, let’s get at ‘er,” I says. So I picked up her cold, lifeless body. It’s easy to forget how tiny Pony was, Coop. Just a slip of a thing, even after being dead for a while. I propped her up against the shack door, for traction. Then I threaded one barb of a No. 14 treble through her excuseme, and brought it out just below her throat. I held her under her arms and slid her feet through the frozen surface and slowly released her into the frigid, fast-moving water. The current carried her downstream real fast, Coop, it kind of surprised me. That’s when I wondered if I should have used the 55-kg test filament. I was worried that a big muskie might be strong enough to break the line and carry her off. Because they’re real hungry just before breakup, remember, Coop?
I thought about it and thought about it. But finally I said, “Fuck 'er, it's over, we’re divorced already.” So I laid the rod on my lap and cracked open a Molson.
_______________________________________
That crazy Cheese Ass. Makes me laugh.
posted by: coopergreen at July 13, 2004 12:30 |
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It was only as a result of a chance encounter with Papmeister that I eventually came to realize that the world needed a Cooper Green blog. Papmeister provides an excellent example of how a fellow who leads a fairly ordinary existence can attract a following to his blog by the simple coincidence of being a good guy and possessing decent writing skills. Reading his daily entries, my first reaction, naturally, was “I want complete strangers to like me, just as they like Papmeister. I can do the same thing he’s doing.”
And I can. I’m doing it right now. But as I began, it became more and more evident to me that, in spite of my decent writing skills, I am not a particularly nice guy. Nor am I especially interesting. Why would anyone out there give a shit whether Cooper Green won the meat draw at the Legion, or soiled his linen regularly, or died alone in his pantry one morning, choking on a peach pit? I am an insular, morose, suspicious person who cannot fathom how he has managed to interest a woman in being his wife for 20-plus years, particularly one he would marry again tomorrow if given the chance. What possible motive would someone with a viable life of his or her own have in choosing to invest their leisure time to follow every nuance of my tedious existence as well?
They wouldn’t. Not until now, anyway. These vital, involved people would quickly conclude that their lives are superior to mine in just about every way, and would take a great deal of persuading to include an close examination of my drinking habits in their daily regimen. Since I frequently drink alone, hunched in front of a keyboard, my evenings are a litany of opening beer bottles, passing air and water, and forcing the blood vessels in my nose to the surface. Quite satisfying, really, but hardly the stuff of screenplays.
Until I discovered lying, that is, and here is where an aloof nature really begins to pay off. I have never allowed others to know very much about me, so the simple alteration of a key fact here and there does not usually result in a chain reaction of unresolved contradictions that might bring down a more socially capable person. And with my “piss-off” demeanour never far from hand, I can quickly discourage nosy acquaintances from taking the opportunity to question the inconsistencies of whatever recent lie I might have delivered.
It seems that I have graduated from being a mere bastard to being a lying bastard, with the happy circumstance that, from time to time, I involuntarily exude an aspect that can only be referred to as a type of ‘nice guy’-ism. My life is richer for it, and so is my blog. I invite you to share this enhanced version of Cooper Green’s life.
Here we go.
posted by: coopergreen at July 13, 2004 12:27 |
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